Page 46 of Claimed By the Mothman (Greymarket Towers #1)

N ell led Sig into the bedroom with slow, deliberate steps. His grip in her hand was too light, like he feared the weight of him might break her.

When she reached the bed, she stopped. Turned. Sig didn’t look at her.

She lifted her hands and cupped his face, gently but firmly turning it so he had no choice but to meet her gaze.

Then she kissed him. Not hungrily. Not yet. A quiet press of mouth to mouth. “Sit,” she whispered.

He obeyed without question, lowering himself to the edge of the bed.

She stepped between his legs. Her hands returned to his face, cradling him like something precious. Her thumbs stroked along the curve of his cheekbones, then up, brushing lightly across the arch of his antennae. One trembled under her touch.

Nell’s hands slipped behind his back, finding the hidden clasps that bound his shirt. As she worked, her fingers brushed the seam where wing met skin.

He shuddered, a tremor that rolled through his whole frame.

She moved to the front and unfastened each button with deliberate care, parting the fabric with the reverence of an archivist unfolding a priceless manuscript. Her palms skimmed his chest, through the fine, downy velvet fuzz, and she leaned in and kissed the hollow of his throat.

Sig’s arms surged up and he crushed her to him like she was the axis that kept his world in orbit. “I was made to witness endings,” he keened quietly. “But I will not survive this.”

She smoothed the soft down atop his head, fingers gentle as breath. “You will,” Nell murmured. “You will survive. For me.”

Gently, she pushed him back slightly, just far enough for her to meet his eyes.

“Lay down, Sig.”

He obeyed without hesitation Still clothed, Nell climbed onto the bed above him. Her thighs bracketed his hips, and she settled her weight over the radiant heat of him. He inhaled sharply, and Nell kissed him—slow, sure, and no longer gentle.

—

Nell hovered above him, her hair falling forward in loose, deliberate chaos. Her dress still clung to her curves, bunched slightly at the hips where she straddled him, and her eyes held a clarity that stripped him bare.

He had seen flames consume. Storms break. Wings tear from bodies. But he had never seen anything as fearsome and devastating as Nell Townsend looking down at him like she meant to love him on purpose .

With a wicked grin, she slid her hands along his chest and stroked the fine, dust-soft down. Every glide of her fingertips lit his nerves, and Sig’s breath pulled from him in short, wrecked bursts.

She leaned in, voice low and coaxing. “Look at you,” she crooned, her hands mapping him. “You’re magnificent.”

His claws twitched against the sheets. He wanted to grasp her and bury his hands in her hair. To hold her hips and beg. But he didn’t move.

She took his hand and brought it to her mouth. Slowly, she slid one long, curved digit between her lips and he couldn’t stop the sound that tore loose from his throat—half-chitter, half-plea.

She slid his finger from her mouth and smiled down at him. “You’re doing so well. Just stay there. Let me love you.”

—

Sig’s eyes were wide and glowing. He looked wrecked, willing, and utterly at her mercy.

So she slid lower. Her hands found the fastenings of his pants and eased the fabric down. He lifted his hips and she peeled the clothing away, down his thighs, past knees and calves, until he lay naked before her.

She kissed his stomach—soft, open-mouthed kisses that mapped the flex of muscle and the shiver beneath—then trailed lower until she reached the juncture of his hips.

His slit quivered with anticipation, and she touched it gently, a feather-light stroke along the edge of the seam.

Gods, she loved this, how he twitched beneath her hands. Loved that she could do this to him, reduce him to a loose heap of need just by touching him.

Her tongue flicked out.

Sig clacked, and one of his claspers jolted forward, caressing the back of her head with sudden, desperate care.

She licked again, slow and coaxing, teasing his trembling edges, and the flesh beneath her lips parted.

He began to emerge, glossy, engorged and flushed.

His breath hitched and her mouth watered.

She gave a small moan and ran her tongue along his full length from base to tip, the ridges rippling across her tongue.

He made a guttural, buzzing chirr that vibrated through her sternum, rattled her teeth, and made her clit throb in fierce, answering need.

“So greedy,” she whispered, voice thick with heat. “You’re shaking for me.”

Then she opened her mouth and sealed around him. His voice cracked into a high, desperate chitter, one claw twisting into the sheets as the clasper at her skull tightened.

“Please,” he choked. “Please—don’t stop—”

Nell moved slowly up and down, working him lips stretched, tongue coaxing.

