Page 180 of A Touch of Poison
But, no. This wasn’thim, it was Bastian.
“Stop.”
He did. Instantly.
Lifting his weight onto his hands, he widened his eyes. “Kat? Are you all right? I’m sorry, I—”
“Just”—I caught my breath and gave a reassuring smile—“not like that. Not on my back under you.”
He eased onto his side, not withdrawing but also not touching, leaving me space. “It can be not at all, if you want. We don’t have to do this tonight.”
I stood, and I could breathe again. “I want to.” With my panic subsiding, the need was still as sharp as it had been moments ago.
“Are you sure? We can just—”
“Shut up and show me, Bastian.”
With a low sound of warning, he rose from the bed and strode into me. Without stopping, he lifted me against him, kissing my lips, my jaw, my throat as he carried me across the room, only stopping when my backside landed on a narrow sideboard.
This.Thiswas what I wanted.
Legs around him, I kissed the line of his scar and chased the angle we’d found before when fully clothed, letting his cock slide along me and over my clit. As one, we groaned.
He palmed my breasts and nipped at my throat, tangling me in so many sensations it felt like I was losing my mind.
With the scrap of sanity I had left, I trailed my fingertips along the edges of his ears and smiled as his moan hummed over my skin. “Please,” I breathed into his ear.
He pulled back and caught my hand, pressing it against the wall. “You’re going to finish me before I even begin.”
I bit my lip and shifted my other hand to his cheek, enjoying the scrape of stubble over my palm.
He slid along me once more before pulling away. I made a small sound of complaint before he placed his tip at my entrance.
We paused there, chests heaving, eyes locked.
Despite how huge this moment felt, pulling on every strand of my being, for once in my life, I was not afraid.
“Don’t close your eyes, Katherine,” he murmured. “Keep them on me. This is real.Weare real. I swear it on all that I am.”
Yes. I knew it. Felt it.Believedit.
Then, slowly, slowly, he sank into me. Tension thrummed in every inch of his body, a tightness that told me just how much he was holding back, easing the cool ridge of his piercing inside.
Drawing a shaking breath, I savoured the way my body stretched for him. Like the wild drumming of Calan Mai, my pulse pounded in my chest and throat and around his length.
A question raised his eyebrows, and I nodded. I was fine—more than fine. I could take more. With a low groan, he slid that last inch home.
“Bastian.” I pressed my forehead to his, catching my breath and adjusting to the sensation—the pleasured fullness that was not quite pain.
“You feel…” He shook his head and kissed me. “Incredible. Impossible.”
Gradually, he withdrew, and I whimpered at the contrast of how empty that left me. His piercing sliding out seized my breath, pleasure streaking through me.
He wore a pleased smirk. “You like that?”
I nodded and edged closer, aching to have him back inside me.
“Tell me. I want to hear you.”
