Renegade (The Feral Court Book 1) by Myra Danvers

Author:Myra Danvers [Danvers, Myra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-08-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

She was on him before he could muster the dexterity to speak a single word. Engulfing his length all the way to the back of her throat, only to swallow when she got there. Tight ring of cartilage kneading at his engorged head.

Yelping, Sickle’s hips flexed, pumping a single rope of excitement down her throat. Painting the back of her tongue when he withdrew with a gasp.

“So warm,” he groaned, seizing a handful of silky black hair. Forcing her to look at him, even though all he wanted was for her to swallow his load before his brothers took their fill. “Please,” he said, voice slipping into the shivery dulcet tones the queens had loved so much. “I… I need to taste…”

Something flashed across her face. Either wonder or anguish, he couldn’t rightly say. Only that it was something of great depth before it was shuttered away on her next blink. The mysterious, dark-eyed beauty smiled then, but it was toothy and wild. Her blunted teeth creating a painful ache in his chest, a great surge of pity for the little female. Unwarranted, for she was savage enough to make him shiver with want, to make his balls clench where they were held tight and close to his body. Preparing to unload everything he had.

Grinning, the girl tugged him down. Guided him to lay on his back so she could crawl up and over. Pinning him between naked thighs, she hooked her legs about his shoulders and straddled his chest—the petals of a swollen, glistening pussy on lewd display.

Above them, the pack howled. Demanding to be set free so they might seed her first.

Take what he was being given.

Something… defiant came over Sickle then. Something that demanded he breed this little bitch in the old ways. In front of the pack, so they might see the sticky evidence of his claim.

Growling low in his throat, he wrapped both arms around her thighs, spreading her wider. Embracing this chance while it was his to do with as he pleased.

This was what he’d been trained for. All the years of abuse and denial were for this moment. For her. To use lips, teeth, tongue, and fingers until she was quaking above him. Until she’d left him bruised and dripping in want.

He buried his face between her thighs, using the flat of his tongue to lap up as much slick as he could get, before diving deeper. Going inside to drink straight from the source.

Ecstasy singed his taste buds. Burning with every swallow, her taste left him ravaged. His throat parched and dry, flexing with the need to gulp her down and soothe his aches with nothing but the slick ambrosia pouring from a needy little cunt.

It was her turn to whine. Her turn to tremble and quake, for taking a position of dominance was as unnatural to a Hathorian female as submission was to an Anhur.

Sickle knew it all too well.

To need and not know how to ask. To give, knowing nothing would be returned.

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