Page 59 of Shadowed

He slides down my body.

I know what he's going to do. He did it the first night—dropped to his knees like it cost him nothing. A seven-hundred-year-old Fae prince putting his mouth on a twenty-year-old thief. Fae alphas don't do this. It's beneath them. Servile.

He puts his mouth on me through the mess of his own release and my slick.

His tongue works through it—the dark inky cum mixed with my slick, lapping at me with slow deliberate strokes while his shadows hold my thighs open. His cock—thick and heavy even between knottings—presses against my calf, prehensile, still reaching for me.

I moan. Low, wrecked. His tongue finds my clit through the mess and flattens and presses and my hips buck. I am dripping his release and my slick onto his tongue and the sounds are obscene and I don't care.

"More." Can't keep the fencing voice. Can't keep any voice. "Your mouth—right there—don't —"

He sucks my clit. My back arches. The shadows at my nipples twist and my cunt clenches around nothing and a gush of his release pushes out of me and he laps it up and groans against me. The vibration of the groan against my clit tips me over.

I come with a shriek that scrapes my throat.

He doesn't stop. Second orgasm on his tongue. Sobbing. My hands in his hair. My thighs shaking. The heat demands more than his mouth can give.

I pull him up by his horns.

"Now."

He flips me. My back to his chest. The headboard solid under my hands. His cock pushes up inside me from behind and the angle is different—shorter strokes, the prehensile tip working the front wall in a grinding circular motion that makes my toes curl.

His shadows hold my thighs open. His hands close over mine on the headboard.

I catch our reflection in the window.

His white hair over my brown shoulder. His grey hands on my golden-brown skin. The shadow marks crawling across my collarbones—dark against warm, spreading, alive. My own face—blown pupils, parted lips, flushed and wrecked.

His cock curls inside me and I watch myself come apart in the glass and I don't look away.

I watch my mouth open. Watch my eyes go glassy. Watch his hands tighten over mine and his hips grind up and the shadow-marks spread across my upper arms as the orgasm rolls through me.

I watch and I don't close my eyes. I see the woman in the window—the thief, the killer, the claimed mate with dark marks on her skin and a Fae prince's cock inside her—and I don't look away.

The second knot swells. Heavier. His rut deepening, each round harder. The release is thicker this time—the hot wave filling me past full, the marks flowering across my upper arms in dark patterns. The knot drags another orgasm out of me while I watch my own face in the window.

---

Round three begins when I reach for him.

Not the heat demanding it. Me.

The knot has softened. His cock has slid out of me, trailing warmth. The heat is still there—crouching, waiting—but the surge hasn't hit yet. The window between waves. I could wait. I could let the heat demand it.

I reach back. Pull his hips forward. Say: "Again."

His composure—already fractured—goes to dust.

He turns me around. Takes my face in his hands. Kisses me—slow and thorough and nothing like the angry kiss I gave himearlier. This kiss is careful. This kiss pays attention. His tongue traces my lower lip and his thumbs rest on my cheekbones and his shadows settle around us like a held breath.

Then he lifts me. My legs around his waist. His cock finds me and slides in and his shadows hold us both upright while he fucks me standing, my back against the wall, gravity making the prehensile angle brutal.

The cock curls deep. His hips roll up. Every stroke pushes the air out of my lungs and a grunt out of my mouth. The shadow wraps my throat and squeezes and I am gasping and groaning and my nails are tearing into his shoulders.

He pins my wrists to the wall with shadows. Frees his hands to grip my hips and slam me down onto his cock and the force of it rips a scream out of me. His mouth finds my nipple—teeth, tongue, biting and sucking while his cock drives up into me and the dark collar at my pulse tightens.

"Yours." I don't mean to. It falls out of my mouth between thrusts like something shaken loose. "Yours, yours, I'm —"