CHAPTER 228

CHAPTER 228
AMARA

“Not yet,” he whispered again, lips brushing mine—soft, teasing, infuriating.

“Beg for it.”

My eyes flew open.

He was still right there—thick, hot head of him nudging insistently at my entrance, rubbing slow, deliberate circles through my slick folds—but he wasn’t pushing in.
Not yet.

Not a single thrust. Not even the shallowest slide. Just… holding there. Teasing.

Letting me feel the blunt pressure, the heat, the promise of him every time he dragged the tip up over my clit and back down again, coating himself in me without giving me what I was dying for.

My hips jerked helplessly, trying to chase him, to force him deeper, but his grip on my waist was iron—keeping me pinned exactly where he wanted me.

No escape.

No relief.

Just the torturous friction of him sliding against me, never inside, never enough.

“Alaric—” My voice cracked, half plea, half whine.

“Beg,” he repeated, lips grazing the corner of my mouth.

“Tell me how bad you need it. Tell me how much you want me to fuck you until you can’t remember anything but my name.”

I whimpered—actually whimpered—head falling back against the pillow as another wave of need crashed through me.

My nails dug into his shoulders, leaving red crescents. My thighs trembled around his hips.

“Please,” I gasped, the word spilling out before I could stop it.

“Alaric—please. I need you. I need you to move. I need you to fuck me—hard. Please don’t stop. I can’t—I can’t take it—”

His eyes darkened further—pupils swallowing the gold—and something primal flashed across his face.

“That’s my girl,” he growled, low and satisfied.

Then he moved.

But instead of thrusting inside me, he pulled back—slowly, deliberately—leaving me empty and aching.

The sudden loss made me whimper in protest, hips lifting instinctively to chase him.

“What the…?” I gasped, voice cracking with frustration and need.

“Relax, baby,” he murmured, voice low and soothing against my skin, though the heat in his eyes said he was anything but calm.

“I’ve got you.”

He hooked his hands under my knees, lifting both my legs until they rested over his broad shoulders.

The position opened me completely—exposed, vulnerable—and I felt the cool air kiss the wet heat between my thighs right before his mouth descended.

He pressed a soft, teasing kiss to my lips first—almost sweet—then dragged his tongue lower.

Slow. Torturously slow.

He licked through my folds in one long, flat stroke, tasting me like I was the only thing he’d ever wanted. My hips jerked.

A broken moan tore from my throat.

Then he focused on my clit—lips closing around the swollen bud, sucking gently at first, then harder, tongue flicking in tight, relentless circles.

I clenched the sheets between my fists, knuckles white, back arching off the mattress as pleasure spiked sharp and bright.

My thighs trembled around his head, heels digging into his back.

The pressure built fast—too fast—coiling low in my belly until I was shaking, gasping, right on the edge—

He pulled away again.

Completely.

I cried out in frustration, hips chasing nothing, the sudden absence almost painful.

“Alaric—please—”

He rose just enough to look at me—eyes dark, lips shiny with me, chin wet.

He braced one hand beside my head, the other sliding between us. The pad of his thumb found my clit again—slow, firm circles that made my hips buck.

“Does that feel good, baby?” he asked, voice wrecked and low, watching my face like he was memorizing every twitch, every gasp.

I whimpered—couldn’t form words—head thrashing against the pillow.

“Tell me,” he prompted, thumb never stopping.

“Use your words, mate.”

"Yes...yes," I said breathlessly.

His fingers moved quicker inside of me—two thick digits curling deep, stroking that perfect spot with ruthless precision while his thumb pressed harder against my clit, circling in tight, unrelenting loops.

The pressure built fast—too fast—every slide, every flick sending sharp bursts of pleasure spiking through my core.

My thighs trembled around his head, muscles tensing and releasing in helpless rhythm. I could feel myself clenching around him, slick and greedy, trying to pull him deeper even as my hips bucked shamelessly against his hand.

Sweat beaded along my spine.

My breath came in short, desperate pants—chest heaving, nipples tight and aching from earlier attention.

The sheets were twisted in my fists, fabric damp beneath my palms.

Every nerve ending felt exposed, raw, singing under the steady assault of his mouth and fingers.

He groaned against me again, the vibration humming straight through my clit, and I swear I saw stars.

The coil inside me tightened unbearably—hot, heavy, ready to snap.

My toes curled hard against his shoulders.

My back arched off the bed, hips lifting to meet every thrust of his fingers, every flick of his tongue. I was right there—teetering on the razor’s edge—body wound so tight I thought I might break.

And then the orgasm crashed over me.

It hit fast and merciless, ripping through me like wildfire.

My whole body seized—muscles locking, thighs clamping around his head, back bowing so sharply I nearly lifted off the mattress.

A raw, broken moan tore from my throat—loud, unrestrained—as wave after wave of blinding pleasure pulsed through me.

My walls fluttered wildly around his fingers, clenching hard, fluttering again, milking every last spark of sensation while he worked me through it—slowing but never stopping—thumb still circling gently, drawing it out until I was shaking, gasping, tears pricking the corners of my eyes from the intensity.

When the aftershocks finally eased, I collapsed back against the sheets—limp, trembling, chest heaving like I’d run a marathon.

My legs slipped from his shoulders, thighs quivering as they fell open around him.

He lifted his head slowly, lips swollen and glistening, eyes dark with satisfaction and raw hunger.

