Page 51 of Magical Midlife Conclave

The buttons on her pants popped open, and he pulled the fabric down her legs, taking her panties as well. She stood before him, bound and bared. He kissed lower, sucking in little bits of flesh as he went. His fingers traced down the center of her thighs, sending shooting sparks through her.

Kneeling, he grabbed the back of one of her knees, roughly yanked it to the side and up, over his wide shoulder. She breathed deeply, looking down on this handsome man before her, anticipation curling within. She throbbed—ached—for him to touch her where she needed it most. To take her, hard, forcefully, until she couldn’t think about anything but his body thrusting into hers.

His amber eyes met hers…and his wicked grin followed.

He ever so lightly flicked her with his tongue. Right where he should suck, or rub, or anything but that.

Her body convulsed. Her eyes stayed locked with his. And then he started to tease. To taunt. Building her slowly, shallowly, never enough to really get a purchase on the pleasure. His ministrations were as masterful as they were agonizing—pleasure and pain—not letting her give in to release. Keeping her on a plateau, strung out, desperate.

Begging.

“Please,” she said, arched toward him, caught by the rope and wooden beam. “Please, Tristan.”

“Please what, little angel?” Flick.

“No, oh God, please. Deeper, Tristan, please. Harder.”

“Like this?” His tongue was slow, oh so slow. Much too slow.

“No. Ugh, yes. Oh God. Oh yes. Please, Tristan!”

“Make up your mind, little angel. Like this?” Circles now, so light, making her nerve endings dance and then scream. Feathering up and down before lingering. Never enough.

Her hips gyrated toward him, but every time she got close enough, he backed off. She used her heel on his back to try to drag him closer, her magic to coax him, but her pleas were met with a dark chuckle.

“Now you’ll please me.” He ripped her bindings away. She staggered toward him, dizzied with lust. He threw her over his shoulder and marched toward the house.

She fought to break free, more games, wanting to feel his strength as he held her put. She thought he might slam her against the door and force her to pleasure him there. Or bend her over the back of the couch, or a table, and take her. Any number of things. Her mind raced with possibilities that were delirious. Feverish.

Instead, he carried her into his bedroom, pushed the door shut, and locked it. The action gave her a thrill; she was trapped in here with a big monster. At his whim. Dancing to his tune.

“Strip me,” he commanded. His shadows soaked the air, curling around her. Instead of terrifying her, though, they flirted, coaxing out her energy and mingling playfully.

Hands shaking, she did as he said, thankful he was wearing a plain T-shirt instead of a shirt with a row of buttons. He curled his fist into her hair as she undid his pants. His incredible torso flexed and his biceps popped as he forced her down by her hair. She dragged his pants with her, closing her eyes in bliss, wondering what would happen next. Wanting whatever it was. Whatever this was.

His breath tumbled out, heady and heavy.

“Suck,” he commanded.

She took his large erection at its base and leaned in, no finesse, not like the first time. She took him in deep, gagged, and tried for deeper still. He dragged her away, tugging her hair before pushing her back in. Away. In.

“Good,” he cooed, before yanking her to standing again. He crashed his lips to hers and picked her up like she weighed nothing. She went to wrap her legs around his waist, but he threw her. She landed on the bed in a tumble of limbs.

Hands on the inside of her knees, he pushed her legs open and then delivered the promise he’d been teasing her with outside. His mouth consumed her, licking and sucking. His fingers plunged and curved, hitting her just right. He worked her hard, without mercy, and it felt so damn good, her whole body flexed. Her mouth fell open, her eyes rolled back, and a climax dragged her under.

He didn’t stop, though, like a man possessed. He kept going, working her up again, and again, stringing her out on pure bliss. On him.

He had earned his reputation; that was clear. Holy hell, the man was a god, and she did not at all mind telling him so.

Screaming it at him, actually. It was all she was capable of.

After the last climax, while she breathed heavily, with jelly for limbs, he crawled over her. His weight pushed her into the soft mattress. His kisses took on a different feel. A softer feel.

“Now we do what I’ve been craving, Natasha,” he whispered, rubbing his tip along her wetness before easing in slowly. Reverently. “I have longed for this.” He stroked within her, so deeply. Sweetly. “I have dreamt of it. Wished for it. Manifested it.” She felt his lips curl against hers. “Craved it.”

His kiss turned deep to match his thrusts.

“None of those could hold a candle to actually feeling you. You feel so fucking good.”