Page 35 of Scorched
His cock is still inside me. His hand is still on my throat. His body is still wrapped around mine, massive and hot, his fire magic still pulsing into me in slow, steady waves.
I close my eyes and listen to the blade singing and I don't pull away.
16
IGNUS
She comes before I'm fully inside her.
The third claiming starts the way the first two didn't—with her body already mapped. Her cunt knows my ridges now. Every one of them. The moment the first ridge breaches her she clenches, hard, her inner walls gripping the raised edge with a precision that wasn't there last night. Her body learned me while I knotted her. Her body memorized me while she slept with my cock locked inside her.
I push deeper. The second ridge enters her and she shudders. The third and her mouth opens. The fourth and her hips buck. By the fifth she's gripping the sheets with both fists, her knuckles white, her head thrown back, and she comes—tight, sharp, sudden—her cunt clamping down on half my cock while I'm still pushing in.
I do not stop to let her recover.
I bottom out in one thrust through the spasms. Her cunt is clenching around me in waves and I push through every one of them, the ridges dragging against her convulsing walls. She screams. Not a word. A sound that comes from the bottom of her lungs.
The fire magic is running hotter tonight.
I held back the first night. Not from mercy—from tactical patience. Her body was new to the ridges, new to the heat, new to the fire magic pulsing through my cock into her cunt. I gave her time to adjust. I let her learn the sensation before I pushed it.
Tonight I push it.
The fire magic flares through every ridge. Not the controlled pulse of last night—a sustained burn, building from the base of my cock to the tip, running hotter with every stroke. She can feel the difference. Her eyes go wide and her mouth opens.
"What—what is?—"
"More," I say.
I thrust and the fire magic peaks through the ridges, her back arching off the bed. Her cunt floods with slick—a fresh wave, hot, drenching, her body's answer to the increase in heat. Her legs wrap around my hips and her heels dig into the backs of my thighs.
"I can't—it's too?—"
"You can."
I thrust again. Harder. The fire magic climbing. She comes a second time—or she never stopped from the first—her body bowing, her cunt locked around me, her scream hitting the stone ceiling.
The knotting isdifferent this time.
She asks for it sooner. Not from desperation—from knowing. Her body knows what comes after the head-catch now. She knows the head will swell, the crown thickening against the deepest place inside her. She knows the short strokes that follow, the fire magic ramping, the building pressure that can only be answered by the knot.
She fights the asking anyway.
I can see it in her face—the jaw clenched, the teeth gritted, the pride warring with need. She's on her back beneath me. My cock is buried inside her, the head swollen, catching deep on every withdrawal. The fire magic is pulsing through the ridges in waves that match my heartbeat. She's coming in slow rolling spasms that don't stop between thrusts.
"Ask," I say.
"No." Through her teeth. Her hips rolling up to meet me.
"Ask."
"No."
I slow down and she makes a sound of pure fury. Her hands come to my chest and shove and I don't move. I hold still inside her with the swollen head pressing deep and the fire magic pulsing and I wait.
"I hate you," she says. Her voice breaks.
"Yes. Ask."
