Claimed by the Zandian (Zandian Brides 6)

“Knowing I might never get to touch you again. Or laugh with you. Or hold our young. And you’re right—it doesn’t matter if the young has my genes or not. What matters is that he’s ours. Yours and mine. What matters is that I want—veck, I need us to be a family. I want to take care of you and make you laugh and give you pleasure.”

When I drop a hand onto his head and lightly run my thumb over his horn, he slides his hand to my backside and squeezes.

“I want to be the one who masters you,” he says in a lower voice. One that promises pleasure.

I fall into him, throwing my arms around his neck and straddling his waist where he kneels.

He chuckles and mouths my neck, his teeth grazing my skin, his tongue just teasing with a few flicks.

Bayla clears her throat from where she and Enya remain a few paces away. “Enya and I will leave you two alone, then,” she calls out. “We’re glad you’re back home safe, Tarek.”

He gives an absent wave.

I tighten my thighs around him, grind down on the bulge of his hardened cock.

“I smell your arousal, little human.”

I squeeze both his horns and he growls in surprise, his cock jumping between us. “I need you, Tarek,” I murmur, my voice husky enough to convey just exactly the way I need him.

“Veck,” he growls and surges to his feet. I continue to squeeze and tug his horns as he walk-runs all the way to my dormitory, where he sits me on the cot and falls to his knees on the floor in front of me.

“Panties off, little human.”

I scramble to obey, my feminine slit already weeping for him. The moment I get them off, he pushes my knees wide and buries his face between my legs. I jerk at the shock of pleasure when his velvety tongue explores my folds. He may not be able to see, but Tarek lets his sense of touch lead the way. His fingers grip tighter on my thighs when I squirm.

I shriek when he finds my clit. “Tarek,” I pant, then remember to work his horns. The moment I touch them again, he speeds up the pace of his tongue, his movements turning frantic.

I lose my mind, squeezing his horns, writhing under his tongue. He screws a thick digit into me and starts to pump it and I mewl, so close to release.

“That’s it, Zina,” he says roughly. “Let me hear your cries. I want to know when it feels good.”

“It feels good! It’s so good.” The words tumble out in a rush. He inserts a second finger and my belly shudders with the contraction of my pelvic floor.

“Yes… please, Tarek.”

“Please, what, little human? Please let you come?”

“Yes!”

He removes his finger and lifts his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Wh-what?” I pant, barely able to think straight.

“I want to come inside you,” he says, rising to his feet and squeezing his erection through his flight pants.

I reach for his tunic and wrap my fist in it, tugging him down on top of me. He chuckles as he falls over me, catching his weight with his arms, kissing me.

“Hurry, Tarek,” I urge, desperate for release.

He laughs again. “You need this, little human?” He frees his erection.

“Yes,” I breathe, reaching for it. I guide him into me and he pushes deep, stretching me wide with his girth. I moan with satisfaction. He feels so good.

“Veck, Zina. How could I ever deny we were made for each other?”

“I don’t know, how could you?”

He plows into me harder. Faster. “I’m going to make it up to you.” His breath grows ragged. “To you and the young.”