Page 46 of Bonded By Stone & Blood

"I know, keep breathing."

I pull back until only the swollen head of me is seated inside her clenching entrance, feeling every ripple and flutter of her walls dragging back across my cock on the withdrawal. Then I drive forward — one long, deep, purposeful stroke — and bury another two inches into her that haven't been reached before. She arches violently and screams. I feel the blunt head of my cock press against the soft resistance at the back of her, the deepest point of her, and I stop there and hold completely still while she convulses around me.

Her inner walls are gripping me in rhythmic, involuntary pulses, her body shuddering close to release just from the fullness alone. Her arousal has soaked the junction of our bodies entirely and every minute shift of my hips causes it to slick further down my shaft and the sensation is catastrophic.

Her eyes are unfocused. Her lips are parted and she is not producing coherent sound anymore, only breath and my name in fragments.

I pull back. Slowly. Torturously. Dragging every inch of my cock back through the soft, strangling grip of her until just the swollen head remains lodged inside her stretched entrance.

Then I bury myself to the hilt.

She screams.

I thrust in again. And again. Each stroke long and deep and deliberate, the slight upward curve of my cock catching the front of her inner wall on every thrust, her slickness easing the passage just enough that the stretch becomes something she is chasing rather than enduring. I feel the moment she crosses that threshold — the moment the fullness stops being overwhelmingand starts being necessary — because her thighs stop shaking with tension and start pulling me in.

My knees weaken. Her soaked, clenching walls gripping me on every withdrawal threatens to dismantle my entire nervous system and I take three steps back until I find the low stone platform in the corner of the chamber and I sit, carefully balancing her across my lap without withdrawing a single inch.

She adjusts. Tests the new angle. Then she laughs — short, breathless, surprised. "This is actually?—"

I lock her nipple between my teeth and bite.

The laugh dies into a scream.

I use the arm around her waist to begin lifting her up and driving her back down the full length of me, this position burying every inch deeper than before, reaching places that make her eyes roll back completely. Her head drops backward, the tendons of her throat standing out visibly as she cries out into the dark ceiling, and the sound travels through me like something structural giving way.

I tighten my grip and continue. Pumping upward into her, pulling back just enough, then filling her completely again.

Then something shifts.

She starts to move on her own.

Tentative at first, a roll of her hips against my upward thrust. Then more confident. She grabs my horns again, both hands, uses them as handles, and rides me.

I go very still.

She doesn't.

She grinds her hips in a slow, devastating circle and then begins to slam downward in a rhythm entirely of her own design, her inner walls gripping my cock with deliberate, crushing tightness on every descent. I growl her name into the valley between her breasts because I can’t hold my head upright.

She looks straight at me and does it harder.

My jaw drops. I say something. I have no idea what it is.

I try to turn my face away. She grabs my horn, holds my head in place, and stares directly into my eyes while she continues to destroy me.

"I want to watch," she says. Breathless. Smiling. Merciless. "Don't hide."

"Sabine—"

She tightens around my cock and whispers my name like a key turning in a lock.

"Let go."

I try to resist.

She grinds down harder, gripping me so tightly I lose the capacity for resistance entirely, and she leans close to my ear and says quietly, "Give me everything. I can take it."

I don't hesitate.