Page 20 of Beneath the Desert Bloom (Of Beasts and Bloom #1)

SHE SAT ON top of him like she belonged there. Like she'd never belonged anywhere else.

Her skin gleamed in the low desert light.

Her thighs straddled his hips, her palms pressed to the broad plane of his chest, and her pulse thrummed so loudly she swore he could hear it echoing in her ribs.

She could feel every ridge of his monstrous body beneath her—the bark-like texture, the ancient scars that mapped the impossible shape of him.

Every shift of him trying not to move too fast, too soon.

Nora wasn’t used to this.

This much focus. This much stillness. This kind of silence that felt like worship.

She leaned forward, her hands mapping his chest, fingers tracing the deep grooves that felt more like living wood than skin. The desert had carved this man—or whatever he was—out of storm and stone and solitude. And somehow, he was here, under her hands, barely breathing.

His erection pressed hard beneath her, hot and unyielding even through the thin fabric of his loincloth, if that’s what it was. She didn’t know. She didn’t care. All she knew was that he was huge, and he hadn’t moved an inch.

“Of course you’re ridiculous,” she thought, her mouth twitching despite the slow, molten pull in her belly. “Of course you’re built like a tree trunk.”

She shifted her hips forward, just slightly, dragging the slick ache of her center across the thick, inhuman ridge of him. The size of it made her gasp. Too big, too solid, and exactly what her body had started to crave in her sleep.

His hands clutched her hips, tight, trembling.

She smiled. Sharp. Breathless. A little cruel.

But then his fingers tightened just a little more, and he looked up at her with something in his eyes she hadn’t expected.

Restraint, yes.

But also awe, like she was the unexplainable thing.

“You don’t want me to move?” she teased, voice low, husky, pushing her hips again, slower this time. “Because I want to.”

His jaw flexed. His breath came hard.

And then he exhaled like a man falling apart.

“No,” he said, voice rough, deep, vibrating through her bones. “Not yet.”

Before she could answer, before she could even smirk—he moved.

Fast, but gentle, he reversed their positions in one smooth motion that didn’t feel possible. One second she was teasing him, and the next she was flat on her back on the warm floor, his body towering over hers, a wall of heat and muscle and ancient, monstrous weight.

“You burn in me,” he said, eyes wild. “I came to give it back.”

She didn’t have time to answer before he began to kiss his way down her body, maddeningly slow. He started at her neck, dragging his mouth along the sensitive curve beneath her jaw, then across her collarbone, leaving a trail of heat that made her thighs clench.

Her breath hitched. Her hands buried themselves in his wild, thick hair, and she tugged gently, wordlessly giving him yes.

His tongue grazed the swell of her breast. Then again, lower, licking a slow circle around her nipple until it peaked. He sucked her into his mouth and groaned low in his throat like she was the one unmaking him.

Nora moaned. Loud. Unguarded.

She was already wet, already throbbing, already so close she wanted to scream. But he kept going. Kept tasting. Worshipping.

When he reached her stomach, she was panting.

When he reached her hips, she was shaking.

And when he settled between her thighs and looked up at her—eyes burning, mouth damp, hair wild—she forgot how to breathe.

And then his mouth was on her.

Hot, slow, relentless.

His tongue slid through her like he’d been waiting forever to taste her again. Like he was memorizing every shiver, every ragged breath. The heat of his mouth was almost too much, but she couldn’t stop moving against him, couldn’t stop the way her hips rocked to meet every flick of his tongue.

One of his arms curled under her thigh, anchoring her open. The other slid up her torso and found her hand.

He laced their fingers.

Held tight.

And devoured her.

Nora cried out, her body arching. The way he sucked her clit into his mouth—soft at first, then harder, then soft again—made her legs tremble. She rocked against him, gasping, lost in the dizzy, raw ache.

The tip of his tongue circled her entrance, teasing.

Then slid in.

Slow. Deep.

She felt the size of him even in his mouth, like he was made to fill every part of her. Her body pulsed around him, every nerve lit up with impossible pleasure.

Then his mouth left her, just long enough for her to register the loss, to whimper—

—and his fingers replaced it.

One at first. Thick. Ridged. Other.

She cried out again.

It wasn’t just the stretch. It was the texture. The way his skin wasn’t skin. The way the bark-like ridges caught against the softest parts of her. The way her body welcomed it and still didn’t know how to handle it.

He moved slowly, pumping once, twice, curling slightly, finding the place that made her sob.

Then—another.

Two fingers now.

