Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
He snarls and lifts his head, casting another hot look in my direction. His eyes are flaring with both black and gold, and I remain still, wondering if he’s losing control again. I thought he was back to himself, that touching me was connecting us once more, but maybe he’s still lost in his fever.
He lowers toward my pussy again, watching me, and when I shake my head, his eyes narrow. He studies me for a long moment, as if he can’t figure me out, and then presses his mouth to my thigh, in an almost-kiss.
And that’s not so bad. I relax, glad he’s not going to push the matter.
He kisses my leg again and then tugs on it. I’m a little confused when he pulls my legs together and then begins to kiss along the side and back of my thigh. Where’s he going with this? I realize it a moment later when he rolls me onto my stomach and then puts his hands on my hips and hauls them up.
Oh. He’s going to come into me from behind. I can feel a blush sweeping over my face with the realization, but I’m also excited at the thought. His hand strokes down my spine, and then he caresses my bottom in a way that feels…appreciative. I can’t help but wiggle under his touch, and he growls with appreciation. His thoughts start to cascade again, full of pleasure and dominance and possession.
My Emma, he tells me again.
“No argument here,” I reply, panting. I’m full of anticipation. The nervousness hasn’t gone away, of course—I don’t think it’ll go away until I become more practiced at sex—but it’s being pushed aside by excitement. I want Zohr’s touch. I want to feel his body over mine.
His hand grips my hip and I feel his claws drag ever so lightly against my skin. I moan, and feel his body settle behind mine. His skin still feels scorching against my own, a sign that the fever still rules him. Maybe we shouldn’t be having sex if he’s unwell, but when I try to touch my thoughts to his, I get nothing but chaos and feelings.
“Zohr, should we—”
One big, hot hand moves up and down my bottom and then pushes between my legs. I feel him exploring me with the pads of his fingers, and when he finds my core, he rubs it, then grunts as if how wet I am meets his approval. “Em-mah,” he says again, voice thick, and it gives me goosebumps.
“Right here,” I whisper, fighting the urge to push back against the fingers stroking my core. Claws, I remind myself. No matter how good it would feel to have his fingers inside me…claws.
Mine, he reminds me in his fevered thoughts. Before I can agree, his hand leaves my pussy and he nudges my legs further apart with his thigh. I feel something hard and thick prod against my core and then he pushes inside me in one swift stroke.
I suck in a breath.
At first, I think it hurts. It takes me a moment to realize that what I’m feeling isn’t pain, just a weird sort of tight discomfort, like things are stretched far too tight. I get a strange mental image of the tiny T-shirt I was wearing earlier, and a laugh bubbles out of me.
Zohr groans, and I feel his hand tighten on my hip. He rocks gently against me, as if testing my reaction. His thoughts are no longer wild and savage with emotion, but patient…waiting to see how I feel.
How do I feel? I feel like every nerve ending has sprung to life. I feel like my body has become a bowstring and that if I’m pulled any tighter, I’ll snap. I feel…incredible. I feel alive.
I feel…like he needs to move right about now. I send that thought—no, demand—to him, too.
With a surge of emotion, he grips my hips and thrusts into me.
I gasp, feeling pummeled both by his body and his mind. I’m not used to either one, and both together feels almost overwhelming. My fingers knot in the sheet underneath me, and I’m gasping for air as he pulls back and thrusts into me again, hard. It doesn’t hurt—I think I’m too slick and too aroused for that—but every thrust feels as if it’s pushing so deep I’ll come apart at the seams.
Zohr murmurs my name again, and then he begins a slow and steady rhythm, pumping into me with a stamina I didn’t realize he had right now. His thoughts come to me, even more jumbled than ever, and they feel heavy, as if drowning out my own thoughts. I’m being overwhelmed, not only physically but mentally.
And I still can’t come. I whimper with frustration. Zohr’s thrusts feel good—god, so good—but I’m not any closer to an orgasm. I don’t know what else I need. Maybe I need to touch myself—