Dark Skye (Immortals After Dark #15)(77)

His thoughts drifted into her mind: —Her exquisite flesh . . . so delicate. Want to set upon her . . . — When he licked his lips in anticipation, the sight of that pointed tongue made her tremble.

In a barely recognizable voice, he said, “I had my turn in the glade. You’ll have yours now.” His gaze bored into hers. “See that it happens.”

It? Her orgasm? He was telling her in his own way to guide him—because he’d never done this before.

When she gave an unsteady nod, he eased in to press his mouth to one of her thighs. With a tender lick, he told her, “Hold back nothing, Melanthe. . . .”



When he’d sampled her taste on his finger, Thronos had known what forbidden thing he would do. And then for her to suggest it? That she wanted his kiss aroused him like nothing he’d ever imagined.

He could scarcely think past the ache in his shaft. His horns had straightened and were aching along with it.

He knew only two things for certain:

His mate was incomparable, her glistening sex a thing of beauty.

And he was the luckiest male alive.

Yet then he frowned when he felt a stabbing pain low on his torso. He glanced down, spied no matching injury, just old scars.

His pain was forgotten when she rolled her hips, as if to attract his mouth. He gently eased her pink folds apart with his thumbs, riveted by the shadowy dip he uncovered. Her entrance. While he wondered again how he’d ever fit that tiny opening, his shaft jerked, straining for it.

Brows drawn with absorption, he rubbed the dip with his finger, breaching her slick core. Her cream was more slippery than water, and sweet.

The intoxicating taste of his mate.

As his head descended, his sensual female was panting in anticipation, her blue eyes shimmering like metal.

She cried out when he delved his tongue right at her opening. Now that he’d taken her taste into him, he didn’t understand how he’d lived his entire life without it. He licked his lips, shuddered, then set back in with a ravening hunger.

“Oh, ohh!” As she undulated, he followed her sex, piercing that slight dip with the tip of his tongue.

He gazed up to gauge her reaction. Her hands had found her lush breasts and started to squeeze. Her expression was lost. When the breeze blew, she arched her back, her nipples stiffening even more.

He rubbed his palms up her thighs, pressing her legs even wider. As he gave her seeking licks, she thumbed those stiff nipples, the peaks he would soon suckle at his leisure.

His hips had begun rocking, his erection hanging down like a steel rod. The pressure within it surged. Even still, his lips curled against her. Because Melanthe seemed to be going out of her head with pleasure.

He was as well. How could he not when her flaring folds grew ever wetter against his tongue?

Between kisses, he murmured, “Lanthe, I can’t ever go back.”

To life without her. Without sharing this.

She curled one arm under her head like a pillow. Her free hand descended down her flat belly, her palm curving over her mons. Brows drawn, he pulled back, his breaths ragged against her rosy flesh.

She caught his eyes, then grazed the pad of her forefinger over the little bud at the apex of her sex. “If you lick my clitoris like this . . .” She slowly masturbated it, rubbing back and forth as her tongue moistened her lips.

Telling him how she wished to be kissed.

Then her hand wandered back to her chest, to nipples so hard they looked like they throbbed.

He eagerly leaned in, tonguing her clitoris as she’d instructed.

“Yes, Thronos! Just like that,” she cried out, earning herself another slick lash. “Now your finger. Put it back inside me while you kiss.”

He penetrated the gripping heat of her channel, thrusting his finger in and out as he licked.

“Ah! It’s so good!” She reached forward to grasp his horns.

At the contact, he yelled out against her.

She released him as if burned. “Sorry.”

Sorry? The idea of her handling him was unbearably erotic. “Take hold of me again!”

Once she tentatively did, he quaked from her grip, assailed by the same currents that sparked whenever their skin touched. Voice low, he commanded her, “Stroke them while I feast.”

In a wondering tone, she breathed, “Who—are—you?” But she dutifully rubbed her fists, slaying him with pleasure.

Stroking him thus made her even wetter! He growled and lapped. “You like that too.” It wasn’t a question.

“More,” she panted, rubbing him faster.

His light licks grew fiercer. As her little bud swelled for him, he groaned with amazement. Maybe I should . . .

He suckled her clitoris between his lips—

“Oh, my gods!” she screamed, tearing an answering yell from his lungs.

When she bucked for more, he almost came. He started sucking on her bud like a luscious candy, his groans vibrating it.

She went crazy, her head thrashing, her breasts quivering. She made a string of insensible sounds, then managed: “Don’t stop that, Thronos. So close! Oh. OHH!”

Pride. It’s happening.

She ground against his mouth, moaning, “You’re about to make me come . . . so hard . . . for you.”

Her movements—her words—made his shaft jerk, threatening release. He’d just felt her sheath tighten around his finger when she keened with ecstasy; sorcery shot from her eyes and hands, enough to light a night sky.