Page 67 of Feral Born

He held his hands out, and when I took them, he pulled me to my feet. “You’re not relinquishing your control,” he said. He led me over to the counter, to the mirror. “Look at yourself.”

I didn’t want to look. He didn’t order me to do so again. He remained quiet until I forced myself to lift my head and meet my reflection. He wrapped one arm around my waist from behind, the other across my torso between my breasts.

“You are divine, powerful, and in control. Maybe you’ll need me temporarily, but you have my permission, Aura, to use me.”

My breath hitched as he pressed into me, his length hard against my ass. I leaned back into him, trying to commit his words to heart.

“And even if temporarily, until you’re through this, I want you to know that you can trust me.”

“I don’t,” I whispered.

He grinned and dragged his tongue over the back of my neck, sending shivers through me. “We’ll work on that. Until then, I trust you.”

His lips trailed down my back, one vertebra at a time. My stomach swooped beneath his palm, and my legs opened for him as his fingers slid down. I closed my eyes, tuning in to his every touch. To his hand now moving at the juncture of my thighs, his lips grazing the side of my neck. The scent of him, his blood, his heady arousal circulated me, boosting the surge of want. I frantically reached back to tug at his trousers, mumbling “off,” and he grunted a soundless agreement.

I gripped the sink as I writhed against him. I needed more. I needed all of him.

“Aura,” he said. Two simple syllables—my name—but an assessment of my readiness, a request for permission. “There’s one thing you need to know about my anatomy.”

“The knot,” I whispered, my breath ragged.

“Yes, we don’t have to do that if you don’t want to. But I’ll have to pull out.”

He had to have sensed my hesitation, because then his fingers were under my chin, lifting my head. I opened my eyes and looked back to the mirror, one gold iris and one red staring back at me.

“Remember,” he said. “You’re in control.” The kiss against my shoulder blade was tender before he stepped back. I let out a wordless sound of disappointment and spun to face him. When I took his hand, he didn’t move, and I understood. He wanted me to guide him.

My stomach clenched. Painfully. I slipped my hand to the nape of his neck and yanked his mouth to mine. His lips parted, our tongues sweeping against each other as we started to move from the bathroom to the living room. His gaze fell onto the little refuge I’d created of blankets and pillows. A new scent circulated. Pride? “You made a nest,” he said, surprise coating his words.

Before I could comment on it, his lips were on mine again, then down to my collarbone, my breasts. He sank onto the blankets in front of the armchair, tugging me with him onto the floor. But as I started to straddle his waist, he shifted down so that my core hovered right over his face.

“Syl—” I started to say.

His tongue darted out over my clit, and my entire body quaked. I grabbed onto the seat of the chair behind him.

He chuckled before his tongue delved into me, swirling and sucking, and oh my gods! I rode his face as he gripped my thighs. He feasted on me like he was famished, bringing me closer and closer, but my release kept dancing just beyond reach. “Fuck … Sylvan,” I whimpered.

“I know,” he said. “I know.” His tone was so gentle and understanding. A contrast to my mounting frustration. He gave my ass a little slap, an unspoken ask, and then we both moved. With his back against the couch, he pulled me into his lap. I straddled him, my eyes taking in the girth of his cock before my fingers wrapped around it. “Do your worst,” he said.

Bit by bit, I lowered myself onto him. I couldn’t believe this was happening. With Sylvan. Holy fucking gods. We let out a collective sigh when I was fully seated. His eyes fluttered as I rotated my hips, testing the waters, my body adjusting to the thickness of him. “Good?” he asked.

I let out some unrecognizable sound of agreement and churned my hips again.

His fingers moved to the apex of my thighs, but I shook my head. “No touching.”

I wasn’t even sure why I said it, and though his brows lifted in surprise, he nodded his agreement. With my hands now on the chair behind him, I rode him until the wooden legs started to slide. Until Sylvan couldn’t resist putting his hands on me, and I didn’t care if he did.

I thought back to his words. You’re in control. I thought of the selfless moments of attention he’d given me—how he’d worshiped my body with his hands, with his tongue. He couldn’t seem to get enough of me, his touch everywhere all at once, the aroma of his blood, of him.

Pleasure crested over me, drawing a slew of filthy words from his mouth as I drenched his lap.

He lifted me off him, his cock gripped urgently in his hand as he spilled onto my belly with a series of groans. A grin stretched across my face, my hands sliding over his chest, my hips already moving again of their own volition.

Again, something screamed inside me. Again, again, again.

“Breathe,” he said, ironically breathless himself.

I wanted to shout at him not to tell me what to do, but his words weren’t at all controlling.