Page 71 of Nocturn

My pulse pounded in my throat.

“I want to please you, Lord Draven,” I murmured, my voice husky from the remnant pleasure of the climax.

His pale eyebrows, a shade darker than his hair, rose high.

I ran my palms down the front of his chest, following the dips of his muscular form. He was like rock under silk. When I reached his sides, I slid off his lap and lowered to my knees, bracing myself on them to be able to reach the thick shaft.

The thin strip of fuzz below his navel felt as soft as feathers. I raked my nails across it. Lord Draven inhaled, but what fascinated me was the twitch of his length. My fingertip grazed against it, and his member bobbed, extended and swollen.

Waiting for release.

An answering trill of pleasure wracked my frame. I was ruined. My life was no longer my own. Bit by bit, the Warlord was claiming me, and I was helpless under the thrall of his presence.

I grabbed the length with one hand.

Lord Draven stiffened, his hands curling into the fur bedding.

Discomfort expanded in my belly, but I did not let myself cower or turn away as much as I desired to.

It pulsed in my palm and I gripped it firmly with the appropriate pressure. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye. He continued to watch me. Since he didn’t speak a word, I reached with my other hand to grab the base where it swelled outward.

The flesh pulsed under my palm.

I inhaled sharply, freezing, gaze flying to meet his.

Humor reflected in his eyes. “Keep touching,” he ordered huskily, watching me through half-lidded eyes.

“Yes, my lord,” I whispered and returned to gliding my hand up and down the length.

Slowly, I worked the flesh, rubbing the seed to slick his length. With my hand at the base, I squeezed and slid lower, to cup the heavy, smooth sack.

He groaned, his head falling back.

I leaned forward and licked the tip. I did not think he could become any more like steel, but he proved me wrong.

Another wave of moisture leaked from the tip. I took hold of the middle of his length and lowered to take more of him in my mouth. My tongue lay flat against the side, and a vein pounded underneath it.

With careful pumps of my hand, I licked his shaft. His hand settled atop my head, his long fingers sliding into my tresses, and gripped. The bloom inside me shuddered, growing under his pleasure. I ran my tongue under the slight bulging flesh at his tip, running it around it with quick swipes.

“Cursed Saints,” he gasped.

After another squeeze of his sack, I took his knot in hand again, squeezing. It pulsated, then release exploded onto my tongue, so much of it.

Still, I did not move away, swallowing his seed—or as much as I could manage. Peeking up at him, I found his eyes closed, his chest heaving, and his lips in a thin line. Each time I licked his length, he twitched, and the throb between my legs had grown with each of his reactions until it was a frustrating ache.

Raising my head, I licked my lips and pulled myself up onto his lap, grabbing his shoulders to help brace me as I settled my thighs against his.

His lips remained parted, hinting at his fangs as he watched me with his eyes so half-lidded they were almost closed.

The unique smell of his skin caressed my senses: leather and ink.

I hoisted myself higher.

Drusilla’s warning echoed in my memory.

In an instant, I made my decision; I would take pleasure from him without shame. This entire time, I fought to keep a part of me safe, but it was a losing battle.

Angling my head, I leaned and took his lips, kissing him with as much fervor as I could, mimicking the way he had kissed me before. I ran my tongue over his fang. His stillness revealed I had caught him by surprise. It took him a moment, then his arms banded around my waist, and he crushed me to him, plunging his tongue into my mouth.