Thicker than anything she’d ever taken. Hot and textured like the desert had shaped them from root and stone. They filled her in a way that made her whole body jerk.

She spread her legs wider, breath shuddering, hands scrabbling for something to hold onto.

His mouth returned to her clit.

Soft again. Then hard.

The ridges inside her rubbed perfectly with the rhythm of his tongue.

Her cunt clenched. Her thighs trembled.

She came with a sound that didn’t belong to language—just wind, and want, and everything she’d been holding in for weeks.

And he didn’t stop.

His mouth moved slower now, circling her clit with aching tenderness, lapping at the wetness he’d coaxed from her. His fingers stilled, buried deep, pulsing faintly inside her with each wave of her release. She was shaking. Glowing. Open.

But not finished.

Her breath hitched on the inhale.

Then again.

“Please,” she gasped. “Don’t—don’t stop. I can take more.”

He lifted his head slightly, just enough to see her eyes—wet, dazed, wide.

Then his fingers moved again.

Slow, dragging thrusts, thick and slick and unrelenting. Each withdrawal made her twitch. Each return made her groan. She clenched around him, her body desperate to pull him deeper, to hold on.

He lowered his mouth again.

Sucked her clit between his lips.

She screamed.

Her legs clamped around his shoulders. Her hands clawed at the floor beneath her, hips rolling helplessly against his mouth. The pleasure was too much. Too deep.

His fingers curled.

Found that place again.

Rubbed, pressed, stayed.

“Asher—oh fuck—”

She felt her orgasm build again, fast and wild, like the first had just cleared the path for something even bigger. Her cunt fluttered, then tightened, harder than before. Her thighs trembled. Her whole body arched like the land beneath her had shifted.

“Don’t stop,” she sobbed. “Please don’t stop—don’t—”

She shattered again.

It tore through her like a wave cresting stone. Her vision blurred. Her body shook. Her breath scattered into gasps, whimpers, the broken syllables of his name.

His fingers stayed deep. His mouth stayed soft. He held her there, riding the rhythm of her collapse.

When she could breathe again, she was glowing. Thighs slick, mouth open, muscles limp and buzzing with light.

And still, her body ached.

Still, she wanted more.

Not just fingers. Not just tongue.

“I want you,” she whispered. “All of you. Inside me.”

Nora was still trembling when he pulled back, his mouth wet with her, his breath unsteady.

But his eyes were soft now. And afraid.

He looked at her—at her glowing skin, at the shimmer rising from her breath—and his brow furrowed. Like he wanted this more than anything. And like he was terrified of what it might do to her.

She touched his jaw, firm and quiet. “Don’t look at me like I’m breaking.”

He swallowed. “You’re… changing,” he rasped.

She felt it too. The desert humming in her blood. Her skin lit from within, like she’d swallowed moonlight and it was fighting to get out.

And she didn’t care.

“I want this,” she said, fierce and sure. “I want you.”

He stared at her like she was the first thing the land had ever given back.

A beat passed, his breath caught.

“Then let the desert keep us,” he whispered.

The last thread of his control snapped.

He surged up to kiss her, harder now, hungry and unashamed, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close.

When he shifted his hips forward, she felt the blunt head of him press against the pulse of wet heat between her legs.

She gasped.

The sheer size, the weight, the ridges, the impossible shape of something never meant to fit inside a human body, made her thighs shake.

And still, her body opened for him.

He paused, trembling, forehead resting against hers like he was waiting for a final truth.

She gave it.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “I want all of you.”

He groaned.

Then he pushed in.

Slow. Deep. Unforgiving.

She felt every inch as her body opened to take him.

It burned. It ached.

It shattered her.

He was huge. Too much. Perfect.

Her back arched as the pressure built, too wide, too deep. But she didn’t stop him. She wanted more. Needed it.

His cock dragged against her walls with every motion, textured like the desert itself, built for this, for her, for the inside of her body.

He bottomed out.

She sobbed.

He stilled, arms shaking, forehead pressed to her shoulder. “I don’t want to lose you to the land,” he whispered. “To me.”

She cupped his face, kissed him soft. “You won’t.”

Then he moved.

Each thrust was deliberate. Devastating.

The stretch of him inside her—inhuman, ridged, pulsing with impossible life—made her cry out, legs wrapped tight around his waist. Her nails dragged across his shoulders. She wanted every inch, every texture, every impossible part of him inside her.

And she had it.

“Nora,” he gasped. “It’s like the desert made you for this. For me.”

Her laugh cracked into a moan. “Maybe it did.”

And she meant it.