He crawled up my body—predatory, deliberate—until his mouth hovered just above mine.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, voice hoarse and reverent.

“So fucking beautiful when you come for me.”

Then he kissed me—deep, slow, tasting myself on his tongue—and I melted into it, boneless and still buzzing, every nerve ending humming like live wires.

My legs were still trembling around his hips, my breath coming in soft, uneven pants against his mouth. I felt raw, exposed, completely undone… and yet somehow still hungry for more.

He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, eyes half-lidded and dark with satisfaction.

His thumb brushed lazily along my jaw, tracing the line of my cheekbone like he was memorizing me all over again.

“I’m just warming you up, baby,” he murmured, lips curving into that slow, dangerous smile that always made my stomach flip.

I rolled my eyes—even though my limbs still felt like liquid—and managed a breathless laugh.

“Is that not what we’ve done for the past few weeks?” I asked, voice shaky but teasing.

“Warming up? Because if this is your idea of foreplay, I’m gonna need a safe word and a stretcher on standby.”

He chuckled—low, rough, the sound vibrating through his chest into mine—before leaning down to kiss the sensitive spot just below my ear.

His teeth grazed my skin lightly, sending fresh sparks racing down my spine.

“You’re running that mouth like you’ve got energy to spare,” he murmured against my neck, lips dragging slow and deliberate over my pulse with every word, voice low and rough like gravel wrapped in velvet.

“For a girl who’s about to spend tomorrow limping and begging me to carry her everywhere.”

The threat—playful, dark, dripping with promise—sent fresh heat pooling low in my belly. I shivered beneath him, thighs tightening around his hips on instinct.

He pulled away just enough to lean over me, one arm braced beside my head. I heard the quiet scrape of the nightstand drawer opening, the soft rustle of whatever he was reaching for.

My hands moved on instinct—sliding down his bare chest, tracing the hard ridges of muscle, the faint scars I knew by heart now.

I kissed the warm skin right over his pounding heart, tasting salt and him, then let my fingers drift lower.

I wrapped my hand around the thick length of him through his boxer briefs—slow, deliberate—massaging him with firm strokes that made his breath hitch sharply.

His hips jerked forward into my touch, a low, guttural groan rumbling from his throat.

For a second his balance faltered—he braced harder on the mattress, forehead dropping to my shoulder as he fought to stay steady.

“Fuck—Amara—” His voice was wrecked, strained.

“You’re gonna make me lose it before I even get inside you.”

I smiled against his chest, squeezing gently, thumb brushing over the damp spot at the tip.

“Fuck—” he hissed, hips snapping forward into my grip on reflex.

“Amara—”

I smiled against his skin, stroking again—tighter this time, thumb circling the slick head—watching the way his abs flexed, the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes fluttered half-shut.

“You were saying?” I teased, voice breathy, innocent.

“Something about me limping and begging me to carry her everywhere."

He growled—actual growl—and caught my wrist, pinning it above my head in one swift motion. The drawer slammed shut.

“You’re playing with fire, baby,” he rasped, leaning down until his lips were a whisper from mine.

“Keep that up and I won’t be gentle at all.”

I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze head-on, heart pounding.

“Who said I want gentle?”
His eyes flared—gold bleeding through the brown—and the last thread of his control snapped.

He kissed me again—hard, claiming—while his free hand yanked his briefs down just enough to free himself completely.

The thick head of him nudged my entrance—hot, blunt, promising—and I arched up to meet him, ready, aching, desperate.

“Are you fucking sure?” he rasped, forehead pressed to mine, breath hot and ragged against my lips. His voice cracked—low, frayed.

“Because I’m fucking wound up, baby. All day—planning, plotting, thinking about you, worrying you’d slip through my fingers, needing you so bad it fucking hurt—and I can’t be gentle tonight. I won’t be. I’m going to fuck you hard. Deep. Rough. Until you feel every single inch of how much I missed you. Until you’re screaming my name so loud the whole compound knows exactly who you belong to. Until the only thing left in that pretty head of yours is me—inside you, owning you, filling you up until you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but take what I give you.”

His hips rocked once—slow, deliberate—dragging the thick head of him through my folds without pushing in, teasing, torturing, letting me feel how hard he was, how ready, how thick.

The slick glide over my clit made me whimper—couldn’t help it—nails digging into his shoulders as my body clenched around nothing, aching, desperate.

“Say it,” he growled, lips brushing mine, eyes burning gold.

“Tell me you want it rough. Tell me you’re ready for me to take you apart until you’re shaking and sobbing and begging for more. Tell me you’re mine.”

My breath hitched, thighs trembling around his waist.

“I want it rough. I want you to fuck me hard—deep—until I can’t walk, can’t think, can’t remember anything but you. Please—Alaric—take me.”

Something feral snapped in his expression.

“Good girl,” he snarled.

Then he thrust in—hard, deep, all at once—filling me so completely my vision whited out for a heartbeat. I cried his name—sharp, broken—back bowing off the mattress as he stretched me, claimed me, owned every inch.

He didn’t pause.

He set a brutal rhythm—fast, relentless—each snap of his hips driving him deeper, hitting that spot inside me that made stars explode behind my eyelids.

The bed creaked under us, headboard slamming against the wall in time with his thrusts.

His hand slid up to wrap around my throat—not choking, just holding—thumb pressing against my pulse as he fucked me into the mattress like he was trying to imprint himself inside me forever.