Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
I hurriedly pull my normal clothing back on and pass the last dress to the salesperson who’s been hovering discreetly. “Thank you.”
They bob their head, a small smile on their lips. They look similar to Azazel, but only superficially so—red skin and horns, though their horns curl back more like those of a ram than a bull. Their body is slighter, like Ramanu’s, and their skin is several shades closer to purple than true red.
I cross to Rusalka. “Take me home, Rusalka.” My voice catches in the middle of the sentence. My skin feels as though it’s on fire. “Please. So we can . . . you know.”
She pulls me close and brushes a light kiss to my lips. “One day, you’ll be able to tell me explicitly what you want.” She slips an arm around my waist. “But for now, trust that I will take care of you, little one. I’ll see to every single need.”
“Yes. Please.” Need is a living thing inside me. It’s not Rusalka’s magic; thatfeels more like I imagine being drunk would; everything goes hazy and warm and fluid. Right now, the world around me stands out in sharp focus. I can almost measure the distance back to the portal in the beats of my racing heart. “Or maybe we don’t wait?”
Rusalka shakes their head. “As much as I would love to drag you into that dressing room and see whether your embarrassment or my tongue would win, we’re in enemy territory.”
“Enemy.” I have to stop and make a conscious decision to lower my voice. “But Azazel is the reason I’m here. He’s trying—”
“I know.” They smooth a hand down my back. “‘Enemy’ may be too strong a word. But a certain amount of caution is warranted. There’s always the chance, however small, that this is all an elaborate trap. If last night is any indication, when I’m with you, I lose all sense of time and place. That’s a blessing in our home—and a risk outside it.”
I was there. I don’t know why it’s so shocking to hear that Rusalka enjoyed her time with me so much that she lost herself just like I lost myself. What she’s saying makes sense, but that doesn’t stop the heat from rising beneath my skin. As much as I want her . . . she wants me too? I press my thighs together. “Are you sure?”
Rusalka stops and looks down at me. Their amber eyes widen, and they smile. “You little troublemaker. You like the idea of distracting me to potentially deadly consequences.”
“Not deadly.” I shake my head rapidly. “I don’t want anything to happen to you—or to the territory. But yes, I guess I do like the idea of being wanted that much.”
One moment, I’m standing there, looking up at them. The next, my back hits the wall in the dressing room and the curtain swishes shut. It happened so fast, I didn’t even feel us move. I blink up at her. “I didn’t know you could move like that.”
“I can when motivated.” Rusalka kisses me, pressing me harder against the wall. “We have to be quick.”
The sparks beneath my skin turn into an inferno. Before, Rusalka was so careful with me, so patient. There’s none of that now. We’re a flurry of questing hands shoving fabric aside and little gasps swallowed between needy mouths. They find my molten core first, press a finger inside, and grind the heel of their hand against my clitoris. Pleasure makes me fumble even more, but I manage to get their pants down their hips enough to find what I’m looking for.
I moan when I find them wet. They clamp around my finger and press their forehead hard to mine. “Faster, little one. Harder.”
I don’t know what I’m doing. I fingered her a little during the marathon lovemaking, but that was more teasing than trying to make her orgasm. But she’s showing me the way, isn’t she? I try to match her rhythm, her grinding thrusts that I swear I can feel in the back of my throat and all the way to my toes.
My orgasm slams into me, too fast, too hard, too brutal. Rusalka swallows down my cry, and then she’s grinding hard against my touch, her pussy clenching around my fingers, her clitoris vibrating against my skin, her wetness soaking my hand. She . . . orgasmed . . . in a dressing room . . . because of me.
I push them down onto the small bench and go to my knees between their thighs. Rusalka opens their mouth like they might protest, but I shove their pants down around their ankles and cover their center with my mouth. So wet. Because of me. I didn’t know I could feel possessive like this. Surely someone would call it a sin, but I don’t care about anything but Rusalka’s hands in my hair and their head falling back in submission to what I’m doing to them.