When Nelle Wychthorn was forced to sign herself away in marriage, she should have read the contract's fine print. Because she signs not with ink, but with blood. And that changes everything.
Season 1 'Of Crows and Thorns'
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Fiery Nelle, the isolat...
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I flopped straight-backed on the bed. Rivulets of sweat ran down my heaving chest and my muscles quivered. Gods...I'd never fucked for so long. We were rutting animals, there was no other way to describe it.
"More," Nelle purred.
"So greedy." I gulped great mouthfuls of air into my lungs as I pushed away the sweat-damp hair stuck to my brow with a forearm.
"I am. I am greedy." She crawled up my legs, kissing, nipping, and licking my inner thighs. The feel of her soft pouty lips on my skin pulled a guttural groan from my throat. "I want more. Now," she demanded.
She was starting to scare me. Those black eyes hadn't gone away and she was insatiable. The scent of her arousal flooded the room. The heady fragrance was intense. Consuming. Tart and sweet and spicy just like her. If I didn't know any better I'd have thought she was on heat.
And that thought was a feathered brushstroke against a memory that slipped away as soon as her tongue touched my cock. I was hard all over again and all in for round six. "Fuuuck," I hissed as she swallowed my erection and hummed around the straining shaft. The decadent vibration sent me over the edge of reason and I pumped my hips up, my hands weaving through her thick wavy hair.
I bit my lip stifling a lust-drunk moan.
Gods, this girl and her gorgeous mouth and the wicked flick of her tongue and that mind-fucking hum. Glorious.
Nelle released my cock with a wet popping sound and I raised my weary head to see her staring back at me, her black eyes—a reflection of mine—burning with need as she crawled up my body to straddle my hips, pushing her wet heat against me. Sliding her hands through my damp hair she curled her fingers around the nape of my neck before tipping her forehead to mine. Her lips brushed against my own as she whispered in that low husky tone that only came out when my tongue was on her clit. "The wall—"
That's all it took for me to scoop her up, slam her against the wall and impale her in one stroke. She was my match in every way, she wasn't fragile, and she discovered rather quickly she liked it rough.
A groan erupted from me. Gods, it felt like nothing else to be buried inside her.
It was supposed to be new for her, not for me. I'd never felt this way before.
I felt her everywhere. Every-fucking-where. I shuddered against the sensation. She was so tight. Her pussy was practically a vise. Every ridge, every velvety-soft curve hugged my cock as I pounded into her recklessly. But it was something else, that thing that bound us together—filaments of power and the strumming of magic connected us, binding us as one. It skimmed against my flesh, sparked in my veins, and thrummed through my blood to scorch my insides with fire. The roar in my ears were her whimpers and hitched breath, and beneath it all drummed a bassline—Mine, mine, mine.
Nelle's tiny hands clasped my neck and she rolled her hips to meet my thrusts. Her hair was a wild mess, swaying around her flushed cheeks, and her pretty eyes were pinched shut. Slowly, her slackened mouth fell open as her quickened breaths came in huffs and whines.
