Falling for the Beast (A Modern Fairy Tale Duet 2)

His shoulders were between her thighs, his head bent, before she could say no. She wanted his cock inside her, filling her up. Only then did she feel complete. Only then did she feel safe, knowing that he wasn’t thinking of anything but this.

“Stop,” she managed to say. Only that. Stop.

He looked up, his expression severe. “You don’t want me to kiss that pretty pussy? You don’t want me to suck your soft skin or lap that little clit? You don’t want me to shove my tongue as far as I can inside you, feeling your inner muscles tighten?”

Her sex clenched at his words. She wanted all of that.

All of him, forever and always.

There was something forced and almost frantic about the way he held her, as if he thought she might disappear. That wasn’t forever. And the way he’d sometimes go away, his eyes dark and opaque, the past almost a living thing in the room—that wasn’t always.

His voice got low. Seductive. “You want me to push my tongue into your slit, fuck you with it? Then I’ll shove two fingers inside—no, three. That’s all it’ll take to hold you still, three fingers inside you. You’ll be so full of me, you won’t be able to move. I wouldn’t have to hold down your hips or your hands, but you still wouldn’t be able to move. Pinned down by three fingers in your pussy. You’d fuck herself on my hand. You wouldn’t be able to stop.”

Her breathing grew heavy. “Blake.”

“That’s right, baby,” he said, and the approving note in his voice made her rock against him, seeking his lips, his tongue. His three fingers. “And while I’m holding you still like that, from the inside out, that’s when I’ll suck on your clit.”

She pressed her heels into the bed, pushing up, begging with her body. All she succeeded in doing was brushing her sex against his chin, and the bristles there made her ache in the best ways. “It hurts inside,” she whispered. “Hurts because you’re not there.”

He chuckled. “Impatient.”

“Always,” she gasped.

“Then you aren’t going to like this.” He bent his head and finally, finally dragged a long slow lick from the bottom to the top of her slit, each millimeter as long as a mile, while she writhed and moaned. “I’m going to take a long time with you tonight. I’m going to spend a long time tasting this pretty pussy, drawing out every drop of that sweet come. I won’t stop until you’re begging me. I won’t stop until you’re crying because you need it that bad.”

&nbs

p; “I’m begging you now,” she moaned.

He pressed a quick kiss to her mound. “Not yet.”

Not enough. “Please.”

His expression was tender but his voice was stern. “Hands above your head, sweetheart. Hold on to your pillow. Don’t let go of it. Whatever you do, don’t let go.”

“Oh God.” She reached up and did as instructed, grasping the sides of the pillow.

Already her body was thrashing against her will, as if she could climb him, as if she could climb the peak—but she couldn’t. He wouldn’t let her until he was good and ready.

If there was one thing the man had most of all, it was patience. He drew out their lovemaking to last hours. They were both sweaty and exhausted by the time he was done. And most of all, incredibly sated. She longed for those nights as much as she feared them. They were more than a sexual act, they were a test, and sometimes it felt like they would break her.

He nibbled at her pussy with his lips and with light touches of his teeth that made her squirm. He spread her wide with his fingers and feasted, leaving no part of her untouched. He bathed her with his tongue until she could only clench and clench at nothing, could only keen in helpless unfulfilled desire.

It might have been minutes or hours or days that he played with her, tasting her and teasing her. Barely brushing her clit and then roaming back down to her slit. He fucked her entrance with his tongue like it was a cock, and it felt somehow sweeter than his cock—but less fulfilling too. She’d never come this way, never come at all, she’d be forever strung up on his tongue and fingers and relentless, bittersweet patience.

Only when she’d come again and again, when her body was wrung out, somehow tighter and more needful after climaxing three times, did he raise his head. She panted on the bed, clinging to the pillow, fabric clenched and sweat-damped in her hands.

“Take me,” she said, her voice soft and broken.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. He’d done that to her. Just like he promised he would.

He pushed up, onto his knees, and for one heartbreaking minute she thought he would leave her like this. His eyes flickered with that distance, that darkness—the same one he had after every one of his nightmares. His broad chest expanded, and his breath came out in a harsh groan of giving in.

He was on her a second later, firm hips pressing her thighs open, chest looming over her, expression hard. His hands were on either side of her shoulders. He didn’t touch himself, didn’t guide himself inside. There was no need for that, not when their bodies fit together like sea and sky, like light and dark. His cock nudged her entrance and slid inside, stretching her walls, filling her up and making her clench down around him.

She gasped out a wordless thanks, gratitude and desire all tangled up in the physical sensation. Even with how long he had licked her, how swollen and ready she was for him, it still felt like a stretch for him to slide all the way inside. A memory made real.

He bent his head. A whisper in her ear, hoarse and hungry, “Come for me. One more time, beautiful. I need to feel it around my cock. I need that hot liquid all around me and trickling down my balls. Can you do that for me?”