Page 150 of Spark of Sorcery

“Aren’t you afraid of me, little one?” I whisper to her, watching as the dark night of her pupils swallow up all that lush green and my fangs descend in my mouth.

“No,” she says. “I’m not afraid.”

She reaches out her hand and cups my face, running her palm over my cheek, stroking at my beard, and then, with a little caution, touch my fangs, sliding the pad of her thumb right down the enamel of my tooth to the sharp deadly point. She pricks her thumb against it and I have to breathehard to stop myself from sinking that fang through her delicate skin.

“Sharp,” she whispers. “Do you want to … is that what you want?”

My stomach growls. Yes, I want that so fucking much, but there are other things I want just as much.

“No,” I say, “this is what I want.”

I curl my hand around the back of her skull and the other around her waist and drag her soft, warm body against mine and my mouth against hers.

I kiss her deep and slow and long like a girl ought to be kissed, like I haven’t done in years and years and her hands form fists in my shirt, her mouth moves invitingly against mine and her body presses against me.

I moan into her mouth and slide my hand from her waist, over the curve of her hip and to the rump of her ass. I squeeze it through the material of her T-shirt and pull her even more firmly against me so she’s hard against my stiff erection.

A little whimper bubbles in her throat and she rubs herself against me.

Fuck!

There’s no turning back now, no stepping away from this. I’m in too deep. Nothing could tempt me to step away from her needy kiss and her inviting body.

I slip my hand under the hem of her shirt and brush my fingers against the gusset of her panties. Eros was right. Damp. She’s already wet.

I groan.

My hand travels down to her thigh and I squeeze that too, lifting her leg to curl around me so I can grind against her. She follows my lead, rubbing herself against me, both of us finding pleasure in the friction, lost in the feel ofeach other’s bodies. Mine hard and cold; hers soft and warm.

I move my hand from the back of her head, fingers stroking over her hair and then to her throat. I stroke along the artery that runs there, feeling her pulse dancing against my fingers.

“Shit,” I mutter. She whimpers again and I can’t help but grind myself into her core with more force and more urgency.

We’re standing in the center of her room making out and dry humping like I haven’t done since I was a kid back in Slate Quarter. It’s so innocent, so raw, so different from everything that came later, from all the twisted stuff I did with her.

It’s a relief. Like a rebirth. Like an absolution.

Her mouth falters against mine, her thigh shakes in my hand and her head falls backward.

She’s close.

“Come on, little one, come for me. I’ve waited so fucking long for this.”

I grind my hard cock right along where she needs me most and she falls apart, a long strangled cry rushing from her lips and blood racing to the surface of her skin in beautiful crimson waves.

I can’t help myself, I slip my hand up her thigh, into her panties, and trace along the plush lips of her pussy. Her body shakes in my arms.

“Fox,” she murmurs, right by my ear, her breath hot. “Please.”

And how can I refuse her? I slide my finger right into her cunt. She’s wet and warm and she squeezes around my finger in waves of convulsion. It’s too much. I follow after her, grunting and orgasming like I haven’t done in years.

Free of shame. Free of repulsion. Free of self-loathing.

I’m too lost in her to feel any of that.

My finger still buried in her pussy, I scoop her up with my other arm and carry her backwards to the narrow rickety bed, dropping her down onto the hard mattress and crawling between her legs.

“Think you can do that again, pretty girl?” I say, sliding my finger from her.