Page 23 of A Court of Ravens
“Pleasure is the oldest form of power, and the most dangerous when wielded by the wrong hands.”
Queen Beatrice Blackthorn Shadowhart, Shadowborn Witch, Queen of the Obsidian Court (deceased)
Fuck.This woman is pure madness. She didn’t even know she was floating, levitating above the bed, not even when I tugged her back down. Gods, my devilish eyes study her reactions as I lick her through the orgasm.
Her skin glows, her body trembling, her breaths shaky as my tongue works her over again. Her thighs are shaking, wrapped tight around my head. I grip her with a possessive strength.
The sounds she makes? Sinful. Gasps, moans, and soft whimpers that shoot straight through me.
My hands hold her thighs open as my tongue claims her over and over. I let the taste of her consume me, every lazy drag of my tongue driving her closer to the edge.
Her body thrashes beneath me, hands twisting in the sheets, her back arching like she’s trying to escape the pleasure. There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide from what I’m doing to her. Her thighs shake around my head, her legs digging into my muscled shoulders with each stroke of my tongue.
It’s fucking glorious. Beautiful to watch. And I? I’m lost, drunk on her, my every thought erased by her wet heat, her scent, the pulse of her need against my lips.
She’s mine. Every gasp, every shiver—mine.There’s only sucking and moaning. It draws me into a dark space where only she and I exist. I commit every whimper and shudder to memory. I want to savour this, to make sure her pleasure eclipses anything that came before my claiming her.
Dark tendrils of shadow ripple over her skin, coiling like smoke, drawn to me like a force I can’t explain. Her magic pulses, responding to the pleasure, and fuck, it makes me harder. She doesn’t even realise what she’s doing or how powerful she is when she comes undone beneath me. And gods help me, I want to make her come again. And again.
I slide my hands up her body, my thumb brushing over her nipple as I trail a path across her stomach. Her hand grabs at the nightstand, fingers scrambling for something to hold onto. They brush against the smooth hilt. Her breath stutters as her gaze flicks to the dagger resting there, the one I always sleep with.
An intricate thing, with sigils etched along the blade like secrets. Dangerous. Ancient. She shivers. A wicked thought curls through my mind as I pluck it from its resting place, pressing the flat of the blade against her stomach. The metal is cool against her fevered skin, and she gasps, arching into it.
Her eyes meet mine, wild, curious, wanting.
“You trust me, don’t you?” I murmur, dragging the hilt down her body slowly enough that she feels every inch of it. The weight of it and its threat.
She nods, barely breathing. “Yes.”
I smirk. “Good.”
Then I press the hilt against her clit, watching the way her body shudders. She moans, thighs parting wider, wordlessly offering herself up to my control.Fuck, she likes it. My cock twitches at the sight. At the power I have over her.
I circle the hilt against her clit, teasing, rubbing, letting the cold steel contrast with the molten heat of her body. Her hips jerk, a sharp inhale tearing from her throat.
“Gods,” she gasps. “Niall?—”
A growl rumbles deep in my chest as I slide the hilt inside her, just an inch, but enough to make her whimper. Her breath stutters, her muscles tensing, her body gripping the intrusion like she doesn’t know whether to fight it or pull it deeper. Her eyes darken as they meet mine. She pushes against the hilt, letting it sink into her even more. Her back arches, her hands fisting in the sheets.
“You look so fucking perfect like this,” I murmur, watching every twitch, every tremble. I slide the hilt deeper, my free hand gripping her thigh, holding her in place. Holding her open for me.
She moans, writhing, and I know she’s close again. So fucking close. I twist the hilt, dragging it against her sweetest, most sensitive spot, my tongue flicking over my lip ring as I watch her fall apart.
“You like that, don’t you, love?” I taunt, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh—a soft, deceptive thing before I sink my teeth into the tender flesh.
She cries out, hands flying to my hair, nails digging into my scalp.
Mine.
I bite again, this time on her hip, where no one will see. A secret between us. Something to ache every time she moves tomorrow, every time she thinks of this moment.
She’s shaking, thighs trembling, caught between pain and pleasure. I don’t fucking stop. I slide the hilt almost all the way out before thrusting it back in, slow, relentless, keeping her on the very edge but never letting her fall over.
“Niall,” she gasps, voice wrecked. “Please?—”
A wicked grin curves my lips. “Not yet.”
She groans, twisting against the sheets, desperate, her body fighting me for control. I fucking love it.
