Page 32 of The Last One Standing (Rogue X Ara #4)

Her gaze flitted to mine, and I could nearly see the war waging: her mind screaming to argue, her body refusing to oblige. Before she could say anything, I lifted the mug to her lips. She started to reach for it, but I clicked my tongue again, blocking her hand with my arm.

“What is it?” she asked before clearing her throat, sitting up straighter with a slight shake of her head.

“A tea from Iaso.” At least, she remembered enough of Iaso to trust her and her remedies—a fact I was only vaguely resentful about.

With an unwavering glare, she let me hold the cup for her as she drank every drop, blood and all. “You’re such a good girl for me.”

She averted her gaze, color rushing to her cheeks.

A grin tugged the corners of my mouth. The tea would help her feel better tomorrow, but my blood in her veins was for me.

It wasn’t enough to truly do anything other than appease my selfish desire; even so, her brows furrowed faintly as she lay back down, absentmindedly running her fingers over my mark on her throat.

After setting the cup on the table, I strolled around the bed, pulling my shirt off.

Her eyes followed my every step until I climbed in beside her, and she quickly averted her attention to the ceiling.

I rolled my eyes and slid an arm under her shoulders to tuck her into my side.

The second she hit my skin, she froze, stiff as a board.

A second later, she sighed and relaxed enough to lay her head on my chest.

She’d been sleeping like this every night; she just hadn’t realized, because I lay down after her and left before she woke.

She always found me in her sleep. It was her mind that forced me away, but this was where she belonged: at my side. She’d come to terms with that eventually.

I expected her to fall asleep quickly, but minutes passed, and her breathing hadn’t turned even, despite lying there with her eyes closed. Quite the opposite, actually. Her breathing grew shallow, her pulse rapid against my skin.

The scent of her desire hadn’t dissipated, either.

She pretended to sleep, so I simply waited to see what she’d do, practically humming to myself, one hand tucked behind my head.

When she slid her hand over my torso, moving lower, I caught her arm with a low chuckle. She peeked up at me through her lashes, and I nearly choked on that laugh.

She was too fucking beautiful for her own good. Hell, for my own good, too.

I wondered how she hadn’t brought the realm to its knees—rather, how it hadn’t simply fallen before her. Men had worshiped for less.

She tugged her arm to slide lower, but I held her in place, refusing an inch.

“No touching, remember?” I asked with a smug smile, lifting a brow, though that wasn’t what stopped me.

I wouldn’t have sex with her like this, drunk with no memories of us—of me. When we fucked, it would be a choice. Not a whim or an impulse.

My thoughts, reasoning, and morals came to a screeching halt when she scoffed and rolled on top of me to straddle my hips, her long hair falling around her.

Fuck, was the only word left in my head as all the blood in my body rushed to my hardening cock.

“No touching.” She nodded, smirking. Her hands blazed a trail up my waist and planted on my chest.

Fuck.

She ground her hips up and down my length, feeling exactly how hard I was, and released a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. “Pity.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

With that, she rolled off me onto her back, and I followed her, bracing a hand on either side of her head. She grinned up at me with a severe overabundance of drunken confidence.

I fell right into her trap, but Goddess be damned, was it a pretty one.

Both of her hands moved, one to my face, skimming over my cheek, my lips, my jaw, my throat.

The other sank beneath the blanket and into her fucking trousers. Her lips parted on a moan, her head tipping back, and the hand on my neck lowered to my favorite part of me: the small circle her teeth had left.

I groaned, clenching my jaw, the scent of her arousal growing thicker, spicier. It suffocated me in all the best ways, and I wanted to satisfy her; the mate bond demanded it.

Every inch of my body screamed to devour her, but I remained, watching, admiring, taut as a fucking bowstring. Truthfully, my self control should be studied, because this was torturous.

When she moved her fingers faster, another moan fell from her, and I groaned again, closing my eyes, lowering to the crook of her neck. “Fuck, I’ve missed that sound.”

My canines extended at the proximity to her throat, the skin so delicate, so breakable.

I skimmed the sharpened pointed over the mate mark, and she sucked in a breath, her body arching off the bed. I could cover her in bites, claim her again and again, and it would never be enough.

“Rogue,” she whimpered.

“Louder,” I whispered. “It’s been too long since I’ve heard you.”

I bit the mark lightly, not enough to break the skin, and she released a breathy moan, her hand pausing its ministrations.

I slid my hand beneath the blanket, into her trousers, and over her hand, her fingers plunged deep. “Don’t stop.”

“P-please.”

I kissed her mate mark, then trailed them up her neck as I moved her hand for her, pulling her fingers out and thrusting them back in, pressing the heel of her palm into her clit.

Her pulse was erratic beneath my lips, her moans growing louder, broken. Just before she came, I jerked her hand out, and her eyes flew open with a cry of frustration. I sat back slowly, pulling the blanket with me, revealing her body inch by inch.

Heat seeped into her already flushed cheeks as I tugged her trousers down, goosebumps spreading over her skin.

She smelled so fucking good, so strong, so overpowering, so mouth watering, I almost lost my will. When I threw her trousers to the floor, I placed a hand on each of her knees and spread them wide, so I could see her.

She was beautiful, soaked and glistening. The instinct to run my tongue over her core was so intense, my fingers dug into her thighs, spreading them as wide as they’d go.

I wanted her.

I needed her.

She plunged two fingers into herself again, moving faster, harder, the heel of her palm circling over her clit, desperate.

“So fucking beautiful,” I murmured as I looped my hands behind her knees and yanked her to the edge of the bed.

Without looking away from her, I dragged a chair closer and sat eye level with her cunt, unbuttoning my own trousers.

When I grabbed her wrist, pulling her fingers from her, she opened her mouth to argue, but froze when I wiped her hand over mine to wet it.

Holding her gaze, I thrust three of her fingers back into her, and she gasped, legs trembling.

She let her head fall back with a whimper as I wrapped a tight hand around my cock, soaked with her desire, moving up and down to match her rhythm.

But it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough, not when she existed.

“Fuck, I need you,” I groaned.

“Have me,” she panted, her movements erratic, hips bucking.

It took every ounce of restraint I had to say, “No.”

She lifted her head to look at me, her cheeks flushed, her hair mussed, breasts heaving with each breath. She offered me a half smile, another moan slipping past her lips, full and red. “No staring, remember?”

Goddess be damned.

She didn’t break away from my gaze as she pulled her fingers out to circle her clit, faster and faster until her head fell back. Her body tensed, arched.

She came with my name on her lips. “Rogue.”

Her voice.

Her fucking voice.

I jerked to my feet and lifted her fingers to my mouth, sucking the taste of her from them. My eyes rolled back—the best fucking thing I’d ever tasted.