Page 100 of Storm of Shadows

He vibrates his thumb over my clit and everything I’ve been holding back, repressing, caging, hiding, comes flooding from somewhere deep down inside me to the surface, electricity, and pleasure, and heavenly sensations racing in my blood and through my limbs and over my skin.

I feel like I’m somewhere else completely, high above the skies, up with the moon and the stars, soaring in the heavens.

“So … fucking … beautiful,” he murmurs as I hang there, suspended.

Then I start to tumble back to earth, my body jolting and bucking as I’m hit by waves of pleasure.

I think he’ll pull his hand away now. Instead, he’s sliding his fingers through my folds and plunging two inside my pussy.

I cry out again, bucking on his fingers, and he fucks me with them, firm and hard. So firm, so hard, I lose control of my senses, my hands leaving the chest of drawers and coming to grip his shoulders instead, my nails sinking into his flesh, wild little noises bubbling in my throat. I rock my hips in desperation, riding his fingers.

I never came when Stanley and I did stuff. He was too impatient and clumsy with his fingers and I’ve never made myself come this way either. I didn’t think it was possible.

It is.

And Beaufort proves it because, within a couple of minutes, I fall apart again.

“See,” he whispers in my ear, withdrawing his fingers from me and bringing them up to his mouth. “See how good it is when you surrender.”

And then he’s sucking all my mess from his fingers.

“Your virgin pussy tastes so good.”

Chapter Forty-Four

Beaufort

One moment there’s bliss swimming all over her face, the next that scowl is back firmly in place.

I thought she’d be purring like a contented little pussycat after those two orgasms I gifted her. Instead, she’s hissing and spitting with her claws out.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she snaps, pushing me away, wiggling down from my chest of drawers and tugging her skirt down her thighs. “And I am not some virgin, so if this is what this is all about, if this is the fetish you shitheads have, you’re looking in the wrong place.”

“Who?” I boom, unable to comprehend why the fuck I care.

I don’t have some fetish. I don’t subscribe to the notion that girls have to be untouched, unclaimed. Hell, it’s usually more fun when the girl knows what she’s doing and I usually don’t care where she gained that insight from.

But her …

The thought of someone else touching her has a rage simmering through my veins.

She is ours. No one else’s.

“None of your fucking business,” she says, attempting to squeeze past me.

I catch her arm.

“Everything about you is my business.”

“No, it’s not,” she snarls through gritted teeth.

I yank her closer.

“You felt how good that was,” I whisper, “that’s because this is meant to be.”

Confusion flickers across her face and for a moment I consider telling her. But how the hell would I explain it? “You are meant to be ours.” I take a deep inhale, attempting to calm myself. I don’t want to argue with her. I want to take her to bed.

“It’s okay that someone touched you before, but no one touches you from now on.”