Someone is talking outside the window.
Lyssa’s heart, which had just begun to settle into a languid, sated rhythm, gave a frantic leap.
Someone is here.
But Kian, still heavy and warm atop her, didn’t stir. His breathing was deep and even against her neck. The immediate danger seemed to pass, the sound unexplained. The fear, however, sharpened her focus, burned away the last of her post-climax haze.
Kian had given her such shocking, overwhelming pleasure. He had unleashed the beast she’d never seen before. Now, she wanted to give something back. She wanted to make him feel good. Not as a noble bestowing a favor, but as a woman taking control of her own desire.
Gently, she shifted beneath him. He grunted, a soft sound of protest, but rolled to the side, his arm slung possessively over her waist. The moonlight painted his face in shades of silver and shadow, the harsh lines softened in sleepiness. He looked young again, the shy stable boy. But she knew the power that slept in those limbs.
Emboldened by the quiet house and the new fire in her blood, she propped herself up on one elbow. She traced the line of his jaw, his collarbone, down the hard plane of his chest. Her fingers trailed through the crisp hair there, lower, over the taut muscles of his stomach. Her breath hitched as she leaned closer, her mouth finding the sensitive valley between his pecs.
“You’re so beautiful.” she breathed against his skin, a soft sigh escaping her.
He watched her, his dark eyes glinting, his expression unreadable. Her hand drifted lower, finding him. He was still semi-hard, thickening rapidly at her touch.
A thrill shot through her.
Without a word, she moved. She swung a leg over his hips, straddling him, her knees sinking into the soft mattress on either side of his torso. His hands came to rest on her thighs, his touch warm and grounding. He didn’t try to guide her; he just watched, his breath coming a little faster.
She reached between them, taking his length in her hand. It was heavy, velvety steel. Positioning herself, she guided him to her entrance, still swollen and sensitive from their first joining.
She met his gaze, held it, and slowly, slowly, sank down.
The sensation was profound. A deep, stretching fullness that was entirely different from when he’d taken her. She was doing the taking. She controlled the angle, the depth, the speed. She saw his eyes flutter shut, his head press back into the pillow. A low, soundless groan vibrated in his chest.
Good.
She began to move, a gentle, rocking rise and fall. Her inner muscles clenched instinctively around him, a fluttery grip. He gasped, his fingers digging into her thighs.
He can feel that.
The knowledge was intoxicating. She set a deliberate, lazy pace, learning the rhythm of her own body, the sweet spot where he brushed against something that made sparks dance behind her own eyelids.
But the slow tease wasn’t enough. Not for the fire he’d lit in her. She wanted to see him come undone. She planted her hands on his chest for leverage and began to move faster. The gentle rocking became a purposeful, driving bounce. The wet, sliding sounds filled the room, a lewd counter rhythm to their ragged breathing.
Faster.
Her hips pistoned, her breasts swaying with the force of her movements. She was riding him in earnest now, a frantic, glorious chase. Her body was a well-oiked machine of pleasure, each downward slam sending jolts of pure sensation through her core. And she could feel him, all of him. The rigid length of him filling her, the way her own channel gripped and milked him with every ascent.
“Kian,” she panted, her voice a broken thing. She was close again, a tight coil ready to spring, but she focused on him. On the way his jaw was clenched, the cords in his neck standing out. On the desperate, pleading look in his eyes as he stared up at her, completely at her mercy.
She leaned forward, arching her spine, changing the angle. Her face was now directly above his, her sweat dripping onto his chest, her wild red hair a curtain around them. But she didn’t stop. She rode him even more vigorously, a frenzied, insane rhythm. She tightened her internal muscles deliberately, a hard, rhythmic squeeze-release, squeeze-release around his shaft.
His control shattered. His hands flew from her thighs to her hips, gripping her hard enough to bruise, trying to steer her, to plunge even deeper. But she batted them away, pinning them to the mattress beside his head. My turn. She owned this rhythm, this frenzy. She saw the exact moment he tipped over the edge. His eyes lost all focus, rolling back. His mouth opened in a silent, agonized roar. His entire body bowed beneath her, every muscle locking into a rigid line of ecstasy.
Feeling him pulse and throb inside her, hot and endless, was the final trigger. Her own climax detonated, a white hot supernova that ripped a scream from her throat. She convulsed around him, her rhythm breaking into helpless, shuddering spasms. She collapsed forward, her face burying in the sweat-damp hollow of his neck, her body still quivering with aftershocks.