Total pages in book: 247
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
I look back over my shoulder and he curls over me, kissing me hard and deep.
He slides the head of his cock into position, then lifts his mouth from mine. “Last chance to change your mind.”
“Never going to happen.” I look into his eyes. “Fuck me. Make love to me. Take me. I don’t care what you call it as long as you get inside me right now.” “Need” isn’t a strong enough word for the way I’m feeling, how desperate I am to hold all of him.
“You can reach the dagger on the dresser if you—” he starts, and I silence him with a kiss. He groans, then takes my hips in his hands and pulls me downward, into the long, rolling thrust that takes me inch by magnificent inch. “Fuck, you feel like home.”
We both cry out when he pushes all the way in. The pressure, the stretch, the depth he’s hitting at this angle are all sublimely perfect. I stop tugging at the shadows at my wrists and grip the back of the chair so I can rock into his next thrust.
He starts a deep, pounding rhythm that’s as merciless as it is exquisite, and every time he returns is better than the last. Thank gods there’s a sound shield on this room, or they’d hear us all the way in the Assembly chamber. We can’t kiss deeply enough, can’t get close enough, and our efforts only serve to bead sweat on our skin. I descend into keening cries as he drives us onward, his breath panting against my lips, one of his hands tangling in my hair while the other pulls me into every snap of his hips.
That spiraling tension is deeper this time, tugging at my power, intertwining pleasure and electricity until the air charges around us. “Xaden,” I whisper. “I need…I need…”
Gods, I don’t even know.
“I’ve got you,” he promises, his voice hoarse. “My power, my body, my soul—it’s all yours.” He slips a hand down my stomach and lightly strokes my hypersensitive clit. “Take whatever you need.”
Just him. That’s all I need, and I have every possible part of him.
I shatter, my hips bucking as the release takes me, hurling me from my body into whatever realm exists beyond, then drowning me in cascading avalanches of pleasure. Lightning strikes again and again, and I catch the scent of smoke before Xaden mutters a curse and shadows fly.
Oh shit.
“Just the desk. It’s fine,” he swears, and I’m absolutely boneless as he plucks me from the chair and flips me so I’m straddling his lap again.
I sink down onto him, watching his eyes slide shut, and I wrap my arms around his neck. “My hands—”
“Not your hands I’m worried about now.” He grits his teeth and reaches to grab hold of the edge of the dresser. That explains the shift in positions. The furniture isn’t the only thing he’s holding on to, either. Sweat coats his brow, his pulse thrums in his throat, and his abs are so rigid against my stomach that he might as well be stone.
“Let go,” I order, rising up on my knees and sinking again, riding him at a faster pace that I know makes him feral.
“Fuck.” He throws his head back, and the muscles of his neck strain. “Violet. Love. I can’t—”
“You can.” My hands move to the sides of his neck, and I drop my forehead to his. “My body. My soul. My power is all right here. You love me. You will never hurt me. Let go, Xaden.” I call on just enough power to hum along my skin, enough to tell him I’m not defenseless in this moment, and then I shamelessly take every ounce of how good this feels and shove it down the bond.
“Oh shit.” His arms tense, and his hips snap once, twice, and on the third, shadow fills the room, plunging us into darkness and sending metal clanging to the ground. He drops his head to my shoulder and groans into my neck as he finds his release. “I love you.”
I sag against his chest, happily limp with exhaustion, and the darkness fades, revealing the room—and the storm raging outside—once more.
“The wood—” he starts, lifting his hands.
I begrudgingly raise my head just so he doesn’t worry us into an early grave and peek over the back of the chair. “Not a mark in sight.” My heart swells.
“Not even a fingerprint?” He tenses beneath me.
“Not one.” I look into his eyes and smile. “You’re stable.”
“For now,” he whispers, but his eyes light up. “And I’ll take it.” He wraps his arms around me and surges to his feet, carrying me along our bed.
“Are we going somewhere?” I hold on even though I know he’s more than capable of carrying me.
“Bathtub,” he says with a devious grin. “Then the dresser. Then the bed.”