Page 52

When I saw that beast lunging for her, something primal shattered inside me. Not just protective instinct, but possessive rage—a visceral understanding that this woman ismineto protect,mineto pleasure,mineto keep safe.
"Eat you, of course," I growl against the shell of her ear, gratified by the full-body shiver that runs through her. My wings curl tighter around us, blocking out the rest of the world until there's nothing but her and me and the silver-dappled darkness.
I don't give her time to respond. In one fluid motion, I drop to my knees before her, my hands sliding down to grip her thighs. She gasps, fingers instinctively tangling in my hair as I push up her dress with indecent haste, bunching the fabric around her waist.
"Araton—" Her voice breaks on my name, uncertain but heavy with want.
"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" I murmur against her inner thigh, letting my breath warm her skin. "How much you enjoyed being chased? Beinghunted?"
My fingers hook into the thin fabric of her underclothes, and with one sharp motion, I tear them away. The sound of ripping cloth is obscene in the quiet forest. Her sharp intake of breath makes me smile against her skin.
"Fuck," I breathe, looking up at her from between her thighs. In the moonlight filtering through my feathers, I can see how wet she is, slick and ready. "Look at you. Absolutely soaked."
Her chest rises and falls rapidly, face flushed with equal parts embarrassment and desire. She tries to close her legs, but my shoulders keep them parted.
"If I'd known being prey got you this wet," I tell her, voice rough with desire, "I would've hunted you a long time ago, fierce one."
I don't wait for her reply. I lean forward and taste her with one long, deliberate stroke of my tongue, savoring the salt-sweet flavor that is uniquely Ronnie. Her fingers tighten painfully in my hair, her hips jerking forward involuntarily.
"So eager," I murmur against her sensitive flesh. "Such a pretty little slut for me."
The crude word makes her whimper, her body tensing. I glance up, catching the conflict in her gray eyes—the desire warring with her need to maintain control. I've always loved that about her, how fiercely she guards herself, how magnificent she is when she finally surrenders.
I slide one hand up to press against her abdomen, holding her in place as my tongue circles her clit with deliberate precision. "No running now," I warn her. "I caught you fair and square."
Her head falls back, exposing the elegant line of her throat. "Araton, please?—"
"Please what?" I pause my ministrations, earning a frustrated whine. "Please stop? Please give you what you need? Please make you come so hard you forget why you ever ran from me in the first place?"
She doesn't answer with words, just rolls her hips against my mouth in desperate, shameless hunger. It's all the invitation I need.
I devour her like a starving man, alternating between teasing licks and forceful suction that has her trembling, knees threatening to buckle. Her taste is intoxicating—sweeter than ammerinth, more addictive than any substance on Aerasak. I could stay here for hours, worshipping her with my tongue, listening to the beautiful symphony of her gasps and moans.
"You taste divine," I growl against her, sliding two fingers inside her slick heat while my tongue continues its relentless attack on her clit. "My beautiful, filthy girl—getting this wet from being hunted through the forest."
She's close already—I can feel it in the way her inner walls clench around my fingers, in the frantic rhythm of her hips. I curl my fingers upward, finding that spot that makes her see stars, and suck her clit between my lips.
"Let go," I command. "Be a good little slut and come all over my face."
The degradation mixed with praise pushes her over the edge. She screams—a raw, primal sound that echoes through the forest—as her orgasm tears through her. Her body convulses, thighs clamping around my head, wetness flooding my tongue and chin.
I don't relent, working her through each wave, drinking down everything she has to give me. My own arousal is painful, cock straining against my trousers, but I ignore it.This moment isn't about me—it's about reclaiming what's mine, about showing her exactly what she's been missing by keeping me at arm's length.
When her tremors finally subside, I pull back just enough to look up at her. Her eyes are half-lidded, face flushed with pleasure, chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. I've never seen anything more beautiful.
I rise to my feet, still holding her gaze. Her eyes are glazed with pleasure, pupils blown wide in the darkness between my wings. Something in the way she looks at me—vulnerable, wanting—makes my chest tighten painfully.
Her legs are barely supporting her weight as she reaches for me. The fierce girl who snarls and snaps is nowhere to be seen, replaced by this soft, trembling creature. She pulls my face to hers, and when our lips meet, the taste of her still lingering on my tongue, I groan into her mouth.
The kiss is messy, desperate. Her teeth catch my bottom lip, and I taste the metallic hint of blood. Her slender fingers fumble with my trousers, working at the laces with clumsy urgency. The back of my mind registers that this is the first time she's ever initiated more between us—the first time she's ever shown that she wants me beyond the moment I push her over the edge.
Something possessive and primal surges through me. I snap.
My hand shoots out, circling both her wrists in a tight grip. In one swift motion, I pin them above her head against the rough bark of the tree. Her gasp fills my mouth.
"Not this time," I growl against her lips. "You don't get to be in charge."
Her body goes taut, caught between struggling and surrender. "Araton?—"