Her nails dragged down his back. “Please,” she gasped. She didn’t even know what she was asking for.
But he gave it anyway—leaning down, caging her in, fists by her head as his mouth found hers with a desperation that felt like drowning. She shattered with him pinning her down, his chest pressed against hers as he plunged so deep it felt like he was claiming her soul.
And still, he didn’t stop.
He pulled out. The loss was immediate, an aching emptiness that made her gasp. Her hips chased him instinctively, a sound leaving her throat she didn’t recognize. Need surged, sharper than before, her body frantic for what it had just been given and lost.
He turned her onto her belly, pressing her into the furs. Exposed, face down, empty—she felt a flutter of panic. Then his hand smoothed down her spine, a promise in the dark. His lips firm on her nape, tongue tasting the salt of her sweat. And the fear dissolved into a different kind of surrender.
When he gripped her hips and entered her again, the relief was a sob she couldn’t contain. Each roll of his body felt deeper, hotter, rougher. And when he slipped his hand beneath her bellyto caress the swollen kernel at the apex of her thighs, her moan broke out of her in shuddering gasps.
He didn’t speak. Not beyond the low growl in his throat, or the breath that stuttered harshly from his lips. But his hands . . . his handsworshippedher. One tracing the shape of her spine, the other splaying over her belly, then sliding up to cup her breast, thumb circling, reverent and possessive all at once.
One deep thrust collided with the gate of her womb, and she came. Her head snapped up with a cry. He caught her there, curling his body over hers, mouth dragging over her neck, shoulder, jaw. His teeth pulled at her earlobe and she gasped again. She hadn’t known pleasure could feel like this. Terrifying. Exquisite. As if something had unspooled inside her, wide and helpless and undone.
He pulled out again, and the emptiness hit her just as sharp as the first time.
Then he flipped her onto her back.
She looked up. His pupils had swallowed the blue, his chest heaving, arms trembling beside her head. Her body answered before her mind could catch up—another pulse of heat, another desperate clench around nothing.
Then he was inside her again—fast,deep, a raw thrust that stole her breath.
His forehead dropped to her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I can’t—I should be slower?—”
She pulled his mouth to hers.
CHAPTER 34
ALEXANDER
She was open beneath him, flushed and glistening. Her dark eyes were glassy with heat, her mouth trembling with the echoes of his name.
The moonlight had long since vanished, leaving the room in velvety black. The air itself felt thick and spent, saturated with their mingled scents.
She must be exhausted. Still, she took him—every single inch. Each thrust dragged a broken sound from her throat. When he drove deeper, she clenched tighter around him, like her body was learning him. Wanting more. Needingmore.
He couldn’t think, could barely breathe. He was supposed to be measured. In control. He’d schooled himself too long to be undone like this. But something about the way she looked up at him—lips parting, her body helplessly splayed beneath his—ripped through every last thread of his restraint.
He growled as he rocked into her again. Her breath caught. Her fingers scrabbled over his back, then slid down to brace his hips as if she could hold him there.
“JingYi,” he rasped, voice shredded. He didn’t even know what he was begging for.
Her scent was everywhere. She was drenched in arousal, her Heat rising in sharp waves that made his blood feel too thick, his thoughts too sluggish. He dropped his head, mouth brushing over her throat, then over the gentle swell of one breast, the frantic beat of her heart.
His weight pressed her deeper into the furs, his hands curling under her knees to push them farther apart. Her body folded, completely pinned.
Mine.
The word thundered through him like a war drum. He was panting now. Sweating. The furs damp beneath them, her skin hot and silken under his hands. He watched the way her breasts moved with each punishing thrust, the way her eyes fluttered when he struck the deepest part of her, again, again.
Again.
She wouldn’t know how close he was to breaking open, spilling everything he couldn’t speak—longing, guilt, the unbearable need. Nothing to do with her caste or this damn treaty and everything to do withher.
He buried his face against her neck, breathing her in like salvation, like sin. His thrusts grew erratic, chasing his own release. Every snap of his hips was a declaration he couldn’t voice. The sound of her moans was the only anchor he had left, and even that was slipping.
He was going to come. And gods help him, he wanted to do it buried as deep inside her as he could go. Fill her. Mark her. Ruin her for anyone else.