The Taming: Book 3 in the Tribe Warrior Series by Imogen Keeper (romantic novels in english TXT) 📕

rabid fucking Vestige style, he didn’t have time. They needed to get to Tamminia.

He pressed against her, let her feel him. Let her know him.

By the time his lips met hers, she was breathing hard, her mouth slack, eyes shut. He hadn’t even touched her yet. Not really. Mostly they were just breathing together and letting their bodies find their rhythm.

He lifted her until her feet left the floor and she had no choice but to wrap her legs around his waist. It brought her higher, so he didn’t have to bend over to kiss her. She was just right there in front of him.

He didn’t need to see to navigate the passageway. He could walk his ship blind. So, he just held her tight and pressed his lips to hers.

She opened slowly, with a taste like summer and cool water, and that fruit. She was shaking, and her fast-beating heart so loud he could hear it.

“Don’t be scared.”

As he laid her on the bed in his chamber, he wasn’t sure if he meant now or later. Maybe both.

The mattress dipped beneath his knee as he pressed it between her parted thighs. He slid his hand under the neck of his shirt and yanked it over his head.

She trailed a fingertip over the scar on his collarbone. “Where did you get this one?”

“I don’t want to talk.” He dimmed the lights to a soft, ruddy haze.

She rested on her elbows, face tight and confused.

“Relax.” He spread her hair along the bed, breathing her in. He skimmed his lips over smooth, tan skin, whispering words in Vestigi, whatever came to mind, not even caring what he said. It didn’t matter. His voice seemed to relax her, so he kept on talking as he pulled at her clothes and smoothed his hands along her skin.

She let out a shaky sigh.

He lowered his lips to hers. “I want you,” he whispered against her lips. And it felt weird speaking to her in his own tongue, more honest somehow. More true.

His fingers fumbled with the complicated knots on her dress.

The vest part fell free, and her glorious tits fell out. He got the fabric all rucked up around her thighs and tugged it over her head. Dropped his mouth to a breast.

The little moans in her throat, hungry and breathy, gusted out against his neck, stuttering like she was trying to find words to give voice to all her stupid ideas about why they shouldn’t do this.

“Stop thinking, abellina.”

Her eyes flashed open. He couldn’t tell if it was surprise at the new term—beautiful one—or irritation written in their depths. He didn’t really care, so he silenced her words with his tongue, his hand sliding between their bodies to settle on a soft, warm thigh.

There was nothing between them now. Just her. And the way she breathed into him, shifted her hips against him. Nothing feigned or calculated. She was operating on pure instinct.

Hot and wet because he’d made her that way.

He sat up, letting his eyes move over her naked body, and cupped his hand over pink skin, letting her get used to the heat of his flattened palm.

He kissed her again, just like that, for a long time. Until her feet and elbows were digging into the mattress and she shifted restlessly beneath him.

“You wanted me to kiss you, right?” he said.

“I didn’t imagine this.”

“But you like it.”

“Yes.” She laughed and sank her fingers into his scalp.

“And you want more.”

“Yes. I like it, and I want more,” she said, tugging at his hair.

“Gladly.” He left her breast, dragged his tongue over her ribs and down the smooth planes of her belly, the dip of her navel, over the rise of her hip bone.

Her hands fisted. “What are y... where are y...” She tried to close her thighs, but he held them firm, biting down on the smooth skin inside her thigh.

A bright laugh burst from her lips. He tilted his face to the side, and she hissed at the drag of his jaw over her thighs.

She tried to buck again, close her legs, but he held her firm.

“You can’t be serious. You mean to put your mouth on me there?”

On, in. Semantics. “Yeah.”

She didn’t resist him, not really.

He lowered his mouth, parted the folds with his tongue—she tasted like the nectar of the old gods—slid one finger in deep where she was fiery hot and slippery wet, and someday soon, his.

Her words trailed off into nothing more than meaningless babble, hands clenching on his.

He looked up, his tongue lapping, in time to see her neck arch back, her ribcage lift high off the bed.

Velvety thighs scissored against his cheeks.

He ground his cock into the mattress, as she belted out a crescendo of confused moans, and she fluttered around his fingers, snug and tight.

And like this, without all the strictures, all her buttons undone, hair wild against the pillow, coming on his tongue, she was unruly, beautiful and free.

He brought her down slowly, until she lay on the bed, legs sprawled, arms over her head, hair a mess, panting. All trace of straitlaced Argenti modesty forgotten.

She didn’t even try to close her legs when he reared up on his knees and unzipped his pants.

It took about two seconds from the time his cock was in his hand.

Her curious eyes settled on him, and if there was one thing his cock was happy to do in that moment, it was perform. The thing twitched and swelled, and his balls tightened, and he came hard, all over her stomach, spurt after spurt, marking her from her soft thighs to the column of her throat. Grunting and twitching and gasping.

Surprise registered on her face, and a hand came up, hovering. For a moment, Tor thought maybe she’d try to touch him, but he kept on coming, and she pulled her hand back, sinking her teeth into her lower lip.

Her dress lay tangled beneath her. His pants were still down around his thighs. Not exactly the planned seduction