Dorian prowled up her legs, shoulders rolling, head low, dipping to trace his hot breath against the moist cleft between her thighs. Pausing, he ran his cheek against the soft nest of hair, and Farah whimpered, her knees coming apart of their own accord.
To her surprise, he kept going, the growth of his stubble abrading the flesh of her stomach, then the valley between her breasts, and finally the ultrasensitive skin of her neck. A big hand clamped around her thigh, drawing it up his hip and locking it around him.
“I’m going to devour every inch of you,” he growled into her ear, setting her blood on fire, incinerating any coherent thought she might have had left. “But first…”
His cock settled against the throbbing slit of her body, and Farah was only able to produce a mewl of demand before he found his way, and slid inside with a low groan.
Hot breath brushed her cheek, but they only touched where their bodies joined.
He hovered above her for what seemed like an eternity, holding his incredible torso away from her as though fighting something. If he didn’t move soon, she’d go mad.
“Dorian?” Farah whispered, squeezing her intimate muscles in encouragement.
“Touch me, Fairy.” The words struggled out of him, like they forced their way through a tight throat. “You can—reach for me.”
Farah let out her first real breath in two months. His words melted her. Touched her in a way she’d never before thought possible. This was a privilege afforded no other woman. Given freely to no other human being.
She cupped his jaw with both of her hands, first drawing him down for a tender kiss. Then she slid her arms beneath his and wrapped them around his back, pulling him down to rest his weight on her.
He stiffened at the contact of their bodies. Flesh glided along flesh, and an electric moment of fusion seemed to unsettle them both.
“Stay with me,” she encouraged. “Let me feel your skin move along mine.”
“Yes,” he hissed, finally moving his hips.
They each gasped at the feel of her tight flesh gripping at him as he pulled away, and welcoming him deep as he returned.
Farah clutched at the impossibly powerful muscles of his back, feeling more interruptions to the smooth skin that shouldn’t be there.
She kissed him harder, pouring all her love into him.
Dorian drank from her lips and pushed himself deeper, his height making the union of their mouths difficult if their bodies were to stay clasped together.
Farah buried her face into his neck, unwilling to let the magnificent sensation of his flesh fused to every inch of hers end. He rocked deep within her, curling his spine in slow, painstaking thrusts.
She became a creature of pure need, bottomless desire, and shameful appetites. Her bones relished his weight. Her sex hungrily took every bit of his, stretching and lifting to receive the man she loved.
“You’re so warm,” he moaned. “So fucking soft.” He said other incoherent things against her hair. Made vows. Gasped curses. He was her jaguar, his movements so lithe and graceful. His body so perfect and powerful.
She thrust upward, her moans becoming supplications. Her hands wandered inquiringly down the straining cords of his back to grip the muscles of his buttocks as they clenched and released.
The tide of ecstasy flooded her so swiftly and took her so high, that she almost missed the violent jerks in his hips as he buried himself only a handful of times before seizing on a shuddering convulsion, and burying her name against the counterpane.
Fairy. My Fairy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Dorian lay naked for the first time since he could remember, enjoying the cool air against skin heated by movement and pleasure. He wrinkled his nose as a silvery curl tickled it, but was unwilling to let go of the woman draped across his chest even to move the offending lock.
He didn’t know how long they had been silent like this, long enough for the moon to move from one side of the window to the other. Their breathing had slowed, and little pricks of chill bumps began to make him consider tucking her under the covers. But that meant moving, and he couldn’t stand the idea of parting with her skin for even a moment. Also, he was pretty certain she’d drifted to sleep, and he would freeze to death before he disturbed her.
How had he made it two months without her presence? How had he survived seventeen years of unadulterated hell? It was like the fibers that constructed his body required her nearness in order to function.
He’d not only endured her touch tonight, he’d enjoyed it. She’d been so right. Farah could never be corrupted, was too pure to be touched by his darkness. But he felt less revolting, like some of the rifts in his soul had been stitched by her hands.
Dorian closed his eyes, berating himself for his stupidity. All this time, he hadn’t been afraid of her, he’d been afraid of himself. Afraid that intimacy would bring the violent fears of his years in prison roaring to the surface.
He should have known better. This was his Fairy. His soul remembered. He was a killer, a violent man, but he’d slit his own throat before harming a hair on her head.
He pictured the lust in her eyes when she’d bared his body. The honest appreciation. His desire for her didn’t make him feel vulnerable and weak. But powerful. Virile. Like he could conquer the stars and all the unknown powers beyond them.
“I hope you realize, Madame Sandrine is going to be very irate with you,” she said on a lazy yawn.
He nuzzled her curls, taking the scent of lavender so deep he hoped it knitted into the corners of his lungs. “I thought you were asleep,” he murmured, bemused that those were the first words out of her mouth. Likely, she was trying to put him at ease by creating a light moment after the intensity of everything just past.