Page 22 of Gold & Shadow

“Stop taking your time,” I gasped out, fingers digging into his back as I tried to pull him closer.

“Are you giving me orders now, Little Thief?” he teased, slowing even more. “You seem to need reminding of who is in charge here.”

“Cruel bear,” I gasped, as his hand squeezed my rear on a slow thrust. He didn’t speed up, moving slowly enough to still create friction, but not build it. “Please.”

“There are those manners,” he growled, nipping at my lower lip. “Please what?”

“Please, more,” was all I could get out, my breath hitching as he paused, fully seated inside me. I shuddered around him, feeling like I might die if he didn’t start moving again.

“Put your hands above your head,” Orson growled, refusing to move until I obeyed. He rewarded me with a tiny thrust that made me moan. “Now grip the headboard.”

There was something thrilling about being ordered around by him. I suppose I had been right about wanting to be dominated, at least a little.

The wood behind the bed was slatted, and I wrapped my hands around the bars as Orson pushed the pillows out of the way.

“Good girl,” he said. His head dipped to flick his tongue over a nipple, and I bucked, the words doing terrible things to my self-control. “Stop me if I go too hard.”

“You won’t,” I assured him, gasping in delight as he finally began to move, his body beating a steady rhythm above mine. “You can’t.”

Orson didn’t reply in words, his eyes piercing mine as he pounded into me, his speed increasing slightly with each deep thrust.

Gods, it had not been like this with that human guard. That had been fast and hard, fumbling hands and stolen moments and fleeting pleasure. This was a slow unraveling, a sensual undoing and remaking of who we were into what we would be together. A seduction of body and soul.

Orson kissed me, his tongue sweeping in time with each thrust until I was spiraling again, the building ache between my legs seeking release as I spasmed against him.

He chuckled, releasing my mouth and turning his attention to my neck, my breasts, my shoulders, all while he continued to spear into the deepest parts of me. Where one climax ended, the next began to build, and I wasn’t sure that the intense pleasure of it all was totally normal.

“Orson,” I gasped, releasing the headboard to clasp his face. “I want you to come.”

“I will,” he assured me, his voice a growl as he placed my hands firmly back on the headboard, his hand holding mine in place. I wrapped my legs higher around his waist, feeling the need to hold on with something since my hands were pinned above me. “But I intend to savor this.”

“Oh gods,” I gasped, pleasure unspooling again and again as wave after wave of sensation wracked my body. I wasn’t sure that I wouldn’t split apart at the seams, my body floating away in a mist of sheer bliss.

“You are mine, Kjære,” he said, using that foreign word again. My mind was only partially able to focus, so much of it taken over with pure physical sensation. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I moaned, the feel of him somehow becomingmoreas he thrust into me faster and harder and deeper. “Yours.”

He roared, his face buried in my neck as he came, warmth and pleasure and slick heat unraveling me one final time as we came together.

My body shook around his, the feeling of Orson somehow still hard inside me courtesy of the baculum. He rolled, pulling me into his arms as he cradled me against him, still joined as if he would rather be no place else.

“It will be a minute,” he murmured, kissing my sweaty temple, “before I can withdraw.”

“I don’t mind,” I said, smiling tiredly up at him. “Will you tell me why now?”

“No,” he grinned, tilting his head to capture my lips. “Not until it’s relevant.”

“And when will that be?” I asked, whimpering slightly as he shifted against me, causing his hard length to bump against a sensitive spot inside me,

“Later,” he replied cryptically, peppering kisses along my jaw and down my throat. It was an effective distraction, and I found I stopped caring about the whys and hows of it all as I drifted into a hazy, pleasure induced doze.

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but I startled when Orson moved, shifting me so I was lying on one of his pillows as he went downstairs.

“Where are you—“

He was back before I could finish asking, a washcloth and towel in hand.

“Oh gods,” I grimaced, looking down. “The sheets—“