Page 218 of Vasmora

Her tight walls stretched around him as he pushed to the first piercing and held himself there. Waiting for that wretched voice to destroy everything.

Silence.

He drew back and pushed to the second. Again, he waited, ignoring Maevyth’s pleasure-filled moan while he listened for the mockery and ridicule. Any moment, he’d hear the general spewing lies in his head, and his muscles tensed as he clutched the blade in his hand, ready to silence her the second she spoke.

Eager little moans distracted him from his thoughts, and he stared down at Maevyth leaning forward against the balustrade, her back arched, breasts jutting forward.

Anxious.

Ready for him.

Zevander exhaled the breath he’d held and ran his finger down the curve of her spine, mesmerized by her. He pushed deeper. Waited. Drew back and pushed again. Waited.

Nothing.

Only the guttural sounds rising from his mate’s throat each time he drove into her.

He shuddered and bit back the urge to laugh. To fucking shout into the void of his mind, rejoicing in the silence there. But he held himself guarded, just the same. After all, when had he ever known intimacy without that voice clawing at his mind?

Zevander drew back and thrusted again, deeper that time. Then again, deeper than the last. He’d lost track of how many piercings he’d pushed inside, his mind too focused on the suffocating pause of breath every time he pulled out.

Surely, the general was waiting. Biding her time.

She had to be. In the height of his pleasure, she’d chide him, remind him that he didn’t deserve it. That he’d never know true ecstasy without her mockery. He’d hear her laughter raking through his thoughts. Feel the phantom touch of her hands. The imagined sting of her teeth.

And yet, that merciless hag remained silent.

“Zevander,” Maevyth breathed, snapping him out of his head. “Wait.”

He stilled inside her and opened his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re whispering.”

Was he? He couldn’t recall having said a word.

“Stay here, with me.” She reached for his wrist, the dagger clutched in his palm, and crossed his arm over her chest. “I’m yours.”

How perfectly she fit against his body, soft curves pressed to hard planes like ribbons across steel. “Mine.” He held her tighter and resumed his thrusts, snaking his palm down her stomach to that sensitive ball of nerves.

As he pushed inside of her again, he loosened his grip just enough to peer down between them. Eight piercings. Gods be damned, she’d nearly taken all of them. “Are you all right? Am I hurting you?”

“No, no pain,” she said with a smile, her hand covering his as he ran his fingers up and down her seam. “Don’t stop. Please—” Her voice cracked when he circled his fingers over her clit.

Another thrust.

Nine piercings.

He watched for blood or any sign of injury as he pulled out. Only the wet glisten of his flesh and the unbearable ache to bury himself inside of her again. The dagger remained clutched in his palm, the blade itching to bite through, but he held it loosely. If Loyce spoke a single word, he’d squeeze the damned thing until it busted in half, if it would silence her again.

Maevyth gripped his arms at either side of her, her body moving against him, meeting his thrusts. As if she wanted him deeper.

He rested his forehead against her shoulder and upped his pace.

Ten piercings. All fucking ten of them.

She cried out, but not in pain. The sound held a smile, her small body trembling and taut, waiting to be plucked like a harp string.

Godsdamn, he needed to hear it. That sweet melody rising up from her chest. A song the heavens would hear.