How she’d like to bite him for that. So she does, yanking her mouth away and snaring his bottom lip with her teeth, hard enough to draw blood, the copper tang of it leaking across her tongue. There, now they’ve made one another bleed.
They’re even.
As if reading her mind, Malice half-winces, half-sniggers. He grabs her cheeks and takes her lips again, but his amusement alters the slope of his tongue, the tip sliding across the roof of her mouth. It tickles and vexes, a smattering of the two in quick succession.
Oh, stars. She’s kissing him, and he’s kissing her, and it’s nothing like she’d imagined. No, it’s better. The kiss keeps going, and widening, and deepening.
Malice flings his head away from her. They pant for breath, and their hands cling, digging in. His chest heaves while her lungs thrash, gusts of oxygen sawing through her.
His delirious eyes find hers, and he rasps, “Yes or no?”
She’s given him yes after yes tonight. But there’s one more left.
Wonder nods, mouthing her reply, and it’s enough.
Malice walks her backward, striding so fast that her rump bangs into a bookcase, causing the structure to teeter. As it regains balance, he grips her backside and hauls her off the ground.
Her legs bend on either side of his hips, her heels finding purchase on the rim of a shelf, shoving books farther into the recess. A few other titles dislodge and plummet on either side of Wonder and Malice, the ancient texts smacking the floor in clouds of green stardust.
Everlasting Fates! They might have damaged some of the precious volumes!
Wonder feels compelled to reprimand Malice, but then his forehead presses against hers, his irises swallowing her vision. The nightgown bunches up around her. His pelvis rouses the nexus in between her split thighs, the coarse jeans rubbing her sensitive, uncovered flesh, creating a friction that pulls another gasp from her.
For someone with no experience, his actions bespeak confidence and instinct. She can relate. It’s awakening, this craving that deities know how to satisfy.
Nevertheless, she’s created a monster. Though, it certainly isn’t the first time.
Which is why Malice hooks on to the scoop of her bodice—and wrenches it. In one rough motion, the garment tears, sheared down the middle from neckline to hem. He’s overdone it, because he staggers from the effort, almost dropping her.
Wonder instinctively clutches the nape of his neck. Her amazement reflects in his pupils, arousal shooting right through her, pooling low in her body. Her breasts and the folds of her belly jiggle against his pectorals and abdomen. Appraising the torn material dangling off her shoulders, his gaze darkens as it skims the column of naked skin. The considerable span of her thighs flares around his waist, clenching the low-hanging pants.
Malice looks like he wants to devour her. Like he will.
His mouth plunges to the crook of her neck, marking it with open kisses, swathing his tongue against her pulse. Wonder arches, her scalp hitting the shelf above, a whine skittering off her lips as he sketches her clavicles with his teeth. Her fingers yank on his golden curls, and he shudders, and she realizes that he enjoys it—just as much as he enjoys her breasts.
Her lips part on a silent cry the instant his head sinks. While nuzzling and nipping the cove of her breasts, the blades of his talons trace the circumference of her nipples, a slight tease that wracks through her bloodstream, so that she contorts into him. Her nipples stiffen, pleasure quivering from the peaks as he scrapes them gently.
Wonder balls her fist into her mouth, stifling the octave of her response.
Cursing, Malice pries away her wrist, unblocking the sound. And why shouldn’t she be loud? There’s no one else here.
And then his mouth dives, purses around a nipple, and sucks.
Wonder unleashes, her moans swirling to the rafters. It provokes Malice to sample her harder, drawing her peak into the tight, drenched channel of his mouth, his tongue flicking the nub.
Then he moves to the other breast, and she’s nothing but sound, which accelerates with every exquisite pull.
She’s damp, more so than she’s ever been. She’s ready.
And now it’s her turn. Breathing shallowly, Wonder reaches down, working on his jeans. Malice drags his mouth from her nipple, his face slack with rapture. He helps her, their fingers fumbling in a hurry.
As the material buckles around his waist, they maneuver the jeans down enough to free him. Malice’s length extends from the pants, rising for her, tensing for her.
Recently, Wonder had been privy to a glimpse of it. But now she savors the view, when he’s about to fill her, to conceal himself inside her.
For an instant, mutual self-consciousness creeps in. Yet she’s still wet, and he’s still hard. And at the first accidental shift of their hips, his tip nudges through her curls, snuffing out hesitation like a candle.
An inarticulate word bubbles from her mouth. A stunned one slips from his.
They lock eyes while rolling their pelvises into position, needing a few subtle adjustments. Malice’s heart smashes into her breasts, and her pulse hammers into his torso. A maelstrom of nervousness and anxiousness and selfishness spirals up her limbs and dashes through her stomach.
It’s a preview of more excessive things to come.
Wonder grieves and celebrates.
And then she bends her knees, her legs splaying farther to accommodate his body, her heels bolstered on the bookcase. Malice claims her wrists, lifts her arms above her head, and shackles her hands there.
He braces himself, his shaft on the cusp of her entrance. His tongue strums along her ear, then he murmurs, “I’m going to throttle you deep into these books.”
“I’m going to let you,” she whispers.
Malice gives her a fiendish look, not quite a grin, nor a glare. It’s all or nothing.
They lurch at the same time. He snaps his hips, just as she jolts hers. His length pitches up into her, and she buries him whole. They flex against the bookcase, their mouths unhinging, hanging ajar from the penetration as two shocked moans collide.
With his joints trembling, Malice runs his lips against her jaw. “Are you all right?”
“I am now,” she says.
He nods. “Good.”
And then he thrusts.
Wonder shouts, her body vaulting upward. Malice growls something against her mouth.
Oh, Fates, he’s inside her. So deep inside her.
She cannot help but rock her hips, demanding more. Without preamble, he obliges, setting a primal, whipping tempo. He churns against her without calculation.
And he moves like a virgin, proving that he’s never done this before—but also giving the impression that he has. Because what Malice lacks in synchronicity, he makes up for in stamina, eagerness, and intuition. He measures the signs rolling across her face and listens to her reactions. Glancing between their flushed bodies, he watches himself disappearing within her, then checks Wonder’s countenance yet again.
She aides him, signaling the depth and angle and cadence that make her whimpers crest. And crest, they do. And because they do, Malice swells even more.
He catches on. His ministrations grow bolder, forging ahead and locating the carnal spots. His backside pumps, whisking his pelvis into her, infusing them both with adrenaline and a flurry of sensation.
Lost in the rapid juts of his body, her mind dissolves.
And that’s when they really get loud.