Bride of the Emperor (The Prophecy of Sisters Book 4) by Hayley Faiman (urban books to read .TXT) 📕

my tongue directly into his mouth and tangle it with his. He takes a step back as if surprised by my move, but I don’t care, he tastes amazing.

One of my hands slides up the back of his neck and into his short hair, tugging on what strands he has. I wish that I knew what his hair actually looked like, if it was curly or straight, but it doesn’t matter, all I know is that it’s soft.

With my other hand, I grip his bicep, my nails digging into his flesh as I roll my hips, my body instantly craving more from him. I feel like something has possessed me. I don’t know what it is, but my body burns and it burns for only him.

I’ve never felt like this before, I didn’t know that I could feel like this about another human, let alone a complete stranger. I want him, and not in a way where I think he’s hot, so I want to play with him.

I really, really want him.

He moves his legs and begins to walk just as he tangles his tongue with mine and takes over the kiss. My back hits the stone wall and I let out a grunt at the slight pain, but it’s not enough to make me want to stop.

Nothing could make me stop this moment.

My hand leaves his shoulder and I reach for his man-skirt, I grip it in my fingers as I tug it up at the same time, he slides his hands from my ass, gathering the skirt of my gown in his hands and pushes it up to my waist.

My fingers grip his length and my breath leaves in a slow hiss. He’s downright amazing. Thick and long, but not too long. He fits perfectly in my grasp as I begin to stroke him, my blood boiling beneath my skin with each stroke.

He grunts, his hand sliding around my thigh, his fingers finding my center. My head falls back against the stone wall as I lift my hips and silently demand more, my hand still stroking him and trying to guide him home.

There is a moment of silence before he lets out a long, deep, rumbling growl. He jerks his hips, but he doesn’t push inside of me. Instead, his fingers slip inside of me and he begins to curl them, his palm pressing against my clit.

It’s amazing.

Too amazing.

My stomach clenches in pain and I whimper. “Please.”

He doesn’t answer me, not verbally or physically. It’s now that I know without a doubt, he is not the man that I met with tonight. This is not the man I danced with. This man is different and I’m okay with that, because this man makes me feel hot and cold at the exact same time.

“More,” I cry. “I need more.”

Instead of taking his hand from between my legs, he leans forward and covers my lips with his, effectively shutting me up. I don’t mind, feeling his warm tongue slide inside of my mouth is amazing. I enjoy the taste of him and my blood begins to boil a little more with each stroke of both his tongue and fingers.

I am close, so close to tipping over the edge, my hips jerking up as much as they can from my position against the wall. I don’t release his cock, I continue to stroke him, over and over, hoping that I am making him as achy as he is making me.

Then it happens.

I come.

It’s hard.

It’s earth shattering.

I cry out into his mouth before I let out a loud sobbing noise from deep in my chest. I’ve never come this hard, not even by myself. I grip his hair tighter, tugging on it in an attempt to pull his head away from mine, but it doesn’t work.

Then, he does something that I could kiss him all over again for. He thrusts forward, my hand being forced to release his cock and he buries himself deep inside of me. I let out a sigh that he swallows, he grunts and I happily swallow that.

He stills inside of me, allowing my body to accept him. He stretches me and I let out a moan at the way he fills me. Better than any other man that I have ever had inside of me. He’s beautiful. If this is supposed to be some big cosmic thing, I get it now.

This is exactly that—cosmic.

If this is what the man, I ate dinner and danced with suggested, if this is some fated thing, then whoever made it happen, they did a fucking great job of matching me with him.

He is a spectacular specimen, and he can make me come, then there’s the way he fills me. I think that I’ve just met the perfect man for me. He rolls his hips and all thought completely leaves my head. There is nothing left—just feeling and that burning pit in my stomach, the way my blood boils, and the need for more—for everything.

TIBERIUS

She feels spectacular. I thought she was just gorgeous, but she is more than that. Pulling almost completely out of her, I slam back inside. I expect her to tell me to stop, but she doesn’t. She digs her nails in my shoulders and spurs me on.

I pull out of her, slam back inside, and then do it over and over, careful to roll my hips and hit that little landica that drives her pleasure.

She speaks, but I don’t know what she’s saying. It matters not, all that matters is the way that she feels and that even without language, our bodies can communicate perfectly.

My blood burns for her, my ilium ache for her.

I continue to move inside of her, feeling every inch of her that I can and wishing I could feel more. I let out a grunt as my hips move faster and faster. I let out a growl, my back beginning to tingle and my ilium aching, on the verge of finding my release,