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“Yes,” she repeated.
His teeth sank into her neck—not enough to draw blood, but a warning. A reminder that he wouldn’t be gentle.
And Goddess help her, Fey didn’t want him to be.
Chapter 24
ALASTAIR
She was intoxicating.
Alastair ran his tongue along the length of her collarbone, savoring the taste of her, the way her body arched into his.
Intoxicating, and oh so responsive.
Her hands grasped his back as he rolled his hips against her, wanting her to feel how hard he was already. He wanted her to feel how much he desired her. She gasped, gripping him tighter.
“You’re wearing far too much clothing,” he chided. His hands moved up her body, reaching under her shirt. Her skin was like silk under his fingers, and he growled when he found nothing but flesh. She wasn’t wearing a bra, wasn’t wearing anything under her sweater.
Fey laughed, clearly enjoying his reaction, and he silenced her with another kiss. Harder, this time, a clash of teeth and tongues that she responded to greedily.
He brought his hands to the back of her thighs, gripping her hard and lifting her. She wrapped her legs around him, and when his cock pressed against the apex of her thighs she gasped. He carried her from the bookshelves to his desk, setting her on the edge.
“You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this moment,” Alastair told her, breaking the kiss and sliding his hands to the waist of her pants.
“Oh?” she mocked, with a smile. Her lips were flushed red.
He slipped a hand to her crotch, pressing his fingers against her and making her gasp and arch her back.
“Oh,” he answered. He unfastened her pants, pulling them off her long legs. His fingers traced their way up the inside of her thigh, but he kept his eyes on her face, lost in the way her mouth opened, the way her eyes unfocused.
When he reached her panties, he trailed his fingertips along the wet fabric. Her legs twitched.
“Tell me, Fey,” his hands peeled the underwear from her body, pulling them down her thighs and tossing them aside. “Do you taste as good as you look?”
He didn’t give her time to answer. His hands went back up her shirt, his mouth going to her jaw. He kissed and bit the skin there, pulling her sweater up and throwing it. He spared a moment to glance down at her, nude and perched on his desk.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
She was perfect. Lithe, muscled, and perfect. His fingers traced a puckered scar on her toned stomach, following it up to another at her ribs. They marked her body like constellations. Good. That meant she could take a little pain.
His mouth returned to her neck, his hands caressing her breasts. Softly at first. Then he scraped his fangs across her neck, just above her pulse, as he twisted one of her nipples between his fingers.
Fey arched her back, wrapping her legs around his waist to bring him closer. He was still fully clothed, but he didn’t care. He encouraged her to press against him, feeling her move against the hard length of him straining to escape his pants.
“What do you want, Witchling?” he asked. He pressed his cock against her, gripping her hard.
She moaned, seemingly beyond words. His lips moved to her chest, and he moved back just enough to take her nipple into his mouth.
“Tell me what you want.”
She gasped as he bit down. “You, Alastair,” she whispered.
He chuckled.
“Oh, no, no, no, Witchling. That wasn’t the deal, remember?” He bit down hard, leaving a mark on the perfect white skin of her breast. His tongue traced the edges of his bite.
“Don’t you remember?” He moved further down her body, kissing his way down her stomach, and coming to his knees before her. He traced her scars with his tongue, mesmerized by the way she gasped and twitched under his attention.