Her hand stroked the base, honoring what she couldn’t devour.

Sig was panting, his breath threaded with clicks, trills, thrums, like he was unraveling beneath her in every language at once.

She felt his pleasure rising through the bond, and when she felt it spike, as his breathing crested and his hips began to rise…

… she pulled back and sat up.

Sig stared up at her, his chest heaving and his eyes glassy. “You are ruining me,” he rasped.

Nell looked down at him through her lashes and smiled. “Oh, love. I’m just getting started.”

In a slow, unhurried motion, she reached for the hem of her sundress and pulled it over her head.

—

Her spine arched as the cotton whispered away from her skin, and she tossed the dress to the floor.

Then her bra, unclasped with steady fingers and sliding down her arms like a discarded thought.

Nell rose to her knees, hooked her thumbs beneath the waistband of her panties and dragged them down.

Everything was flung to the side until she was settled, completely naked, straddling him.

Sig lifted a hand towards her face, but before he could touch her, she caught his wrist and pressed it back to the bed.

“Beloved,” he breathed. Barely a sound. “Let me touch you.”

“No,” she said, resonance humming behind her words. “It’s not your turn.”

She slid forward, thighs gliding over his abdomen, skin damp with her desire. His cock twitched beneath her—glistening, waiting, hers. She smiled, grasped him firmly, then slowly lowered herself onto him.

He groaned as his ridges vanished into her in slow, agonizing surrender.

Nell’s eyes never left him as she took him in, inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed within her.

She rolled her hips once, twice, in a deliberate grind that made his wings flare with want against the mattress.

His hands shot up without thinking, grasping for her hips like he had to hold something or fall apart.

Nell caught them midair and slammed them back onto the bed, pinning them down with brutal grace. Her hips moved faster now, harder now, almost cruel in their precision.

“No,” she scolded with a smile that didn’t soften the command. “You’re not following instructions.”

A desperate whine caught in his throat. “Beloved—I need— please —let me touch you—”

She shifted atop him with ruthless precision, her movement sharp enough to cut him off mid-breath. “You,” she said—voice low, edged like a blade—“stay.”

She ground against him again, deliberate, punishing. “You watch.”

He forced his hands to stay exactly where she’d pinned them. His whole body trembled with the effort.

Nell slowly lifted her hands, and without breaking eye contact, cupped her breasts and pinchedher nipples between her fingers. She moaned, letting the sound cascade around them, and moved her hips with surgical precision.

His claspers rose before he could stop them, bracing against her back. Nell smiled briefly at the touch, like she was humoring his biological instincts , then clucked her tongue and shook her head.

“Rules are rules, Sig,” she murmured, voice honeyed with threat. “And broken rules deserve punishment.”

She dropped one hand between her thighs, fingers circling her clit in slow, exact strokes. “You’re going to watch,” she instructed, breath catching, “and not touch. And not come.” Her rhythm quickened. “That’s your punishment.”

He whimpered, his claspers twitching wildly against her back as they tried to hold back the instinct to pin her down, flip her over, worship her from the inside out. His wings spasmed against the sheets, fluttering with a restraint that bordered on pain.

Nell threw her head back, her hips rising nearly off him before slamming back down in a rhythm so exact it bordered on cruel, each impact bursting stars behind his eyes. Sig trilled, high and layered, as his claws raked the mattress in the effort not to touch her.

“Don’t you dare come,” she whispered, her voice thick with need. Her fingers worked harder now, tighter circles, slick and frantic. “I haven’t given you permission.”

He sobbed through clenched teeth, and still— still —he didn’t touch her.

Nell moaned as her fingers worked harder, faster, more frantically—until her whole body locked and the noise that tore from her was raw, primal, stripped of language, and she came apart in a rush that stole her breath.

She clenched around him, fluttering and tight, the aftershocks rolling through her so hard he saw nothing but white.

Still she moved, lips parted, skin shining, chasing every last wave until she’d wrung herself dry.

Sig bared his fangs, buzzing with overload as the pulse of her pleasure echoed through the bond.

His body locked, hips straining upward, cock twitching helplessly within her but—no, not coming yet, still obeying her command as the restraint burned through him like it might tear him apart from the inside.

Above him, Nell sighed, as her pace began to slow. She blinked down at him, her gaze dazed and radiant, her face no longer sharp with command but softened with tenderness.

And Sig saw his chance.

—