Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“Oh my goodness,” I cry out, my head going back. I gasp for breath and squeeze my thighs together as electricity flows from my breasts and through the rest of my body, tightening a hot coil in the center of me.
He takes my moans as encouragement and switches between my nipples, biting and sucking, making me squirm and writhe under his touch. His hands trail down my body, squeezing and kneading over my corset until they reach the waistband of my skirt, where he raises it up, bunching it up around my waist, and I’m left in just my stockings, garters, and drawers.
I blush, feeling exposed and vulnerable, but the heat between my legs is impossible to ignore. Crane gets down on the ground and kneels in front of me, his eyes dark with desire as his fingers trace the lace of my undergarments, teasing the slit in the crotch of my drawers where I’m bare underneath.
His gaze flicks up to mine before he leans in and disappears under my skirt. He presses a kiss to my inner thigh. I gasp, my hands scrambling to find something to hold on to as he trails kisses up my thigh, getting closer and closer to the heat that’s pooling between my legs.
Then he pulls his head out from under my skirt, his hand kneading into the tender flesh of my thighs.
“Do you want this?” he asks me, black hair a mess, staring up through his dark lashes.
“Please,” I beg, my voice barely audible. I can feel energy swirling through me, potent and hot, wanting to do magic, waiting impatiently to be released.
“Has anyone ever tasted you like this before?” he asks, his voice dripping with lust.
“No,” I pant. “Never.”
“Good,” he growls and lowers his head between my thighs. His mouth finds my center, and he begins to lap at me with long, slow strokes of his tongue. I moan and arch my back against the wall, the pleasure so intense that I feel like I might burst at any moment.
I can’t believe he’s doing this. That he’s tasting me, savoring me like I’m his last meal. I feel so completely vulnerable and exposed, and yet the fire that’s building in my veins with each pass of his tongue is addicting.
He continues to feast on me, alternating between gentle sucking and teasing flicks of his tongue. My body responds to him like a bucking horse, sending sparks through me with each touch of his lips.
I lose track of time, lost in a world of sensation. His skilled mouth brings me to the brink of orgasm over and over again, but each time, he pulls back, denying me release.
“Please,” I beg again.
I feel him laugh against my wetness, his breath so hot that I fear I might die on my feet from wanting something so badly.
“I love to hear you beg,” he murmurs against me, his voice muffled. “But only I get to decide when. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I gasp.
“Such a good, sweet witch.”
Finally, when I can just about take no more, he plunges his tongue up and inside me, pumping it in and out like a cock, and then I’m teetering over the edge. I cry out his name and surrender to the overwhelming pleasure that washes over me. He continues to work me through my orgasm, prolonging the experience until I am weak and shaking with sensation, almost falling to the ground. The energy my orgasm creates flows through me, and if only I could use my brain for just a moment, I know I could do something with that energy, create something from nothing.
He finally pulls back and looks up at me. I can barely focus on his face, the wild mess of his hair, the way his mouth glistens with my moisture on him.
“You taste like magic,” he murmurs. A look of molten darkness comes over his eyes, and I shiver despite myself. “Now, get on your knees.”
I stare at him in surprise. “What?”
But then he’s grabbing my arm and pulling me down until I land on my knees in the hay. Before I can say anything, he’s moving fast, suddenly behind me, one hand shoving my skirts up to my waist, the other pushing down between my shoulder blades until my chest is pressed against the ground.
“Stay there,” he commands. “And wait for it.”
I hear him walk off into the stable, the hay pressed against my cheek, loose bits of it scattering as I breathe hard, not knowing what he’s about to do.
You can get him to stop, I remind myself. He won’t let you feel unsafe.
But I don’t want him to stop. I like feeling afraid with him, knowing in the end, he’ll still protect me. It’s the best kind of danger, the one I feel my energy feeds on.