Page 99 of Storm of Shadows

“So damn beautiful,” he murmurs. “You’re so damn beautiful.”

My feeble heart flutters, even though I know a boy like Beaufort says that to every girl. That I’m not the first to fall to my knees in front of him and I won’t be the last.

“You should wear it down all the time.”

My eyes flick up to meet his as I suck him some more, moving my head up and down his shaft, taking him in and out of my mouth.

I’ve never done this before – only caught glimpses of others doing it at the back of the tavern, out in the woods. I don’t know exactly how it works. Yet, the way his silver eyes burn hot, the grunts escaping his throat, the way his fingers tighten in my hair, pulling at my scalp, I know it’s good, that I must be doing something right.

And for the first time, I feel like I’m the one in control. That I am the one with all the power – a power that soars through my body. He’s at my mercy. He’s at my whim. Look what I’ve reduced him to.

“I’m gonna come,” he groans. “Can I come in your mouth, little thrall?”

I wouldn’t have expected a man like Beaufort Lincoln to ask. I hold his gaze in mine, my veins singing with desire.

“Hmmm,” I moan around his cock and then it’s jerking on my tongue, warm liquid hitting the back of my throat. Salty again and earthy.

I choke a little, swallow some, some spilling over my lips and down my chin.

“Shit,” he grunts, “shit that looks so …”

And then he’s dragging me up onto my feet and walking us both backwards, back towards the chest of drawers until my back hits the solid piece of furniture. Then, before I know what’s happening both his hands are on my waist and he’s lifting me to sit on the top of the chest.

“Wh-wh-what are you doing?” I say.

“Returning the favor.”

He opens my legs and steps between them. He’s no longer hard and I can’t understand what he intends to do until his hand is on my leg, stroking the inside of my thigh, making me gasp.

“Hmmm, so soft,” he whispers, stroking higher and higher, impossibly slowly, so slowly I realize I’m holding my breath, waiting.

His fingertips hit the gusset of my panties and I jolt. There’s an electricity in his touch and it’s divine.

I clutch the edge of the chest of drawers, my eyes drifting shut as he leans in, his magic engulfing me, his mouth brushing over the shell of my ear.

“Are you wet?”

His fingers slip inside my panties, along the seam of my pussy lips. My core swoops and a needy pulse beats right there where he’s gliding his fingertips teasingly over me. Touching me.

Except he’s not touching me. I guess I had no concept of what touching really was. Two years ago with Stanley it had been quick fumbles out in the forest, down in the leaves, against a tree. It had been more for him than me. He’d barely touched me.

“So fucking wet,” he groans.

I didn’t know what touching was until Beaufort touches me. His thumb circling my clit, his magic sparking against it.

It feels so good, I cry out, my head falling backward.

I grip the wood more tightly as he circles achingly slowly, slowly and slowly and slowly, a pressure building in my core, my legs beginning to shake, knocking against him.

“Like this,” he says, his mouth on my throat. “Come like this, little thrall. Fall apart for me.”

I bite on my lip, tears pooling in my eyes.

It’s been such a long time, such a long, long time. Nothing in my life has been good or right. I’ve not wanted to, not desired it. And now I want it so badly.

“Pleeeease,” I whine, hating myself for begging but unable to help myself.

“You want a little more, do you?”