Page 141 of Maksym

Her body gathered.

I felt it before she named it: tension pulling through thighs, stomach, hands in my hair. Breath breaking apart. Pleasure rising through the bond like weather over mountains.

“I’m going to—” she gasped. “Maksym, I’m going to—”

“Come,” I said.

She did.

Her orgasm tore through her with a cry that would have brought every guard in the house running if my wards had not sealed the room the moment I entered it. Her pussy clenched around my fingers. Slick heat flooded my tongue. I held her through it, lapping at her gently while she shook, catching every pulse, every sound, every piece of pleasure she had been owed by the universe and denied by lesser men.

When she sagged back, trembling, I kissed my way up her body. Stomach. Ribs. Breast. Throat.

Her eyes were unfocused when I reached her mouth. I kissed her hard enough that she tasted herself on me.

She moaned into it. I nearly lost control. Instead, I drew back and pressed my forehead to hers.

“I want you to bite my neck this time,” I said.

Her eyes cleared by degrees. “Your neck?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know if I’ll do it right.”

“You will.” I brushed her hair away from her face. “Release your venom when you bite. Let instinct help you.”

Her gaze dropped to my throat. Hunger answered desire in her so beautifully; my own fangs ached.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You will not.”

“That seems optimistic.”

“Grace.” I turned my head, offering the side of my neck. “Feed.”

Her breath left her. Then her fangs descended.

The sight of them—small, sharp, mine in the most dangerous way—sent a violent pulse of pleasure through me. She leaned forward, uncertain until her lips touched my skin. Then instinct found her.

She bit on a moan.

Pain flashed, bright and perfect, followed by the cool burn of her venom. I groaned, deep and helpless, one hand locking around her hip. Her mouth sealed to my throat and pulled. My blood entered her, and the bond surged so hard the room seemed to tilt.

I slid my hand between her thighs.

She was wet again, impossibly, beautifully. I thrust two fingers into her while she drank. Her cry vibrated against my neck. Her hips rolled into my palm, clit circling against the heel of my hand with each movement. I pressed harder, giving her something to ride while I pumped my fingers inside her.

“That’s it,” I said, voice rough. “Take what you need.”

She sucked harder. My cock throbbed, trapped and aching beneath silk.

Her body began to tremble again. Faster this time. Less surprised by pleasure, more willing to chase it. She rode my hand while feeding from my neck, hips moving with increasing confidence, little sounds breaking from her throat between swallows.

Then she came again.

A gasped release, sharper and wetter than the first. Her pussy clamped around my fingers. Her body bowed against mine, and for one suspended moment she was all hunger, pleasure, and trust.