Page 59 of The Drama King

"God, the sounds you make," he growled against my lips, his sandalwood scent wrapping around me until I could barely think. "Do you know how long I've wanted to hear you moan for me?"

His hands were everywhere. Skimming down my sides, pulling at my sweater, finding the bare skin at my waist and making me arch into his touch with a gasp. The mirror behind me was cold against my back as he pressed me against it, his body a wall of heat pinning me in place.

"Dorian," I breathed, my hands fisting in his shirt, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away.

"That's right. Say my name." His mouth found my throat, lips and teeth working the sensitive skin until I was trembling. "Tell me who's making you feel this good."

"You," I gasped as he found that spot just below my ear that made my knees weak. "You are."

His satisfied growl vibrated against my neck, and then his hands were sliding under my sweater, palms warm against my ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts through my bra. The touch sent electricity straight to my core, and I couldn't stop the desperate whimper that escaped.

"So responsive," he murmured, his voice dark with satisfaction. "Your body knows what it needs, doesn't it? Even when your mind tries to fight it."

He wasn't wrong. Every touch, every possessive caress, was making me melt further into him. My nipples were hard peaks against the lace of my bra, my core slick with want, my body betraying every rational thought I'd tried to maintain.

"Please," I whispered, not even sure what I was asking for.

"Please what?" His hands stilled, and I made a sound of protest that made him chuckle darkly. "Use your words, sweetheart. Tell me what you need."

"I need..." The words stuck in my throat, shame and arousal warring within me.

"You need your Alpha to take care of you," he said, his voice silk over steel. "Don't you?"

I nodded frantically, beyond caring about the implications, lost in the heat building between us.

His hands moved to the waistband of my uniform skirt, and I helped him, desperate for more contact, more friction, more of whatever this was that made my entire world narrow to just him and the way he made me feel.

"Look at you," he murmured as his fingers found me through my panties, slick and wanting. "So wet for me already. Your body knows who it belongs to."

The first touch of his fingers against my bare skin made me cry out, my hips bucking into his hand shamelessly. He worked me with skilled precision, thumb circling my clit while his fingers explored, finding every spot that made me gasp and moan.

"That's it," he praised, his free hand tangling in my hair to keep me exactly where he wanted. "Let me hear how good this feels."

I was falling apart in his arms, every stroke of his fingers pushing me higher, closer to an edge I'd never approached with anyone else. The sounds coming from my throat were desperate, needy, completely unlike anything I'd ever made before.

"Dorian, I'm going to—"

"Come for me," he commanded, his voice rough with his own arousal. "Come on my fingers and show me who you belong to."

The orgasm hit me like a tidal wave, pleasure crashing through my body in waves that left me gasping and shaking against him. He held me through it, murmuring praise against my temple as I came apart completely.

"Beautiful," he murmured against my temple, holding me steady as the aftershocks faded. "Absolutely perfect."

But he wasn't done. I could feel his hardness against my hip, could see the hunger still burning in his eyes as he looked down at me.

"My turn," he said, and there was something almost feral in his smile.

His hands were already working his belt, the sound of leather and metal sharp in the small space. I watched, mesmerized, as he freed himself, his cock hard and demanding between us.

"On your knees," he commanded, his voice rough with need.

I sank down without hesitation, the cold floor harsh against my bare knees, looking up at him through my lashes. The position made me feel small, vulnerable, completely at his mercy—and the way his eyes darkened told me he knew exactly what it did to me.

"Open your mouth," he ordered, one hand tangling in my hair to guide me exactly where he wanted.

I parted my lips obediently, letting him slide inside with a low groan of satisfaction. He was thick, demanding, filling my mouth until I could taste nothing but him. His grip in my hair tightened as he began to move, setting a rhythm that left no doubt about who was in control.

"That's it," he praised, his voice strained with pleasure. "Take what I give you."