Page 24 of Saber's Claim
Three words, and I’m gone.
This one is deeper. Harder. It starts at my center and radiates outward until every muscle in my body locks down. I clench around him so tight that his rhythm falters. His guttural, broken groan almost sends me over again.
He carries me to the bed.
I don’t know how his legs work. He’s hard inside me, and I’m still trembling with aftershocks. He crosses the room and lowers me onto the mattress without pulling out. The sheets are cool against my burning skin. He follows me down, his body coveringmine, and the new angle with him above me allows gravity to pull his hips deeper into mine.
He moves. Slower now. Long, dragging strokes that pull him almost all the way out before he sinks back in, and each thrust bottoms out with a pressure that makes my eyes roll upward. He kisses me. His hand tangles in my hair, cradling the back of my head, and the tenderness of it against the filthy rhythm of his hips is so contradictory it makes my chest ache.
I wrap my legs around his waist. Hook my ankles at the small of his back. He groans into my mouth and drives deeper.
I arch off the mattress. “More.”
He gives me more. His pace builds again, and his control erodes with every thrust. His forearms cage my head, and his breath is hot against my neck.
He’s close. The rhythm is losing its precision, going ragged, desperate.
I want him to lose it. I want the President of the Hellborn Kings, the man who controls everything, to lose every shred of composure inside me.
I tighten around him. Deliberately.
He swears against my throat. A broken, filthy string of profanity that sends heat flooding through me. His hips slam forward, fast and erratic.
“Fuck, Shelby!”
He buries himself to the hilt. His body goes rigid above me. Every muscle is locked, every tendon in his neck standing out. His cock pulses inside me while his hips grind against mine.
He comes with a sound that pushes me over one last time. A third orgasm, quieter than the others but deeper, rolling through me in slow, heavy waves while he’s buried in my pussy and trembling.
He collapses. Not all his weight, because he catches himself on one elbow. But enough that I’m pressed into the mattressbeneath him, and the solidity of his body on mine is the safest and best thing I’ve ever known.
We don’t speak. His face is in the curve of my neck, and his breath is slowing, and one hand traces the line of my ribs with a laziness that doesn’t match the man who just fucked me senseless.
He rolls to his side and pulls me with him. My back against his chest, his arm across my waist, his mouth pressed to my shoulder. My head tucks under his chin, and his heartbeat knocks against my spine.
I trace the tattoo on his forearm. A crown, the same one on the patch. My finger follows the lines, and his arm tightens around me.
His phone buzzes on the nightstand.
He doesn’t move.
It buzzes again.
His chin lifts from my shoulder. He reaches over me, picks up the phone, and the screen lights his face blue-white in the dark. I’m watching his jaw. The way it goes from loose to locked in the space between one breath and the next.
He puts the phone back on the nightstand and pulls me closer. His arm tightens across my ribs, no longer lazy.
“What is it?”
“Nothing that can’t wait until later,” he tells me.
But his body has changed. The man pressed against my back two seconds ago was warm and heavy and half-asleep. This man is coiled. His jaw is set, and the arm around me isn’t holding—it’s keeping.
I close my eyes. Press back against his chest. Not because I believe that whatever is wrong can wait until later. Because I want one more minute of this before whatever comes next.
It’s already morning. So I want to keep him here for as long as possible.
His arm tightens more. His mouth finds my shoulder again.
