She was demanding.
Storme felt the heat that filled her mouth, the spiciness of his kiss sinking into her and the incredible pleasure that began to build from it.
The hormone-laced mating kiss. The tabloids and gossip rags printed stories and articles relating to the suspected phenomenon. Most people didn't believe it. Certain pure blood fanatics swore it was true. There had been rumors among Council soldiers, and Storme vaguely remembered her father and brother discussing something similar.
Personally, Storme had always scoffed at the notion. Now she knew it was true.
As she arched, her body heated, her pussy creaming until she swore she felt the dampness against her thighs.
A desperate moan left her lips as he abandoned the kiss, his lips stroking along her jaw, to the arched column of her neck and then to the hard, tight peaks of her nipples.
Covering a hard bud with his lips and sucking it in, his hands stroked over her arms. His calloused fingertips, slightly rough, traced down her arm, across her hip, along her thighs. His hands were never still, his fingers never caressing her the same way twice, but each stroke fired nerve endings and created a sensitivity to pleasure so intense it took only minutes before she was crying out from the extremity of it.
Her pussy clenched, her juices gathered like thick syrup along the bare flesh of her pussy lips and sensitized her clit to the point that it was pounding with sensation.
Even the air against her flesh was a caress, fired and intensified by the small growls and groans that sounded as if they'd been forced from Styx's chest.
His cock lay against the inside of her leg, thick and so hard it felt like hot iron against her flesh.
As his lips loved over her breasts, suckling first one, then the other of the tight, sensitive nipples, Storme fought the need to grab his head and push him to the sensitive flesh of her thighs.
She needed his kiss there. Needed the stroke of his tongue against her clit, those hungry growls vibrating against it.
Her hips arched, strangled cries tearing from her throat as those heated kisses began to trail down her torso, over her stomach.
Stopping at the flat plane of her midriff, he paid particular attention to her lower stomach, his tongue stroking, his fingers caressing before he moved lower.
Lower.
"Oh God. Styx!"
His tongue swiped through the drenched folds of bare flesh, so hot and wicked she swore she nearly came from the first lick.
But her lover was more diabolical than that.
The Breed known to fulfill every woman's greatest sexual fantasies whispered against the heated, swollen flesh. "Mine!"
His teeth nipped at the tender folds, sending a rush of excited sensation racing along the nerve endings, straight to the sensitive bud of her clit.
Her juices spilled, only to be caught by his sensual, hungry tongue. Her pussy clenched violently as he parted the inner lips, his tongue flicking against the entrance before thrusting inside with a fierce, hard stab.
Her hips came off the bed.
Hard male hands gripped her thighs, holding her in place as he began to fuck her with his tongue, driving her to the brink of release before pulling back then pushing her to the edge once again.
She wanted to scream in need. She would have, but he kept stealing her breath with the pleasure.
She wanted to demand more, demand her orgasm and whatever came with this new, blazing sensation, but she couldn't keep her senses intact enough to force the words to her lips.
Chocolate and cinnamon filled her senses as she pressed against his shoulders with her hands, pressing him back, pushing at him until he lay back for her, his large body a banquet of tastes and sensation for her greedy senses.
Her palms stroked along his chest and his abdomen, her lips moved over his, her tongue licking at his, dipping into the hormone-infused well of pleasure as she tried to straddle his hard body.
She meant to straddle him.
She wanted to. She wanted to ride him until nothing mattered, until all she felt, tasted or knew was the touch of him.
But Styx obviously had other plans.