Camille’s lungs started to burn. Sucking in a huge lungful of air saturated with the combined scents of their desire, she let out a soft, plaintive sound. It was a whimper that would have shamed her in any other moment except this one.
Here, now, she did not feel powerless in the face of her overwhelming need for him — she felt stronger than she ever had before.
“Shh. Let me look.” Viktor used his thumbs to spread her even more. He hissed an oath under his breath as he traced every inch of her wet, swollen flesh with his eyes. She clawed at the duvet under her, aroused by the greedy expression he wore, the feeling of his hands on her starved skin.
“Touch me,” she begged, momentarily giving up the dominance game. “Touch me, please.”
Viktor’s eyes darted up to meet hers. He didn’t say anything for several torturous heartbeats. At last, he breathed, “That is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.”
Biting his lip, he fisted his cock and, keeping her spread with one hand, pressed the flushed head against her channel, coating it in her arousal, before he slid it up against the swollen bud of her clitoris.
Camille cried out as pleasure seared her. His skin was so hot compared to hers, the contact so potent, so lush with much needed pheromones, that it immediately overloaded her senses. A hard, fast orgasm held itself just out of reach as he began to rock himself against her, using his hand to keep himself pressed tightly against every sensitive nerve. With each pass, she felt the silken slide of the head of his cock, then every velvety inch of him, contrasted with the scrape of denim against her inner thighs.
Unable to do much else, Camille reached down to hook her fingers in his dangling belt loops. “Please, please, please,” she begged, raw and desperate. “Please, Vik, I need—”
“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he growled. “I know what you need.”
He began to move faster, harder, increasing the pressure and the friction until, with a tearing cry, Camille’s orgasm rippled through her. Ears buzzing, she followed Viktor with her gaze as he pulled back from her, curled his fingers around his cock, and gave himself several hard pumps before he came — directly on her cunt.
It was perhaps the most erotic sight she’d ever witnessed: the look on his face as he came; the ropes of pearly white release that stood out so starkly against her lavender flesh; the sight of his free hand moving to smear it into her skin in an entirely animalistic claim.
Camille panted, both sated and unfulfilled. Her skin prickled with the need for more. More contact. More of him. Always, always more of him.
When he reached down to untangle her fingers from his jeans, she let out a keening noise of protest, the fear that he was leaving her jumping to the forefront of her mind. “Vik, please, don’t—”
Humming a reassuring note, he slowly lowered himself to his knees. She sat up on her elbows to watch him as he slung her legs over his shoulders and took a deep breath. A look of pure hunger tightened the lines of his features when he said, “Fuck. Nothing smells as good as you and me, sweetheart.”
Before she could even start to think of a reply — almost certainly an enthusiastic agreement — Viktor buried his head between her thighs. His tongue, flat and hot and smoother than hers, swept over her from core to clitoris. In one long stroke, he gathered up the taste of them both and groaned long and low.
“Taste so fucking good together.” He wrapped his hands around her upper thighs and jerked her toward the edge of the bed, plastering her to his hungry mouth. Suddenly boneless, Camille slid her fingers into his hair and held on for dear life as he tasted every part of her.
Instead of staring at the gently swaying chandelier over their heads, she closed her eyes and savored every stroke of his tongue, every noise of deep satisfaction he made. Nothing in her life could have prepared her for the tactile pleasure of his touch, nor the rush of power she felt when he knelt for her, lavishing her with his lips, teeth, and tongue.
As was expected, Cyrus had done this for her too, but it was nothing like when Viktor kissed her, licked her, bit her. When he went down on her, it was like he’d been starving, like he couldn’t get enough no matter how much he ate. Her other experiences had been decent enough — reverent, even — but not like this. Never like this.
Camille felt the slow rise of another, deeper orgasm as he circled her clitoris with his tongue, wringing almost too much pleasure out of her. The fingers in his hair flexed as she began to rock her hips. Words spilled out of her, though she couldn’t be sure what she said.
When he closed his lips around that hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves and began to suck in a swift, pulsing rhythm, Camille shattered.
Her muscles tensed as she tossed her head back and opened her mouth on a silent cry. Viktor murmured against her, something fierce and urgent, as he slid his fingers in and out, feeling the way her cunt rippled with each rolling wave.
It took longer to come down from her second orgasm than the first, mainly because Viktor refused to let it die. He kept coaxing her, working her from inside and out, demanding everything she had to give.
“That’s my mate,” he kept saying, voice a guttural rumble. “That’s it. Give me more. I want all of you. I want you to feel me fucking everywhere, Cam.”
“I do. I do,” she babbled. Gods, she was so sensitive the pleasure had begun to edge into pain. “Vik, please!”
He didn’t stop. Instead, he began to thrust his fingers faster, harder, as if to make a point. “Tell me who your mate is. Tell me who you belong to.”
Camille twisted her hips, caught between needing more and desperation to take a break, to get away. Instinct tangled with those warring desires. Speech was impossible, especially when he dropped his head to give her a punishing bite.
Her whole body jerked as a scream tore from her throat. “Gods!”
“Tell me!”
“You!” she finally managed. “You! I’m yours!”
“Fucking finally.” With that, Viktor suddenly released her. She lay there, dazed and out of breath, as he took a step back and hastily divested himself of the rest of his clothing.
He has such beautiful skin, she thought, watching in awe as he revealed all that lean perfection. A lifetime in the sun had burnished him a rich gold. Every line of his body, every small scar and crisp, blond hair, made him seem more vital, more alive than any other being she’d met. Viktor looked exactly like his namesake — a gilded victor, burnished in triumphant sunlight.
When he prowled back to her, he did not look even remotely human. The animal was alive in his gaze and etched into his posture. His fangs were extended and his normally blunt nails had shifted into razor sharp claws. He looked like he wanted to eat her.
A thrill burned through the haze of her orgasms, tensing her languid muscles once more. The predator in her recognized the predator in him. Play, it whispered, giddy. Make him play.
Viktor’s voice was a whip when he commanded, “Turn over.”
Her pulse jumped. A large part of her wanted to obey without question, yielding to the safety and comfort his dominance offered, but a bigger part understood that this dance between them was vital. Things would not be settled until they saw it to the end.
So instead of bowing to the very alpha command, Camille halted his approach with one slim foot planted in the center of his golden chest. Meeting his hungry gaze, she lifted her chin and breathlessly replied, “Make me.”