Page 12 of Wicked Chains (Serpentine Academy #2)

Ten

Rose

He responds instantly, his resistance melting away as his arms tighten around me. His hands roam my back, my sides, everywhere he can reach, as he kisses me deeply.

His mouth leaves mine to kiss a trail down my neck, and I melt at the sensation, my head falling back to give him better access. His hands find their way under my shirt again, and I shiver.

"Rose," he murmurs against my throat, my name a reverent prayer on his lips.

I tug at his ghost shirt, which feels as real and present as my own, needing to feel more of him, all of him.

He pulls back just enough to help me, yanking the garment over his head in one quick move.

I slide my hands over his chest, marveling at the contradiction of him, so solid but not warm, here but not alive, at least not in the conventional sense.

He watches me with those haunted eyes as I explore him, his breath hitching when my fingers glide over the hardness of his stomach, dipping lower, and lower.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice thick with need but still careful.

"I've never been more sure," I tell him, and it's true. In a world where everything feels like it’s going to let me down, Drake is the one thing I can hold on to.

His mouth finds mine again, hungrier this time, more urgent. His hands slide under my thighs, lifting me like I’m a feather, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me across the room to where a dusty old sofa sits against the far wall, lowering me onto it gently.

We undress each other with shaking hands, neither of us willing to break contact for too long. Each newly revealed inch of skin is explored, cherished, worshipped. Drake touches me like I'm something fragile and rare, and I know I’m doing the same.

He parts my thighs and sinks to his knees, and his hands grip my hips as he pulls me closer to the edge of the sofa so there’s no universe where I can mistake what he wants to do to me.

His breath is cool over my inner thigh, making the muscles twitch, but it’s nothing compared to the feel of his mouth on me.

Drake licks a slow line up my slit, barely touching at first, just enough for my body to jerk in surprise.

He flattens his tongue against my clit and licks at it, lightly at first, then with increasing pressure.

He’s teasing. I want to squirm, to arch up and into him, but his hands keep me pinned to the couch, spread wide, so he can take his time.

He likes the way I react. That much is obvious.

Every time his tongue circles my clit or dips inside me, he hums, like he’s savoring it, and I can’t help the shivery little sounds that come out of my mouth.

It’s not dignified, but he’s making me feel so good I don’t care about dignity, or pride, or anything except the next wave of pleasure he’s building inside me.

He doesn’t let up, not even when my body tenses, not even when I push up against his face, legs shaking.

He just grips my hips tighter, keeping me exactly where he wants me, and it’s so goddamned good I forget how to breathe.

All the pressure snaps at once and I come hard, crying out his name as my climax crashes through me.

He doesn’t stop, he licks and sucks me through it, slower now.

It takes me a good minute to remember how words work. My head’s spinning, my skin tingling, and Drake’s mouth is still between my thighs, working me through the aftershocks until I’m nothing but nerves and whimpers. My entire body just wants to melt into his hands.

I want to say something sarcastic or clever, anything to cover how completely unraveled and vulnerable I am, but my tongue won’t work and my brain’s still stuck processing holy fuck.

Drake lifts his head and gives me a crooked smile. “You realize,” he says, voice rough and low, “that I could stay down here forever.”

I manage a breathless, “No complaints.”

He finally lets go of my hips, moving his hands up my thighs with a slow, deliberate slide that makes me quiver.

My body is still fluttering, every nerve alive and singing.

I want to stay pinned beneath him, want to let him do absolutely anything he wants to me.

He crawls up over me, and his mouth is on mine again, firm and hard, and I taste myself on his lips, like he wants to make sure I know exactly what he just did to me.

He lines himself up and the blunt head of his cock slides along my wetness, deliberately bumping my clit just enough to make me jolt.

The tease is torture. He drags it back and forth, lazy, right over that so sensitive spot until I’m panting, hips rocking up to chase the pressure.

He wants to see how far he can push me, and honestly, I’m about to lose it if he doesn’t fuck me soon.

“Drake!” I grab at his shoulders. “Stop teasing.”

But he doesn’t stop. He kisses my neck, teeth nipping, while the lewd, wet sound of him rubbing against me is the only sound in the room. God, I am so wet, so ready, I’d let him do anything.

He pulls back. “You want this?”

I look at him, all hollowed-out cheeks and haunted blue eyes, waiting for me to say the word. The blunt head of his cock slips through slick heat one more time and I almost jump out of my skin.

“Yes,” I say, grabbing at his hips. “I want this. I want you.”

He smiles and leans down to kiss me.

Then he pushes into me, the slow invasion burning so good it almost hurts, and I press into it, greedy for every inch.

There’s nothing gentle now, nothing ghostly or floaty, just the pressure of him forcing me open, making me feel everything.

I’m full as he bottoms out and just stays there for a moment, forehead pressed to mine, both of us still and not moving, just for a small moment.

We find our rhythm, slow at first, then harder, faster, the wet sound of our bodies meeting filling the space.

His cock hits something perfect inside me with each thrust, and I can feel walls tighten.

Our skin slides together as he holds my hips, angling me to take him deeper, his eyes never leaving mine even as pleasure threatens to overwhelm us both.

"Rose," he whispers. "My Rose."

And in that moment, I am his. Completely, utterly his. Not because of a blood mark or a magical contract or a coven's claim. But because I choose to be. Because in a world that's determined to take every choice from me, this is one thing I can take for myself.

We come apart together, grabbing at each other like we're drowning. And afterward, he holds me tightly, like he’s never going to let me go.

Our problems still hover at the edges of this moment, but for now, in this forgotten corner, I let myself believe that it’s all going to be okay.

Even though I know I’m lying to myself.