Tangled

41 Ava: Virgin Heat (1)

41 Ava: Virgin Heat (I)

I brace myself against the slick tiles, my chest heaving with harsh, ragged breaths as Clayton’s eyes blaze into mine. The heat between us is a living, breathing thing, a palpable force that crackles in the air like an electric

current.

“Clayton,” I manage, my voice a breathless rasp. “We need to… call the guards.”

My words would probably have a little more punch if I wasn’t still working my fingers between my thighs. His eyes fall from my face to my hands, and he steps

forward.

A thrill rushes through me, and I spread my legs a little farther. “The guards,” I prompt, even as I bring myself to yet another orgasm, panting as my face flushes with

its heat.

I want his fingers, not mine.

I want his tongue, not his fingers.

I want his cock, not his tongue.

I want…

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41 Ava: Virgin Heat (1)

Fuck, I can’t handle this.

His nostrils flare at the sound of my voice, his jaw clenching as a muscle ticks in his chiseled cheek. I can see the war raging within him, the primal alpha instincts battling against his ironclad control.

on his lips sends a fresh wave of desire crashing through me.

as a low rumble builds in his chest. He takes a

fire, little one,” he warns, his voice a low, gravelly purr that sends shivers racing down my

is a living inferno now, an

beg, the word torn from

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Ava: Virgin Heat

keening cry.

me from the inside out. But Clayton seems to understand, his eyes glittering with a feral

his tone a dark promise that has my core clenching with fresh need. “You need to be

last.”

broken moan spills from my lips as images explode behind my eyes–Clayton pinning me down, spearing into me over and over as he takes me with brutal, claiming force. His knot swelling inside me, locking us together as he floods me with his seed, branding me as his

some small, rational part of me knows that it isn’t right, that Clayton isn’t my fated

No claiming.

3/7

Virgin

Just sex.

from all this.

But-

guards.” I’m trying to maintain rationality, and yet I hold out my hand, beckoning him

closer.

blazing like twin emerald flames. “No guards, little one,” he counters, his tone laced with steel.

hands slamming against the tile on either side of my head as he cages me in. I can feel the scorching heat of his body, can smell the heady, musky scent of his arousal mingling with mine in the

me take care of you, Ava,” he murmurs, his breath fanning hot across my lips. “Let

down on mine,

as he kinnon me with

murarica na ha

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foracious

417

Ava: Virgin Heat (1)

a blatant possession that has me arching into him with

heat of his kiss and the hard planes of his body pressed

burning away the

hair, yanking my

slides one jean–clad leg between mine, and I grind down immediately, groaning at the feel of rough, wet denim against my core.