I jerked away with a gasp, my lungs burning. His lips were swollen, bleeding slightly where I’d bitten down without meaning to. The sight of him sent another wave of that terrible heat through me.
I couldn’t think anymore. I could only feel. The only thing left was the desperate need to dosomethingbefore I shattered completely.
My hands went to his belt, my shaking fingers fumbling with the buckle. He started to help, reaching down to undo the clasp himself. I slapped his hands away with a snarl. “Don’t. Don’t help. Don’t move. Just—”
I gave up on words, too focused on getting his pants open. With him still sitting beneath me, I shoved the fabric down his hips as far as I could reach. He lifted his hips to help despite my command, and I was too frantic to care.
My own clothes came next. I ripped off my tunic and threw it somewhere I didn’t bother tracking. I kicked off the loose pants I’d been wearing with graceless movements. Once I was naked, I shoved the last of his clothing down. His erection sprang free, thick and flushed dark with blood, already slick at the tip with precum. The scent hit me immediately, stronger now without the barrier of fabric. Salt and musk, pure concentrated Alpha. Everything I wanted. Everything I despised.
I wrapped my hand around him, feeling the weight of him in my palm. His breath stuttered, hands fisting in the tangled sheets of my nest. I felt that same vicious satisfaction from earlier—the knowledge that I could affect him, could make him lose some of that infuriating control.
My mouth watered.
I didn’t let myself think about it, didn’t give my rational mind time to catch up. I just lowered my head and took him into my mouth.
The taste exploded across my tongue. I worked him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, using my tongue along the underside where I could feel the prominent vein pulsing with his heartbeat.
“Fuck—” His voice broke, hands coming up like he wanted to touch my hair and guide my movements. I caught his wrists and shoved them back down to the mattress.
“Don’t.” I pulled off him just long enough to spit the words out, my lips slick and swollen. “Don’t touch. Don’t move.”
I took him deep again, deeper this time, until I could feel him hitting the back of my throat. His hips jerked involuntarily, trying to thrust up into the wet heat of my mouth. I immediately pulled back, my hand loosely circling the base but providing no friction, no relief.
“Andie—” The word came out desperate, pleading, and I hated how much I liked hearing my name in his mouth.
“This isn’t about you.” I met his eyes, saw them glazed with need and frustration. “This is about me and what I want, Stormwright.”
I lowered my mouth again, taking him in with agonizing slowness. His jaw clenched with the effort of staying still. His whole body was rigid beneath me, trembling with the strain of not moving.
I set a rhythm—deep and slow, then faster, then stopping completely when I felt his thighs tense. His breathing turnedragged, and I knew he was getting close. But I refused to let him come. I pulled off, watching the way frustration and need warred in his expression.
“Please! Andie, please…”
I took him deep again, sucked hard, used my hand to work what wouldn’t fit in my mouth. His precum was flowing steadily now, coating my tongue with that electric taste. I could feel him swelling even harder, getting closer once again.
But he didn’t come, because I wouldn’t let him. And I couldn’t take it any longer.
I released him from my mouth with a wet pop, something inside me snapping. “You bastard.” I climbed up his body, straddling his hips, positioning myself over him. “You absolute—”
I sank down onto him in one brutal motion, taking him fully inside me with no preparation. The stretch burned, overwhelming and perfect and wrong all at once. It stole the breath from my lungs and the words from my mouth.
Alexander’s hands flew to my hips with bruising force. He groaned, low and guttural. That sound was almost worth the chaos rioting through my nervous system.
I was so wet. I had been since I’d tasted blood on his jaw, maybe even before that. My body accommodated him with obscene ease, my walls fluttering and clenching around the thick shaft.
The temporary mark on my neck suddenly blazed to life. Heat radiated from it, spreading through my bloodstream in waves that made my vision blur at the edges. A dim red haze filtered over everything, making the world softer and sharper simultaneously.
I rode him harder. I rose up until just the tip of him remained inside, then slammed back down with enough force to make us both gasp. Then I did it again, and again. Harder each time, faster, chasing something I couldn’t name but needed with an urgency that felt like dying.
I braced my hands on his chest for leverage and felt the texture of raised skin beneath my palms. Scars. I’d seen them before, but I’d never made the connection, never realized what they actually meant.
Those scars seemed to mock me. They were proof that I wasn’t the only one who’d seen him and touched him like this. “Those whores… They can’t touch you like I can.”
I squeezed my inner muscles deliberately, watching his eyes roll back and his jaw clench with the sensation.
“Do you think they suck your dick better?” I ground down on him, shuddering as he hit something deep inside me. “Do you think their cunts are as tight as mine?”
His fingers dug into my hips hard enough to leave bruises. When he spoke, his voice was wrecked and raw, barely recognizable.