Page 15

On a groan, I nudge my teeth into her plush lower lip, relishing how she trembles and flings herself into me. I crush her against my chest, my hands disappearing someplace down her back.

Our mouths slant, layer, and rock. Her tongue flexes beneath mine, sketching and probing. It’s delirium, yet it just won’t do.

My mate agrees, because we drag ourselves apart. We stare, sucking in tornadoes of oxygen.

“Fuck the bedroom,” we say in unison.

It’s magnetic, intrinsic, how we move together. We spin one another around, and I stalk her backward, while she clings to my hips and tugs me forward. Feverish exhalations pump out of us. Her breasts hang heavy and erect at their centers, but more importantly, her pussy glistens in the dark, the lips slick for me. The exquisite sight bolts a direct path to my crown.

From the moment I first saw her, how many times have I craved this mortal? How many times did I want to feast on that feisty, fiery, fierce mouth? How many times did I want to kiss her, fuck her, love her?

I’m still counting.

When Lark’s spine hits the nearest wall, there’s no pause, no delay. I grip the plump crescents of her ass and hoist her off the stone floor.

Lark has the same idea. She jumps off the ground, hopping onto me, into my arms. Her legs string around my waist, and her clit grinds into the ledge of my cock.

Stuttered noises rush from us, a joint sound that breaks through the great room. Oh, we know what we’re doing in broad twilight, in the middle of the tower’s most frequented space, where the servants might overhear or see what we’re doing.

Public displays have become a delightful habit from the moment I first touched Lark. Therefore, the exposure stops neither of us.

How utterly Fae of my mate. And how like her reckless, rebellious self.

My sac aches, my erection rises between my hipbones, and a bead of liquid pools from the slit. Lark sighs with relish. She wedges her hand down to reap that droplet, swiping her thumb across the line of my crown, which darkens from her touch.

Bringing that thumb to her mouth, she flicks her tongue and tastes me. I shudder, my eyelids drooping as I watch. She shall pay for this anguish.

With a hum, I etch my tongue across the seam of her lips, demanding they open for me. Lark emits a half-chuckle, half-whimper and complies. Our mouths tilt and clutch, the depth urgent, the pressure increasing.

My lips find her tongue and suck with force. Like this, just like this, I draw on her until she’s coiling into the plate of my torso, and her nipples grow taut, the peaks cementing into pebbles.

Perfect. So very perfect.

I wring myself away, releasing her mouth only to swoop down and snatch the first nipple between my lips. Lark gives a cry and arches into the wall. Her head thuds against the surface while her fingers scrape through my hair, pinning me to her breast. I indulge her need, following the sounds of her pleasure and circling that raw nipple with the point of my tongue. She tastes marvelous, like sin and sweetness itself.

Her moans scatter, the rapturous echoes spurring me on. My mouth pulls on the nipple in slow, leisurely tugs, then inches away to brush the tight flesh with my lips. The touch is feather-light now, roaming over the swell of her breast, the pit of her nipple.

I continue the torture and lay siege to the other breast. My tongue swabs the underside, rides up her skin, and my mouth engulfs the crest whole.

“Oh, shit,” Lark chants. “Cerulean.”

A growl rolls up my throat. I consume the name, consume all of her.

She mewls and yanks me closer, urges my lips wider around her. I nudge my waist further into the vent of Lark’s limbs, and her thighs spread, knees steepling high and heels linking beneath my ass, which begins to roll.

The stem of my cock slides along the crease of her pussy, the swollen walls drenching me in her arousal. Slowly, fiendishly, I repeat this maneuver. Then again…and again…and again.

All the while, I suck her into a stupor.

Blood gushes to my erection, rosy splotches color her stomach, and perspiration gathers across my tailbone and her collarbone. We sweat through it, work ourselves into it.

Still, it’s not nearly sufficient. I bracket my palms on either side of her, lift my mussed head and watch her face as the engorged crown of my cock glides through her folds. My entrance spreads her open a scant inch, just an inch to start.

I rock my hips attentively. Lark’s walls flood my hard flesh with heat. She feels tight, soaked, glorious.

“Oh, Fables,” Lark utters. “Yeah.”

“How deep am I?” I rasp. “Indulge me. Tell me, pet.”