Page 20

I can't breathe, can't think, can only feel as Vael's mouth works me with single-minded determination. His tongue traces maddening patterns against my sensitive flesh, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on that bundle of nerves that's turning me into a quivering mess.
"Vael," I gasp again, my fingers clutching his horns for purchase. The strange texture of them—smooth yet ridged—grounds me somehow as pleasure builds to nearly unbearable heights.
One of his hands slides from my hip down my thigh, then back up along the curve of my inner thigh. I feel his finger teasing at my entrance, just circling, not pushing in yet.
"Please," I hear myself beg, not even recognizing my own voice—raw and desperate.
I've faked pleasure countless times, manufactured moans and begging to hurry things along. But this—this mindless pleading—is embarrassingly real. I'm not performing now. I couldn't if I tried.
His finger slides inside me at the same moment his tongue flicks rapidly against my clit, and the dual sensations make my legs buckle. Only his arm around my waist keeps me upright as he adds a second finger, stretching me deliciously while his mouth continues its relentless assault.
The tension coils impossibly tighter, a spring wound to the breaking point. When he curls his fingers inside me, finding some spot I didn't even know existed, everything shatters. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me, stealing my breath and vision as my body convulses around his fingers.
I'm barely aware of the sounds I'm making—half-sobbing, half-moaning his name—as he works me through the climax, not stopping until I'm shaking and oversensitive, weakly pushing at his head.
Slowly, Vael rises to his feet, his movements fluid and predatory. His lips glisten with evidence of my pleasure, and the sight sends another aftershock through me. He doesn't wipe his mouth. Instead, he licks his lips slowly, savoring, his eyes never leaving mine.
"You're exquisite when you come apart," he says, voice rough with desire. "I want to see it again. And again."
I'm still trembling, my legs barely supporting me as I lean against the wall. The vulnerability I feel has nothing to do with my nakedness and everything to do with how thoroughly he's dismantled my carefully constructed walls.
And yet, I want more.
His eyes soak me in, his nostrils flaring, and I swear he fucking knows It.
"If I lay you out on that bed," he asks, one finger tracing the line of my collarbone, "will it be because of our arrangement? Or because you want me inside you?"
The question hangs between us, heavy with meaning. He's giving me another chance to be honest—with him and with myself.
I swallow hard, looking up at him. His massive frame towers over me, all hard muscle and sharp angles, yet I don't feel afraid. What I feel is a hunger that has nothing to do with survival and everything to do with wanting.
"I want you," I admit, my voice barely a whisper. "Gods help me, I want you inside me."
Something flares in his eyes—satisfaction, desire, something darker I can't name.
"Say it properly," he demands, his hand sliding up to cup my jaw. "I want to hear you beg for it. Really beg, not the practiced lines you've used on others."
Heat floods my face, both embarrassment and arousal tangling in my chest. I've never had to genuinely beg for anything sexual—it's always been an act, a performance to stroke a man's ego.
But the ache between my legs is real, the emptiness almost painful now that I know what his fingers feel like inside me. And something about the intensity in his gaze makes me reckless with honesty.
"Please," I breathe, my hands sliding up his still-clothed chest. "Please, Vael. I want you in me. I need it."
A growl rumbles through his chest, and he lifts me as if I weigh nothing, carrying me toward the bed. "Much better," he murmurs against my ear. "But I think you can do even better than that."
As he lays me out on the plush bedding, a thought crashes through the haze of my desire. "Wait," I say, pressing a hand against his chest. "I should tell you—I won't get pregnant. I've been taking a tonic for a while. It was the only way I could... protect myself."
Vael pauses, looking down at me with something unreadable in his expression. For a moment, I worry I've broken whatever spell has fallen over us by mentioning the reality of my captivity.
But then his lips curve into that not-quite-smile. "Trinity," he says, my name like a caress on his tongue, "I'm eager to have you either way." His hand slides up my bare thigh, leaving trails of fire in its wake. "Right now, all I care about is making you fall apart around me."
His eyes lock with mine as he shifts back from where he’s laid me, something predatory and possessive in his gaze that sends a fresh wave of heat through me. I've been with many men, but never have I felt so completelyseen—not just my body, but something deeper, as though he's looking straight through to the core of me.
"Don't move," Vael commands, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through my bones.
I nod mutely, watching as he steps back and begins to undress. Each movement is deliberate, unhurried. He doesn't perform or tease—this isn't about putting on a show. It's simply efficient, and somehow that's more arousing than any calculated striptease.
He pulls his shirt over his head, revealing the expanse of his ash-gray chest—broad and sculpted with muscle that ripples as he moves. Dark markings swirl across his skin, following the contours of his body in patterns that seem to shift in the dim light.