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.

sound of my name on his lips sends a fresh wave of desire crashing

motion, darkening to smoky jade as a low rumble builds in his chest. He takes a step forward,

purr that sends shivers racing down my spine. “I can smell your need from here. It’s taking

arching helplessly towards him. The heat is a living inferno

word torn from my lips in

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Ava: Virgin Heat (1)

keening cry.

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

he finishes, his tone a dark promise that has my core clenching with fresh need. “You need to be claimed, don’t you, little one? Filled and

last.”

brutal, claiming force. His knot swelling inside me, locking us together as he floods me with his seed, branding me as

demands. But some small, rational part of me knows that it isn’t right, that Clayton isn’t my fated mate, no matter how badly my

No claiming.

3/7

Virgin Heat (1)

Just sex.

from

But-

I force out, my voice cracking with strain. “We need… the guards.” I’m trying to maintain rationality, and yet I hold

closer.

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

the scorching heat of his body, can smell the heady, musky scent of his arousal mingling with mine

he murmurs, his breath fanning

crashes down on mine,

unrice as he kinnon me with a

murarica na ha

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foracious

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Virgin Heat (1)

lips, stroking against mine in a blatant

the hard planes of his body pressed against mine. My fingers

burning away

my hair, yanking my head back as he plunders

down, pressing against my lower abdomen in a way that makes my hips buck. He slides one jean–clad leg between mine, and I grind down immediately, groaning at the feel of rough, wet denim