While my body is still shaking from the aftershocks, Basten sits up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. I try not to think about his godkiss. How intensely he must perceive my scent, my taste. His eyes are heavy as he gazes down at my quivering body, and there’s an edge of darkness there. The hint of violence I know he craves because it’s all he’s known. But he promised he’d go slowly for my first time, and his hands are tender as he wrenches my legs back apart, staring down at my cunt.
“You’re slick as melting ice. Are you ready for me? Do you want me? Say it.” His fingers tease the poor, oversensitive bud that’s still throbbing from what he’s already done to it.
“I want you,” I breathe.
He removes the towel around his waist. His cock is thick, heavy. Enormous. It juts out with a readiness that makes my inhale stall in my throat. That is supposed to fit inside me? Fuck the gods. He’s going to split me apart with that massive tool.
“Go ahead,” he commands. “Touch it. Take me in your hand.”
I hesitate. My trembling fingers graze the smooth tip, where a pearlescent drop glistens. His cock is smoother than I expected. It strains into my palm with throbbing urgency.
He briefly closes his eyes, and I realize how much my touch pleases him. It gives me a strange feeling of power to know I can put that look on his face.
“Kiss it,” he barks.
Is he serious? These are the things described in Immortal Alyssantha’s chapters, things I wasn’t sure anyone but the debauched fae gods did. But one look at Basten’s hooded eyelids confirms it: Oh, yes. He’s deadly serious.
With shaking lips, I gently kiss his cock’s tip. It tastes salty, not as bad as I’d feared.
He groans as he pushes me down to the blanket again, leans over me, then wraps his hand around his cock to line it up with my entrance.
“I’ll go slow. Don’t be afraid.”
He holds me like a fragile doll as he presses the tip of his cock against my center. It enters an inch, pushing me apart with its stiff insistence. I can’t describe what it feels like. Like . . . like pleasure and pain, a thorn and a rose, fire and ice. Basten pushes inside another inch, pausing there, giving my body time to adjust to his enormous size.
“Gods, you feel good,” he mutters. “So fucking tight.”
His muscles are twitching. Sweat drips down his chest. He’s straining not to thrust all the way into me like I know he wants. He pushes in another inch as my body gushes desire, stretching to make room for him. Once he’s halfway in, he starts moving in slow, shallow thrusts. Each thrust lets him enter a little further, and my hips begin to roll in a matching rhythm.
“Keep moving your hips like that . . . that’s it. That’s fucking it. You’re so tight.”
With a groan, he sinks all the way into me. It’s so deep that I gag, my eyes bulging, unable to believe how far he can reach inside me. His balls slap gently against my ass as he pulls out, then slides back in.
“Does that feel good?” he asks wickedly. “Do you like it?”
I give a shaky nod, not trusting myself to think. Words? What are those? All I am is a ball of dry tinder, ready to combust. He grabs my ass cheek to get a better hold, and thrusts faster, riding me harder.
“You take it so well, little violet. You’re so wet for me.”
His words drip over me like honey. It feels good to hear the praise. I’ve fought so long. To survive, to defy my surroundings. I’m tired of fighting. I want to be possessed, used, taken care of, stuffed with pleasure.
The pressure builds until I’m keening, and I choke, “I don’t think I can take any more.”
“Oh, you can take it.” His strokes are long and deep, spearing me.
I feel the lightning and thunder coming again. I tip my head back, trying not to fight the rising storm. My body twitches in a thousand different places, and then all at once, comes together in one shattering clap. I cry out. Pleasure drenches me like I’m under the waterfall, being pounded by the full force of nature. This time, the wave is stronger, claiming my body in tight little pulses that go on and on until I’m flying.
With a masculine groan, Basten thrusts into me one final time. The deepest yet, so deep I feel his cock inside near my navel. It throbs and pulses in my swollen core. He stays buried in me for a few breaths, wringing the last morsels out of our pleasure.
When he finally pulls out, his hot seed seeps down my inner thighs. Dear gods—it’s pure wickedness. He drags me into his lap, and wraps the blanket around my quivering body, holding me in the thick walls of his arms, I wrap my arms around his chest, my face pressed to his godkissed birthmark.
We’re spent. Both of us.
I don’t know who falls asleep first, but neither of us lets the other go.
Chapter 22
Wolf
She’s so fucking pretty I can’t rip my eyes off her. The dying firelight paints fingers of light on her. Why sleep, when she’s in the waking world? I never want to fall asleep again.
My cock is hard, aching to take her again as I remember how it felt to push inside her tight pussy to claim her virginity. It’s never been something that matters to me, unlike some other men. I don’t get off on the idea of an untouched pussy, but the idea that my cock will be the first and last one Sabine takes is so satisfying that my balls tighten.
I could fist my own cock right here while I watch her sleep. She’s mine now—no one else’s. I can touch her however I want, in whatever way feels good to her. I’d crawl through any battlefield to hear her whimper again like she did when she came.
She has her back to me, her perfect little ass pressed to my groin. The scent of my seed on her thighs makes me drunk with pride. I move aside the blanket to look at her. Her cunt is hot. Glistening. Even in her sleep, she’s wet and needy.
I can’t help but reach around to take one of her tight nipples between my fingers and roll it softly. Just as I hoped, the action elicits a little moan deep in her throat. In another second, her pussy is throbbing, coated in slickness, begging to be filled again.
“That feels so good,” she mutters, still half-asleep. “Do it again, Basten.”
I pinch her nipple harder. “Look at me when you ask that.”
There’s a sharpness to my command that makes her jump. She rolls over, more awake now, blinking those innocent, sleepy eyes up at me. I didn’t talk to her like this the first time I fucked her. I wanted her first time to be tender, for her to feel powerful and adored. But now it’s getting hard to hold myself back from the bottomless well of lust that has me imagining so many filthy things I want to do to her.
Quietly, but with a boldness in her eyes, she whispers, “Do it again, Basten.”
Her obedience makes me groan—that this beautiful girl will let me do such debased things to her. She’s so willing. So bold. All the terrible, violent things I’ve done . . . and she still lets me put my hands on her.
Have I found someone who gets me? I don’t even understand the fucked-up things I do. But this girl lets venomous snakes coil up next to her for warmth. If any woman could ever love me, it’s Sabine Darrow.
“Please,” she whispers groggily, snaking a hand under the blanket toward my groin.