House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(127)

Without separating our mouths, he plunges one finger into my heat, then draws it out. Sore? he rasps into my mind.

No, I choke out.

He soaks another finger inside of me, and a cry flees my lips, breaking our kiss. He must sense it’s a cry of pleasure because, to my absolute delight, he repeats the thrusts several more times. Once his fingers are coated with me, he slicks them over that magical nub.

Open your eyes, mo khrà, so I can see how your heart beats for me.

Through my—eyes? I’m somehow lucid enough to ask, even though my thoughts are as choppy as the waters of Monteluce.

Your pupils dilate when you desire me.

I desire him so much that my pupils must’ve flooded the whites of my eyes. My thought, or perhaps the circumference of those black dots, makes a liquid smile spill across Lore’s mouth and into his eyes.

He slows his caresses, and I pout. Lore, please . . .

Chuckling, he kisses the hinge of my jaw, dips his fingers back inside of me, then spreads the wetness to my hardened bud, rubbing and rolling until an orgasm ripples up my spine and wrenches a sharp gasp from my lungs. It’s so intense that it feels as though I’ve left my body and traveled to the farthest reaches of the universe.

When he begins to caress me again, I almost still his wrist. My flesh is so raw that his fingers feel tipped in talons, but then he slows his ministrations, and the shallow ache turns into renewed need. My fingers sink into his skin at the same time as his sink into me, playing my sensitive flesh with such dexterity that, in seconds, I am swept under again, into that place spun from sugar and sunshine where only Lore and I exist.

The male kisses the slope of my neck as he grips my pants and drags them down. I lift so that he doesn’t feel the need to shred these. Once he’s rolled them off me, and with them, my underwear, he takes his hardened length in his hand and rubs it against my wet folds.

I moan as his silken tip plows between my lips and flicks my orgasm switch. I go off. I’m uncertain which one of us is more startled that I’ve come, but Lore blinks at me while I attempt to locate my heart, which feels as though it has dissolved, because it beats everywhere.

He slams his mouth against mine. I need to be inside of you, Behach ?an.

I need you to be inside of—

With a pump of his hips, he thrusts the whole thing in—every thick centimeter, and Holy Cauldron, there are many, many of those.

I just lay there, stunned. And full. Really, really full. “Were you this big yesterday?”

“I’m quite certain I stopped growing everywhere a few centuries ago.”

“All right, then . . .” When he still hasn’t moved, probably afraid it may crackle my insides, I ask, “Are you planning on playing dead?”

The male blinks at me, and then he laughs, that beautiful booming laughter of his that resonates in every corner of my bedroom and body. When he begins to roll his hips, his length glides in and out of me so smoothly that it feels as though he’s coated in oil.

I’m coated in you.

The wet glide of our skin sets my cheeks ablaze.

Balancing himself on one arm, he slides one hand down my front, over my peaked nipples. When he reaches the hem of my shirt, he rolls it up to reveal my breasts which he gazes at with great fondness. I can tell he hungers to suckle them and it takes everything in him not to take them in his mouth. Someday, Little Bird, I will feast on those pretty pink nipples. He keeps rocking his hips steadily—neither fast nor slow—but rather like a male not pressed for this to end.

His fingers trace the seam of my rib cage before traveling farther. When he reaches my engorged nub, he flicks it, which makes me tighten around him.

Focá. He flicks me again, and again, and my core chokes his cock.

He snarls a series of undecipherable words, quickening the pace of both his thumb and hips. When my muscles clench, and I cry out his name, he groans. And then he glides out of me completely and moves down my body, replacing his hard length with his tongue.

Mórrígan, how I’ve craved kissing your sweet slit all fucking day. He spreads my thighs wide and laps at me, gorging himself on my taste.

My blood burns so hot that my veins feel incinerated, and my lungs, like useless mounds of ash. As he groans against me, savoring the mess between my thighs, my core clenches and fills his mouth anew. He licks until he’s sopped up every last drop, then he rises onto his knees, seizes my hips, and flips me onto my stomach.

He grabs a pillow and props it beneath my stomach, then grips my hips and drags the head of his cock along the crease of my ass. He better not be contemplating sticking it in there. I don’t care what my friends claim. I’m not ready to be gored, especially since Lore’s cock is a forearm, not a dainty finger.

He chuckles, the sound deep and velvety. I promise not to penetrate that hole tonight.

Or any other night. I try to twist my neck to better see him. Or day, for that matter.

I swear to only stretch your ass with your consent, mo khrà.

Unlike earlier, he feeds himself into my core slowly. My body begins to hum as he moves in languid thrusts, because this new angle feels . . . divine. His thumbs squeeze the base of my spine and knead, and Santo Caldrone, I see stars, and not from my window, but on the backs of my lids.

Lore, I moan as the imaginary stars streak across my mind.

Come with me, Behach ?an. His hips set a punishing rhythm, striking me in that sensitive spot over and over until my stomach clenches like a fist and I shout out his name for his entire kingdom to hear.