Page 40 of Bite Bonded Bride

I land in his lap with a gasp, my legs straddling him. Before I can react, his hands find the waist of my trousers and the laugh turns into a sharp gasp as he tears them. Purposefully. Like my clothing is an obstacle he has simply decided no longer exists.

Cool air hits my bare skin and then his hand does.

He runs the length of himself between my legs, thick and hard and impossibly warm now, pressing against my folds in a slow, rolling grind that has me biting down on a moan. He finds my nub with the base of his length and presses, a slow, pulsing massage, and my hands fly to his shoulders.

"Zareth—"

"Getting me relaxed turns you on." He says it low, almost to himself. Like data he's collecting.

"It—" I gasp as he rolls his hips again, the drag of him slick and devastating against my center. I reach between us, wrapping my hand around him, feeling him pulse and throb, enormous and ready as I guide him to where I want him. "Stop talking."

I grip his shoulder. I sink down.

The moment he slides in, one long, devastating arc, filling me completely in a single relentless movement, the Blood Bond rumbles between us.

A physical force, a current, something that fires through every nerve ending I possess simultaneously, and I hear myself cry out and feel him shudder beneath me. A full-body tremor moving through that vast, ancient frame like a fault line shifting.

I sit there for a moment, impaled, adjusting, feeling every inch of him throbbing and alive deep in my core. I am full in a way that presses the breath from my lungs, and the Bond is singing in my chest, a thrumming, live-wire connection pouring his hunger and his protectiveness and his staggering, barely-leashed need directly into my skin.

I feel him, his relief, his desperation. The thing he won't say with words.

I push up. I slam back down, making a wet slap sound.

His breath leaves him in a sharp exhale. His hands slide beneath the hem of my top and find my breasts, warm, kneading, his thumbs rolling my nipples with devastating precision. I whimper and come back for more.

I find a rhythm. Hard and deep and relentless, each downward slide taking him to my absolute limit, his full girth stretching me open and pulsing there, alive, before I drag back up and do it again. His mouth drops to my neck. He sucks at the skin over my pulse, possessive, his tongue flat and hungry. A helpless cry tears out of me.

"Don't stop," I manage, my voice already ruined.

He doesn't.

He pulls off my top, then his mouth drops to my breasts, sucking one nipple between his lips and pulling hard while his hips begin working beneath me, matching my rhythm and amplifying it, driving up to meet each descent with a precision that makes my vision strobe white at the edges.

I ride him. He meets me. The sound of us together fills the ancient ruin; skin on skin, the obscene wet slide of him in and out of me, my broken moaning that I've completely stopped trying to muffle.

His mouth travels back to my neck. His fangs graze the skin. A ghost of pressure. Then he's nipping there, lapping at the tiny beads of blood that rise to the surface, and the sensation fires directly down my spine and I tighten around him involuntarily.

He growls, low, vibrating, felt everywhere we're connected. His hands drop to my hips, gripping hard enough to bruise as he wrenches my pace faster, harder, my breasts bouncing with every driving thrust, his mouth leaving fire everywhere it lands.

"Zareth—" His name comes out in pieces.

His grip on my backside tightens, a fierce, possessive hold, fingers digging in, and he drives up into me once, twice, with a ruthless focus that obliterates whatever coherence I had left.

My hands find his hair. I wrench his face up and crush my mouth to his — I need to taste him, I need⁠—

Our lips collide simultaneously, tongue against tongue, and his hands keep moving my hips against him, relentless, and the climax hits me from every direction at once.

Blinding. White and total and seismic, ripping through me from the inside out, my whole body locking and shaking around him, a cry swallowed into his mouth as the pleasure crests and crashes and keeps crashing.

He follows me over.

I feel it through the Bond before I feel it physically, waves of sensation not entirely my own crashing through our shared connection. Then he spills into me in deep, shuddering pulses, his hips stuttering, a low broken sound vibrating against my lips as he fills me completely, liquid heat in waves, his length still buried and twitching inside me.

We break apart gasping. Neither of us moves.

His forehead drops to mine, breath coming in ragged pulls. My fingers are still fisted in his hair, trembling slightly with the aftershocks rolling through me. He softens inside me, but neither of us pulls away.

"I want this." I say, "More of this. More of us." I pull back just enough to look at his face. "But that doesn't mean the world stops existing outside this ruin. It doesn't mean Malachar stops existing, or the Wildspont, or your people running out of time. "I'm not asking you to choose between me and them. I'm asking you to stop acting like those are the only two options."