Breaking from the kiss, he collected her wrists, pinning them above her head. Her eyes were glittering, her body trembling—because of him. Him.

In a breathy voice, she said, “Well. You certainly have the hang of it. But don’t you want us to touch each other?”

He bit out an anguished sound. “You have no idea.” He recalled how that Volar had used his wings to stroke the demoness. Gaze locked on Melanthe’s, Thronos began tracing his talon over her collarbone.

Her eyes went wide. “Oh! You’re touching me with your wings?”

“If I put my hands on you . . .”

She seemed to realize his quandary.

“Trust me not to hurt you, Melanthe.”

Gradually, he felt her body relaxing under his exploration.

As he trailed the talon between her br**sts, his need to cup them was overwhelming. He made fists, claws digging into the palms of his hands until blood dripped.

His talon smoothed along the undersides of her br**sts, those perfect, pale globes. They would be a heaven of softness beneath his rough palms.

As he finally skimmed toward one of her ni**les, she shook, arching to him.

Then he scented her arousal. Dear gods. The luscious scent of her sex readying for his length . . .

Nearly put him to his knees.

How much more could he withstand?

TWENTY-SEVEN

Oh, my gold. Just as she’d feared, Thronos had turned irresistible.

His kiss had made her toes curl. He was a natural, which made her wonder what else he’d be a natural at.

Even his exploration of her—weird as it was—was turning her on. The idea of that lethal talon caressing her so gently messed with her mind.

His wings had once been a symbol of her fear. How perverse was she if she got off on this? Maybe she liked perverse?

Her ni**les were pouting for attention—which he seemed determined not to give. Was he never going to put his hands on her? She understood his predicament; he feared coming too quickly. After such a long wait, who could blame him?

Eyes ablaze with lust—and intent—he lowered his wing, circling her navel.

Surely he wouldn’t go lower. “Thronos, wait.” He couldn’t. And, gods, she couldn’t desire him to. . . .

The smooth curve of his talon dipped between her legs.

She might’ve tried to get away, but he had her wrists trapped, her body boxed in.

He began stroking her sex, and it was . . . pleasurable. The talon was firm against her as he eased it back and forth over her needy clitoris.

Back. And forth.

This is so weird. And pervy. And I like it so much!

She squeezed her eyes closed, disturbed that she wasn’t more disturbed by this. She had a sinking suspicion: Thronos could do just about anything to her and she’d like it.

Because he was her mate? Was she fighting fate?

Sorceri don’t believe in fate!

Seeming to lose his inner battle, he gave a groan of frustration, releasing her wrists.

Her eyes flashed open when his palms landed on her shoulders. He was bleeding—from digging his claws into his hands? Hot crimson mixed with the cool water in streams.

If she’d thought something was wrong with her before, now she was convinced, because she found his searing blood on her skin arousing—as if he was marking her, like he’d done in that tunnel when he’d painted her lips.

And though his blood was washing away, she could swear she’d perceived the heat of it streaking across her aching br**sts and over her stiffened ni**les. Over her hips and ass. Between his blood and the weird talon caresses, she was shaking with need.

She sucked in a breath, holding herself motionless as his hands roamed, starting to descend. And all the while his talon petted her clitoris.

His transfixed gaze followed his hands. “None lovelier.” His tone was awed.

Why did it feel so unbelievably good with him? He seemed just as lost, overwhelmed by this pleasure, starved for it.

Because he had been. So how would he react the first time they had sex? If they did. How would that magnificent c**k feel plunging inside her? Imagining it made her moan.

To her surprise, she felt a glimmer of welling power, then another. Sorcery began whirling within her, as if she’d been an empty vessel waiting to be filled. Her lips curled with delight.

Wait . . . had his hands just bypassed her chest? He molded them over her waist, then rested them on her hips. He drew his wing back from her sex, leaving her yearning for release. Pervy, girl.

Without warning, he pressed a muscled thigh between her legs. She couldn’t stifle a cry. Positioned like this, his rampant c**k prodded against her, the bulbous head rubbing along her damp torso.

Taunting her.

She craved that thick length, craved all of his throbbing heat filling her. Of their own accord, her hips rocked in invitation as she slowly rode his leg.

“I feel your arousal, your wetness. I scent it.” Against her neck, he murmured, “Before this night is out, I want to know your taste, take it into me.”

“Oh! Ohhh. We can definitely work something out.”

“Ask your male to kiss you there. Though forbidden, I’d do it to you.” What wasn’t forbidden in his mind? “I’d do it till you came for me.”

I have to ask for it? With a mental shrug, she parted her lips . . . only to close them as doubts arose. What must he think of me now? As easy as he’d predicted?

Yet when he moved his thigh against her sex, those qualms faded into the ether.

At last, he covered her br**sts with his rough palms! He shuddered to feel her. She gave a low cry as her head lolled.