Page 6 of Rago

Having purred with contentment, Rago pulled me upwards. His palm slid down to apply blessed pressure just where I needed it.

And not a moment too soon. Simply having some friction there made me sag with relief, but it promised to get better still when he breathed against my lips, “Would you like help with that? Eh, Laahn?”

A pathetic, needy whimper coupled with a hump of my pelvis served as my response.

Rago managed a little chuckle before I quieted him by pushing my tongue into his mouth.

He groaned, letting his free hand roam across my body. It made me resent every item of clothing I wore for robbing me of raw, unveiled sensation.

“Strip me. I want to feel you. I want to feel everything.” The words flew out before I had half a chance to think them through. I hardly recognised myself. How had I become the very definition of wanton and barefaced in the last hour? Something about Rago unshackled this new—and quite thrilling, I had to admit—element of my personality.

Rago, however, didn’t look unhappy with the development. His cock jutted up in an immediate resurrection.

I whistled, impressed by his recovery time. “That a shifter thing?”

“No. A Laahn thing all the way, sir.” Rago flashed me a crooked smirk.

He lifted himself and advanced on me, helping me out of my uniform with such speed and dedication that it resulted in a few tears and buttons flying away. Nothing the garrison tailor couldn’t fix in an hour.

Next thing I knew, I lay exposed, showing off my wares without a shred of my usual self-consciousness.

He stilled above me, staring openly and running his tongue over his teeth like a predator about to dig into his hard-won meal. The guttural, possessive growls he produced spiked up my senses with a new wave of arousal.

I was neither an eyesore nor the god of beauty. Pale skin, stubborn, straw-coloured hair, hazel eyes. Nothing too striking, apart from the two long scars marking my left thigh and a smaller one curled across my abdomen—souvenirs from the ‘kind’ guards at Ghadarra I kept for life. Without being coy, I knew I had a good physique if one liked the slim and compact type. Fencing and running did sculpt muscles in a certain way, and I did enough of both to be in top form. Nonetheless, I’d never seen such tremulous want, such intense awe in the eyes of any of my previous lovers, however few. As for myself, I could say that I hadn’t hungered for anyone with the potency I desired Rago just then.

“Perfect. Beautiful. Mine,” he rasped.

My cheeks sizzled, but I met his green gaze straight on. My hand disappeared into his soft, dark waves and I pulled his head downwards.

Just as he started lowering himself upon me, I caught a fleeting change in the shape of his pupils. They reverted from vertical to round in a moment.

His mouth latched onto mine, his sweet and spicy taste already familiar. And moreish as hell.

The sensitive skin of my jawline and neck tingled under his fervent, lingering kisses.

“It’s almost too much,” he whispered and nuzzled the hollow of my throat and moved onto my chest and nipples, taking me apart with little licks and nips. “Your scent. Your shimmer.”

“My shimmer?” I held onto his shoulders, digging my fingers into his steely muscles. Needing more of him and to be closer still. I’d have crawled right into him if I could.

He gave a wobbly laugh. “You have no idea.”

Unable to speak any longer, I resorted to guiding him by moaning and arching my body with the newly gained flexibility of a snake.

Rago’s hot lips—merciless and untiring—continued their descent. His wet tongue caressed the scar on my stomach, my navel, my groin. Progressing down, where I longed to experience its deft treatment the most.

I was a goner the instant he took me into his mouth. Bloody hell, did he know his way around my cock.

He had me pleading and writhing underneath him with pathetic abandon embarrassingly fast, yet I didn’t care. I felt no shame, just bliss. He was gorgeous and he set my balls on fire—not much beyond that mattered.

“Please,” I panted. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Dear gods, no.” His voice sounded strangled. “There’s nothing I want more. But not like this. Not here. We’ll take our time with that. For now, though…”

I wanted to object, but my protest died when he flipped me onto my side as if I were weightless.

The tip of his damp finger teased me there, just playing around the entrance, pushing in, prodding. Not deep enough. Torturous. Excruciating. Glorious.

I gritted my jaw. “Hurry,” I said. “I won’t last long.”