Page 70 of Wicked Beasts (Lament Princess #1)
Sixty-Nine
W e stay there in my bed for most of the day, tangled in each other’s arms. His embrace feels like a sanctuary, and I find myself with no desire to leave its warmth.
Every so often, our lips meet—some kisses light and teasing, others deeper and full of desire.
But in those moments, he always pulls back just before things get too intense, as if afraid to lose control.
“Don’t pull away from me,” I whisper, tugging him closer. His fingers graze my cheek, gently tracing the curve of my jaw as his warm hazel eyes lock with mine.
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop,” he teases, his lips lightly brushing mine as he tilts his head. I close my eyes, feeling the warmth of his breath against my skin.
“Maybe I don’t want you to.”
Shifting on the bed, he climbs over me.
The silken sheets cling to my skin, their coolness a sharp contrast to the warmth of his longing touch.
As he looms over me, his shadow stretches across the room, blending with the dim light of flickering candles.
A heavy, intoxicating tension fills the air—silent, save for the whisper of his breath.
His eyes, dark and mysterious, pierce through the night, drawing me into a place where nothing exists but the slow, inevitable pull of his presence.
His hands are coarse against my skin, and I feel myself melt into his touch.
They move with purpose, lifting my nightshirt, sliding it over my head to reveal the creamy expanse of my skin.
His fingers dance across my collarbone, kissing every bruise as he traces the delicate curves before dipping lower to cup the swell of my breasts.
He is gentle; a lover .
Tristan leans in, his lips grazing the sensitive flesh above my cleavage, inhaling the intoxicating scent of my growing arousal. He palms my breasts, thumbs teasing the hardening nipples, drawing a gasp from my lips.
He tugs off his sweatshirt, exposing his muscular torso, shadows defining every curve and dip of his chest. He carelessly drops it to the floor as he pushes me down onto the bed, trailing kisses down my body until he positions himself between my legs.
Nudging my thighs apart, he pushes them back toward my chest.
Tristan looks up at me with longing, with desire and adoration, our gazes locking as he presses his tongue against my mound.
My back arches off the bed as his tongue delves deep, his mouth a searing brand against my most intimate place. I thread my fingers through his hair, holding him close, grinding my hips into his face in desperate pursuit of pleasure.
“Yes… Oh God,” I gasp, my voice a ragged moan. “Just like that.”
My body quivers, electrified by the sensation of his lips and tongue working in tandem, coaxing forth waves of ecstasy that crash over me in relentless succession.
I’m lost, drowning in the vortex of my own desire, my mind blanking out everything except the primal urge to ride the crest of bliss until I shatter completely.
“More,” I pant, my nails digging into his scalp. “Give me more. Make me come.”
His tongue swirls around my swollen clit, lapping at the juices that flow freely.
He savors my taste, as if the musky essence fuels his own desire.
Tristan sucks gently, applying just enough pressure to send jolts of electricity racing up my spine, my body bowing off the bed in a silent cry of pleasure.
I know he can feel me pulsing beneath his lips, fluttering around his probing tongue as he drives me closer and closer to the edge.
“That’s it,” he whispers, his voice sending vibrations through my most sensitive area. “Come for me, Miss Amara.”
My world narrows to a pinpoint of white-hot intensity as his skilled mouth works its magic.
The coil of tension within me snaps, sending a wave of pure ecstasy ripping through me, leaving me trembling and spent in its aftermath.
Moans punctuated with jagged breaths escape my lips as I ride out the aftershocks, my body still trembling with the force of my release.
When I finally collapse onto the mattress, panting and exhausted, I feel him plant kisses on my inner thighs before he crawls up my body, claiming my mouth in a deep, passionate kiss.
Tristan deepens it, his tongue tangling with mine in a sensual dance as he savors the taste of my lingering pleasure.
As he breaks away, he rests his forehead against mine.
“You’re exquisite,” he murmurs, his voice rough yet soothing.
He brushes away a stray lock of hair from my face, his fingertips trailing along my jawline.
“I could spend the rest of my life worshipping every inch of you—every curve, every dip, every secret place that makes you moan.” He leans in, his lips brushing the curve of my ear as he whispers, “And I will.” He nuzzles my neck as he undoes his pants. “Let me show you.”
His words send a shudder through me, his promise of devotion igniting a fresh heat between my thighs. I revel in the sensation of his hard length pressing insistently against me, that exciting friction making me squirm with anticipation.
“Show me,” I breathe, tilting my hips invitingly. “ Please .” I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him closer, silently begging him to fill me. My hands roam the contours of his back, mapping the ridges of muscle beneath his skin, as if trying to commit every detail to memory.
I gasp as he groans, sliding deep inside me. He pauses for a moment, as if to savor the sensation of being enveloped, just before he begins to move over me. Tristan kisses and sucks on my throat, one hand moving to knead my breast.
Slowly at first, he withdraws almost fully before plunging back in, burying himself entirely.
He sets a steady rhythm, each thrust measured and deliberate, designed to stroke the embers of my desire into a raging inferno.
Tristan angles his thrusts, hitting that spot deep within me that makes me see stars.
His pace quickens, as if he’s determined to send me over the edge again.
My moans escalate into high pitched cries of pleasure as his expert thrusts awaken a hunger within me. Each stroke of his length sends shockwaves of heated passion coursing through my veins, leaving me breathless and writhing beneath him.
I meet his movements with equal fervor, my hips rising to his downward plunges, creating a sensual symphony of clashing bodies and ragged gasps. My nails dig into his back, scoring his skin as I hold on for dear life, my entire being focusing on the carnal torture of his possession.
“Harder,” I plead, my voice a hoarse whisper. “Please, Mr. Black . Fuck me harder.”
Tristan growls low in his throat, a sound of pure satisfaction, as my plea spurs him on.
He grips my hips, his fingers digging into the softness of my flesh as he increases the force and speed of his thrusts.
The bed creaks beneath us, the headboard slamming against the wall with each powerful drive of his hips.
His relentless pounding brings me to the brink of madness.
My fingers scrabble to grasp the sheets, his arms, my hair, in a desperate attempt to hold on, to anchor myself as sensation grows and overwhelms my senses.
The pleasure is almost unbearable, truly a delicious agony that threatens to consume me.
With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself and I can feel the hot eruption fill me entirely as my own orgasm crashes over me. He collapses on top of me, his weight comforting against my sweat-slicked skin as he nuzzles into the crook of my neck, my body trembling from pleasure.
For a long moment, we simply lay there, basking in the afterglow. Then, with a contented sigh, Tristan rolls to the side, pulling me into his arms. He strokes my hair, his fingers weaving through the damp strands as he gazes into my eyes, his expression soft and adoring.
I nestle into his embrace, my body still humming with the echoes of ecstasy.
I feel cherished, protected, and safe in the warmth of his arms. I lift my hand to graze his cheek with the softness of my touch, marveling at the gentleness of his features, the kindness that shows through even in the aftermath of such raw, primal passion.
My eyes drift shut as I surrender to the tranquility, the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat a lullaby against my ear. In this moment, surrounded by the heat of his body and the security of his arms, there is nowhere else I would rather be.