As Ahmare tilted her hips and he felt the first brush of his erection over the hot core of her, he knew there was no going back.
Actually, that probably had been true the instant he had sensed her on the far side of the waterfall in his cell.
Some things were inevitable.
Some leaps were taken before you were aware of going over the edge.
Some songs called you too magically.
Except now, he fumbled. Everything leading up to this had been so smooth, as if they had done this a million times before even though it was a first for him on all accounts and obviously something fresh to her. But now he poked around, his cock’s head swelling with every misguided almost-there, the half thrusts of his hips the kind of blind navigation that would get him where they needed him to be only by a stroke of luck.
Pun intended.
Ahmare solved this increasingly urgent problem by reaching between them, just as she had when she’d undone both of their pants. He gasped as her hand touched him, the bolt of electricity so great he saw stars and thought with horror that he’d orgasmed. But no. When the shock cleared, he was still hard and he hadn’t left a mess all over her—
His body knew what do to.
As soon as she made the connection, something took over, his hips thrusting forward and driving him deep into her hold. Dimly, he was aware of a streak across his shoulders, her nails biting into him as she kicked her head back and arched up into his torso with a moan. Taking the back of her head in the palm of his hand so he didn’t knock her out, he meant to go slow—and did nothing of the sort.
Pistoning against the cradle of her hips, he pounded into her, his lips peeling off his descended fangs, the need to bite her a not-right-now for two reasons: One, he hadn’t asked, and she hadn’t offered, but also because he’d have to slow down, maybe stop.
And that was impossible.
With every penetration and each retreat, he was building momentum and she was right there with him, matching his rhythm, mirroring his greed for more, faster, harder, more. Off in the distance, coming at him with lightning speed, was a terminal point of pleasure, and in the back of his mind, he remembered running out of Chalen’s dungeon toward her car, an optical illusion making him believe the vehicle was rushing toward him instead of the other way around—
The intrusion of reality threatened to ground him, like a stake through his chest into the earth below, and he lost his step in the dance with Ahmare, his brain tripping him up, his rhythm off.
He shouldn’t have worried, though.
All he had to do was look down into her eyes, her beautiful, shining eyes, and he was plugged right back into the moment.
She came as their stares found each other, and it was so incredible that this time he slowed because he was savoring the experience, not because he’d lost a connection to it. As pleasure came to her, her face contorted and her body stiffened, and around his erection, he felt her delicious hold tightening and releasing—
“Duran . . . oh, God, Duran.”
No one had ever said his name like that before. And he was captivated by the way she gasped and grabbed onto him, her breath seeming to freeze in her lungs. She was in heaven, and he knew he had put her there, and that was, even more than whatever his body was feeling, the very best part of what was an amazing experience.
He also had no intention of stopping.
As he rolled his hips and stroked her on the inside, she said his name again and moved her hands up to his shoulders, half-moons of sweet sting making him smile because he wanted her to draw blood from him. He wanted her to use him for her own pleasure for the rest of their lives, taking everything he had to give, accepting all parts of him.
As he continued to thrust, so she continued to orgasm. And he concentrated completely on what worked for her. What made her moan. How to go even deeper by gripping the back of one of her knees and cranking her leg up.
He didn’t know what had given him the idea. But it was a stroke of genius going by the way she responded.
Duran knew when she was finally done because the tension left her completely and her hands slipped off his back, falling to the hard floor.
He stopped. And smiled at her exhaustion, peaceful as it was.
Except then she said, “What about you?”
Duran frowned as she focused her glassy eyes on him.
“We need to take care of you, too,” she insisted, her words strung together as if she lacked the strength to differentiate the syllables.
When he still didn’t respond, she reached up and stroked his face; then she lifted her head and pressed her lips to his. As her mouth clung to his, and then her tongue licked inside of him, his own needs rekindled and he realized she was right. He hadn’t orgasmed. He was still rock hard inside of her.
“Come for me,” she said into his mouth.
Then she worked herself against him, recreating the friction that had been the point of all of this. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on being inside of her, on everything that was so slick and tight, on the sensation of heat against heat.
Faster. Harder.
Faster . . .