Page 57 of Shadowed

She wraps her legs around me. Her arms around my neck, her mouth still on mine, kissing me like she's trying to steal something through my teeth. My cock presses against her cunt—slick, swollen, soaked, the heat pouring off her—and the prehensile tip finds her and pushes in mid-kiss and she gasps into my mouth and I swallow the sound.

Her cunt takes me.

The first inch and my eyes close. Scorching—she runs hotter than any omega I've known, hotter than the heat should account for, hotter than anything I've felt in seven centuries of nothing. She's soaked, slick running down her thighs and coating my cock the moment I push in, and the walls of her grip me with that specific clenching pull of an omega body that recognises what's filling it.

My cock adjusts inside her as it sinks deeper—the prehensile curve seeking, rotating, finding the angle without my instruction. Her angle. The one she asked for. The one that makes her vision white.

She makes a sound against my mouth. Not a moan yet. Something smaller—a sharp intake, a stuttered breath—the sound of the angle landing.

She breaks the kiss.

The moan that comes out of her goes straight through me—not just to the base of my cock, not just into the bond. Through my chest. Through my spine. The sound of her undone after three days of fighting it.

I feel her cunt clench around me when she makes it. The walls of her gripping in tight rhythmic pulses. And the feeling of it—fuck. The feeling of her body responding to my cock while she's still furious, still fisting her hand in my hair, still trying to be angry about this—is better than anything the rut has given me yet.

I wrap one hand around her throat. My hand, not the shadow. Pressing the mark.

Her cunt clenches so hard I feel it in my teeth.

"This angle?" My cock curls. Presses. Holds the spot.

"Yes—fuck—yes —"

My wings spread. My shadows flood. The room goes completely dark and she's wrapped around me—her thighs locked at my hips, her weight nothing, her heat everywhere—and my cock is moving on its own, the prehensile tip circling the deep place while her hips roll down to meet it, trying to get more, trying to get deeper, her body answering every adjustment before she decides to answer.

The bond carries her heat straight into my rut. What she feels, I feel—the fullness, the stretch, the grinding pressure at the spot she's been thinking about for three days—and the feedback loop of it nearly takes my knees.

Her pleasure into my rut into her body and back again, building. I want to watch her face but there's no light and I don't need it. I have the bond. I have the sound of her. I have the slickheat of her cunt pulling me deeper every time she clenches and the grip of her thighs at my hips telling me she will not let go.

My control goes completely.

My hips snap up. Hard. The cock driving into her at the angle she asked for and on the first thrust she makes a sound like the air has been knocked out of her and her nails find my back and drag.

I don't stop.

I fuck her standing—her back braced against shadows and wings, my hands on her hips holding her weight and angling her exactly where I want her—and the slick sound of it fills the dark room and her cunt takes every stroke and grips harder on the pull-back and my rut is roaring.

Seven centuries of nothing. And now her. Soaked and furious and begging me not to stop.

She comes in thirty seconds. Her cunt locks around my cock in rolling waves—clenching, releasing, clenching harder—and the grip is tight enough that my vision sparks and my hips drive forward on their own. The sound she makes—raw, guttural, a sobbing grunt ripped from somewhere below language—vibrates through her chest and into mine.

My balls pull tight. My rut surges with the specific savage satisfaction of this: her, coming, on my cock, after three days of pretending she didn't want it.

I don't let her come down.

My shadows find her nipples—pinching, pulling. Her clit, circling. Her throat, the cool collar settling against her pulse.

Her body is still clenching through the first orgasm when the shadow at her clit pushes and the prehensile tip finds the deep place and holds. The second orgasm stacks on the first before she's drawn breath from the last one.

"Don't stop." Crying. Her face pressed into my neck and her thighs shaking around my hips. "Don't you dare stop."

She asked me here. She knocked. She stood in the dark in her fencing voice and told me what she wanted.

And now she's wrapped around me sobbing don't stop and the bond is carrying every pulse of her pleasure into my rut and my cock is moving inside her and she is scorching and soaked and mine.

I carry her to the bed.

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