Page 200 of Vasmora

By the time he returned to his room, Maevyth had fallen asleep. He sat the tray of stew on the table, careful not to clink the dishes, and peeled himself out of his clothes. With slow and deliberate movements, he climbed into the bed behind her and dragged her body closer, needing her warmth and softness to temper his racing thoughts.

Shifting in his arms, she rolled to face him and opened her eyes, the smile on her face tempting a kiss. “Have you come for more pleasure.”

“You’re exhausted. Sleep.”

“Plenty of time to sleep when I die.”

Zevander groaned. “You sound like Rykaia.”

She chuckled, her fingertips drifting down his chest, her touch like a spell summoning his desires. “Or perhaps she sounds like me.”

“That’s a terrifying thought.” He ducked in to kiss her. “I brought you some food.”

“How kind of you to nourish me.” Her tongue danced over his nipple, and his muscles contracted, his body awakening.

Without any prodding on his part, she climbed on top of him, her knees hardly touching the mattress beneath them as she straddled him.

Full breasts tapered to a small waist, where he dragged his palms along her curves, her bare flesh sliding across his stomach, and he twitched. His whole body hardened. The way he wanted her all over again had him digging his fingers into the cheeks of her ass.

Her pale skin damned near glowed in the darkness of the room, beckoning him like a spectral temptation he couldn’t resist. Godsteeth, she was exquisite. A dark fantasy come to life. To his utter fucking delight, she dragged the very tip of her metallic nail down his chest, so delicately that no mark trailed after it.

Shivers wracked his muscles as he imagined those claws tearing into his skin, and Zevander clenched his teeth, the urge to sink into her body gnawing at his self-control. He guided her hips in tiny circles, smearing her arousal over his stomach, and licked his lips, desperate for a taste.

“Grab the headboard, moon witch.” A raw, aching hunger roughened his voice, the urges she’d stirred testing his restraint all over again.

As she scooted toward the pillows, Zevander slipped lower, positioning his face between her thighs. He palmed her ass, guiding her down, and raised his head, dragging his nose over her small patch of curls. Intoxicated by her mouthwatering smell, he dug his fingers into her cheeks, his tongue burning for a taste.

Her thighs flexed around him, and she let out a mewling little sound that roused his appetite, as he dragged his tongue along her soft seam, gathering the delicious nectar she’d worked up. As the scent of citrus and sweet vanilla consumed his senses, Zevander pressed her against his face, sucking her flesh. The tip of his tongue probed the small bud of nerves, and she bucked against him, drawing a smile out of him. Grip tightening, he held her steady as he drew light circles there and flicked his tongue.

Fingers dug into his hair, clawing at his skull, her hips rolling, rocking against his face, while her sensual moans echoed around him.

The sound of her pleasure had him groaning against her flesh while he savored every drop of her.

“I taught you well,” Loyce’s voice chimed in his ear, and Zevander winced, digging his fingers into Maevyth’s plump cheeks. “Your skills in eating pussy are only surpassed by your cock.”

Fuck. He sucked in a breath, eyes screwed shut. Get the fuck out of my head.

“Zevander?” Maevyth breathed as she stilled. “Is everything alright?”

He loosened his grip, breaths grinding out of him, before he tugged her back to his face again, dragging his tongue over her clit.

“She will never appreciate your lust for pain, my love.” Phantom fingers trailed down his skin, tensing his muscles. “Only I can give you what you need.”

He focused on Maevyth’s scent, that delicious citrus flooding his lungs as he breathed her in.

“Don’t ignore me.”

The sharp pierce of a blade struck his groin, and Zevander grunted, smashing his face into Maevyth’s soaked flesh, his muscles trembling with the urge to bite down.

“You’re nothing. Filth. Worthless. A slave who was bred to fuck and nothing more.”

He reached out, patting around for the blade, cold panic sinking into his chest when he couldn’t find it. A flash of silver struck his eyes, as Maevyth reached out for the headboard with her gloved hand.

He pushed at her thighs, urging her back, his movements frantic. Desperate.

Her brows came together, a look of confusion cutting through the drunken intoxication.

“Turn around,” he rasped through a splintering burn that tore across his cock. The pain wasn’t real, he knew that, and yet, he felt it just the same.