Page 42 of Seared Fates

Like he reached inside, found the soft, gooey centre I try so hard to keep buried, and claimed it as his.

My hand runs down my wet chest as a deep-seated need sparks low in my gut, setting fire to every nerve ending with such sudden intensity my legs shake.

I want Vidar to grab hold of my hips and press my throbbing body to his.

Letting my eyelids drop, I picture his thick arms corded with muscles—inked in tattoos I won’t allow myself to explore—as imaginary Vidar using them to pin me against the slick wall. The hard bulk of his body pressing against mine, letting me know just how very,verybadly he wants me.

There’s no conflict in his gaze—only desire aimed for me alone.

My hand brushes over my navel, my breath quickens and my prick twitches.

‘Little prince making demands again?’

My teeth sink into my bottom lip as Vidar’s voice slips into my mind.

I drop back against the slippery shower wall, hot blood filling my prick and leaving me light-headed. I suck down lungfuls of air, my hand trailing down to finally grasp my aching, hard length with a hiss of pleasure.

‘Tease.’ Fake Vidar whispers. The steam becomes his hot breath as it licks over the sensitive shell of my ear.

My hand glides up and down, thumb playing with my sensitive head, my other palm stroking across my nipples.

“You're the one teasing…” I half whisper, half moan.

‘Still you, little prince, still you.’

I rock my hips into my moving hand, gasping when I take one of my nipples and pinch—hard enough to give me an edge to my pleasure, not enough to hurt.

‘Demand anything of me.’

I toss my head back, balls drawn up. Needing more, needing everything.

‘I’m a conqueror.’

“Vidar!” I scream his name. And God, how good it feels to strip away the strength and let the desire pour out instead of choking it down.

My toes curl. My hand squeezes my prick. My fingers twist until my nipple stings.

‘And I plan to have both those spots as mine.’

Pleasure pumps from my toes to my fucking eyeballs as a whining cry tears from my throat, sharp and raw like fangs sinking in. Ropes of cum shoot from my straining prick and paint the opposite wall. Gasping, my body trembles from the power of my orgasm. My head tossed back to ride out the waves of shuddering sensation.

Which is when the water goes frigid, and I’m screaming for a whole different reason as I scramble out of the shower.

***

I’m jolted awake by a bang and a distant, muffled sound of either rusted hinges or laughter.

The bang wasn’t like a fist against the door.

Or the hollow clank of a pan hitting the ground in the kitchen, but something with weight, and then a fluttering. With my mind addled by sleep, and the darkness so thick I can barely make out my hand on the pillow—one finger curled against my lips—I’m worried that a bird somehow flew into my flat.

With both arms tucked under me, I groan as I pull them out to push my covers off to investigate.

I seize up.

The hand on the pillow isn’t mine.

I shoot back, slamming my head against the wall, and scramble out of bed, kicking at the sheets tangled around my ankles. Every breath is a block of ice trying to squeeze through a pinprick.