She gave him a small nod and then surrendered to the need to touch him. She smoothed her hands over his hard chest, raking her fingers in the dark hair cloaking his skin. She glided over his shoulders, following the ripple and curve of his arms.
She traced the shape of a tattoo on his shoulder and leaned to take a better look.
A rounded circle with scrolled legs. A troll cross. At its center, was the Nordic P-shaped rune—thorn. Which marked him as a protector. If she’d seen this in the gazebo, she’d have known exactly what he was even before she’d noticed the green glow of his troll eyes.
Leaning toward him, she licked a small flat nipple, enjoying his reaction, a shiver of delight that quivered down his belly. She followed that shiver, bending to trail her tongue over his ribs, licking along the curves carved into his muscled abdomen, an eight-pack that jumped and tightened the lower she traveled.
He fisted his hands in her hair but didn’t tug her in any direction. He allowed her to explore. So she went to her knees, roaming hands over his sides and hips. She nipped the skin of his lower abdomen, swirled her tongue in his navel and then nuzzled his sex, breathing in his earthy musk while she brushed her cheeks against the curling hairs coating his groin.
His half-hard cock stirred, filling steadily, rising upward without a kiss or a lick of encouragement. She sat on her haunches and stared, following its progress as it unfurled and straightened.
He was massive. Thick with gnarling veins rising like vines up the shaft. Fantastic for an inner massage, she thought. Her mouth watered and she rose on her knees to smooth her cheek up and down his length, rubbing on the soft, stretched skin, breathing in his scent, which drew a wet response from her. Her sex was growing engorged, hot and aching. She placed a heel beneath her pussy to press against it while she stuck out her tongue to lick her way up to his swollen crown.
Openmouthed, she wagged her head and circled him without latching around him, swiping her tongue over his surface as she learned how he tasted. Salty. Musky. Manly with a hint of grass. Troll.
Her bracelets jangled as she wrapped both hands around his shaft and tilted his cock toward her mouth. Working him with sideways twists, she closed her lips and drew hard on him, sucking, her tongue exploring the texture of his cap, finding the eyelet opening and teasing it.
She glanced upward to find he’d thrown back his head. The tension in his strong jaw had muscles rippling along the edge. She sank deeper, taking more of him into her mouth, and gloried in the hard scrape of his nails against her scalp.
“Enough,” he growled, shoving her backward. She landed on her rump, legs sprawled.
He glanced down, his chest billowing with deep breaths.
The sight of him, so large and so intensely aroused was its own magic. She pushed up from the floor, walked on trembling legs to the bed and bent over the mattress, stretching out her arms to sink her hands into the soft cotton coverlet where they bunched.
He followed closely behind and molded his hands over her bottom, his grip not the least gentle, rotating her cheeks, together, apart, while his feet nudged hers to widen her stance. And then he bent over her, hands braced beside her shoulders.
He licked her. A long swipe from the center of her shoulders upward. Another growl sounded, and she smiled, knowing if she looked back she’d see the animal, the troll peeking out of his glowing eyes.
His cock slid between her cheeks, gave her a grind that made her breath catch. Goddess, she wanted him. Wanted his thickness inside her. Wanted his strength overwhelming her. She wanted to be taken, used…fucked hard and long.
And she didn’t want him holding back. Didn’t want gentleness or restraint. He believed his inner demon was an animal. Well, she wanted that ogre-like strength and ferocity hammering right between her legs.
He clapped a hand against her swollen pussy. “Witch.” He thrust a thick finger inside her. “Wet.”
So he was past stringing words together. A good sign. She bumped up her ass, gave it a wag. A blunt, lewd invitation.
His torso came down on top of her, pinning her beneath him with his weight. “Stop,” he bit out.
She reached back and clawed at his neck, clutched his ears and pulled while she tried to buck.
He gave a low growl and pushed his cock against her opening. He angled his hips from side to side as he worked the blunt head into her pussy. “Hot,” he rasped, “Fuck.”
She sobbed with excitement, raked him again with her nails. “Fuck me, Ethan. Just fuck.”
He arched upward. Gripped her hips. A strong push forced his cock deeper, another push made her hiss between her teeth because he was doing it, giving her exactly what she’d incited him to give.
He began to thrust, each deeper than the last. Her channel heated with the friction and stretch. Moisture seeped around him, coaxed from her core, easing his intrusion. The sounds he made as he pumped, the choked, rasping growls as he churned inside her, made her whimper, had her mewling with pleasure and painful urgency.
She reached behind her, touched his hip and scratched again, nails biting into his skin, demanding more of his rough, plunging movements.
The bed shook, creaked and then scraped on the floor as it shifted with his hard strokes. She was there, almost there, not needful of a finger sliding on her clit.
Suddenly, he pulled away. Left her. She pushed up and glanced behind her. His eyes glowed, his frame was thick, muscles clenched, veins tracing the contours of his arms and thighs. Sweat gleamed on the ridges of his chest and abdomen.
His hands were curled into tight fists and his face was screwed up into such a fierce, frightening scowl, she knew he was barely holding on. She backed off the bed and stood, quivering with need and want but knowing he’d never forgive himself if he hurt her.
Not trusting herself to speak because she knew she’d beg, she pointed toward the bed. He stalked closer, butted his chest against her and hung his head, his expression so terrible, so beautiful her chest tightened, stealing her ability to breathe. “Lie down,” she whispered. “Grasp the rails. I’ll give you what you need.”
His face descended. His mouth was curled in a snarl, but he nuzzled her cheek, sent harsh gusts of breath into her ear. A shudder shook his tall frame, but he backed away, gave her a blistering glare and then sat on the bed, lay back, reaching his hands upward to wrap around the spokes of her headboard.
She hoped the thick oak dowels wouldn’t splinter. When he was staring at the ceiling, she climbed onto the mattress, lifted a thigh and straddled his hips. Rising on her knees, she reached for his cock, fisted it with her hand and guided it to her folds.
Just like her dream. She bent over him, pushed down on him and felt the enormous pressure as she crowded downward, taking him. Something was missing.
She glanced at the curtained window, raised a hand in the air and jerked it, causing the curtain rings to glide on the metal rod. An upward flick of her fingers raised the window. Wind rushed through the opening. Moonlight drenched the bed and their bodies.
She shook back her hair and stared down at him. “I’m a witch, but not as delicate as I appear.” Leaning back, breasts thrust out, she drew the moonlight, wrapped it around her body, let it cloak her and sink into her skin.
Then she bent over him and pressed her lips against his snarling mouth. It softened beneath hers. He angled his head and returned the sweet pressure, added suction to his kiss, suction that pulled the moon into his body.
Their communion was sweet and hotter than anything she’d ever shared with the hellhound. Wind gusted against the window, blew inside, lifting her hair and whipping at the tendrils. And still, they kissed, until she heard a rumbling, not from her troll, but from the shuddering of the floors beneath the bed.