Warlord Wants Forever - Kresley Cole [29]
“You’ll get no mercy now,” he bit out, his eyes black, his deep voice rumbling almost unrecognizably. He caught her fist when she struck again and squeezed. With her other hand she swiped her claws down his shirt, across his neck, hissing in fury. Lightning came down like a hail of bullets. Somehow he caught her free wrist and turned over on her, pinning her hands above her head.
Just as she tensed to kick her leg straight between his and send him flying forward, he groaned as if in desperation, sinking his teeth deep into her neck. She shuddered and cried out, body going limp beneath him. Her eyes widened in shock as she stared at the lightning above. This wasn’t pain he was giving her.
His bite was ecstasy.
He did it again and again lower on her neck. Each bite, each time his fangs entered her skin was like the thrust of a man inside her. Each time he released her skin was like a slow, measured withdrawal. The pleasure was dizzying. Exquisite agony.
She’d never been defeated before in a contest of two—no man had ever been strong enough. And Myst had an animal need deep inside her for a powerful male—like this one who’d pleasured her, fascinated her—to win. Her mind rebelled, reminding her of what he was. She’d killed the last three she’d blooded. Why not him? He’d planned to torture her in that horrid dungeon, planned to control her with the chain.
But his bite…It made her body demand, growing wetter, feeling empty without him shoved tightly inside her.
Please be strong enough…Please…For once in her life would a man take control?
So she could finally lose it.
When he pinned her wrists with one hand—hard—she arched her back in delight. He used his other to rip open her shirt and bra and bare her breasts. He palmed her flesh, then opened his jeans and freed himself. His huge erection jutted between them, the sack heavy beneath.
Her eyes widened and she fought anew, digging her heels into the ground to scuttle back. Too large for her. Break her in slowly—that’s what he’d said.
His palms landed with a slap on her upper thighs, lifting her pelvis. Her hands loose, she rose up and fought him viciously—scratched, bit, hit—but it was futile. Still clasping her thighs, he used his thumbs to spread her sex, then wrenched her down on his shaft. Yelling brutally as she cried out in pain, he buried himself into her flesh until he was thick and throbbing deep within her.
He’d done it. Myst will want the first man who can defeat her. That’s what they’d always whispered about her.
They’d been right. She’d challenged him and he’d bested her. In her mind, he deserved to claim his prize no matter the consequences.
He stilled, then bent his head to her and dragged his tongue over her nipple as if to soothe her. As if somewhere in his crazed mind, he wanted her to have pleasure.
He set to her other nipple for long moments, then sucked from her neck again. Somehow the bite turned pain to pleasure, helping her body grow slick to accept the invasion. She yanked the remains of his shirt open to sweep her fingers over his splendid chest and that helped as well.
As he slowly withdrew, he groaned, “So wet,” but when he thrust again, she hissed in a breath, eyes watering.
“Wroth, it really hurts,” she whispered.
“Can’t stop,” he bit out. His neck and chest sheened with sweat, the muscles rigid from his effort already.
“T-tell me not to feel pain.”
“Ah, Myst, don’t hurt.” His words were ragged. “I don’t want you to feel pain from this.” Immediately, the pain muted to only a feeling of fullness.
When he drank from her, pulled back his hips and then tentatively thrust, she cried out again. He stiffened. “No, Wroth…it’s good!…Keep going.”
He did. He timed each draw from her neck with the bucking of his hips, and she knew it was over, gave herself up to it, arched her back, arms limp overhead. The lightning whipped up the wind, and it rushed