Page 86 of FoolSilver
A low chuckle against my inner thigh. “You don’t need to stand straight. Lean on me.”
He put his mouth back on me, his tongue finding my clit, circling it, learning the exact pressure that made my thighs shake, the exact rhythm that had me grinding against his face without shame. Then he sealed his lips around it and sucked, and I became nothing but that single point of sensation. He worked me, tongue flicking fast, then slow, then fast again, until my fingernails sank into his shoulder. He didn’t stop, didn’t rush, didn’t give me an inch.
Thenfangs grazedthe peak of my clit.
Oh shit. I hadn’t known he had fangs. Not like Nikolai’s, but fangs all the same.
Pleasure detonated.
It crashed through me like a wave with no floor under it, stealing every last thing I had. I collapsed against him, and he caught me, his arm banding around my hips, holding me through it while his tongue licked into my folds and drank what he’d pulled out of me, thorough and obscenely satisfied, as if this was exactly what he’d wanted all along.
I was a gasping, shaking wreck.
He rose, and his cock pressed thick and granite-hard against my stomach. My greedy pussy clenched with need all over again, already desperate for more, which was frankly embarrassing, given what he’d just done to me.
“Bed, please,” I managed.
“You’ll have the bed.” His hands closed on my hips, moonlight falling across us both. “But not yet. I want to fuck you right here first. I want to see your face with every thrust.” His eyes burned into mine. “I want your vulnerability, Max. I want to watch you fall apart on my cock. And I won’t take it easy on you—I’ve waited centuries for this.”
He hooked my thigh up over his hip, baring me to him, and looked at my pussy like a man surveying something he fully intended to ruin. Hunger twisted his features, his breath turning ragged. The Fae prince, unshakeable, always in control, was coming undone for me.
He rubbed the head of his cock over my pussy first, back and forth, getting himself slick with me. The tease was so good it was almost cruel. I tried to pull him in. He resisted, holding himself right there at my entrance.
“Ask me,” he demanded.
“Please,” I breathed.
“Say my name.”
“Aelindor.Please.”
Watching my face with those burning blue eyes, he pushed in slowly.
The moan that tore from my throat was nothing I recognized, low and broken and loud enough that I was grateful for the ward. Yet nothing had prepared me for this. The stretch, the fullness, the overwhelming fact of his massive cock inside me, filling me inch by slow inch until I didn’t believe I could take any more of him, only to discover that I could. The sensation rolled through me so hard my whole body shuddered with it, pleasure and the bright edge of pain twisted together so tightly I couldn’t tell one from the other.
I whimpered, and he went still, his forehead dropping to mine, his breath cool against my lips.
“Breathe, love,” he murmured. “I have you. I won’t be rough with you. Not the first time.”
I breathed. Made myself loosen, muscle by muscle, surrendering to the stretch, and the sting began to soften into something deeper and hotter. My inner walls molded around him, adjusting to his size. He waited until tension bled out of me, then thrust the rest of the way home.
The sound I made then was obscene, and he hissed, his control visibly fraying at the edges. He dropped his forehead to my shoulder and held there for a moment, buried to the hilt inside me, shaking with the effort of not moving.
“You feel—” The words died. His hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise, like I was the only solid thing in the world and he was drowning.
He fought to go slow, and I could see exactly what it cost him, locked jaw, measured breaths, every muscle in his body pulled tight. His strokes were long and deep and ruthlessly controlled, each one pulling the air out of me, each one finding that place inside that lit up bright and desperate and made my toes curl. He catalogued every reaction—every flinch, every bitten-off moan, every involuntary roll of my hips—and used them to adjust his angle until he found exactly what made my nails rake down his back and my hips slam up to meet him.
He was learning about me. Systematically. Mercilessly. Intending to know my body better than I did before he was done with it.
That was the most intimate part. Not the pleasure, though the pleasure was filthy and extraordinary. Being mapped like that. Being wanted and taken care of, rather than just taken.
He thrust again and again, the wet slap of skin on skin growing louder and more shameless, my blood singing, my whole body burning for more than he was giving me and furious that he still wouldn’t give it.
“Aelindor.” His name came out wrecked, scraped raw. “More.Harder! I won’t break.”
A growl rolled up out of his chest. His control snapped. All at once, no warning.
Slow turned hard. Gentle turned rough and relentless.
