“All night,” the marquis groaned, “I thought about this. About you.”

“Y-you’re exaggerating,” she gasped.

His head lifted up, and his eyes locked with hers. “Tis the truth, milady.” His fingers traced her lips as he murmured, “You know what I am. I can do away with sleep if I must, and last night, I didn’t want to sleep. I’d rather think of you—-”

Her entire body shuddered at his revelation, embarrassment and pleasure warring inside her.

“In my mind, I kept replaying the image of how I made you come with my fingers—-”


“S-stop saying such things!” But his mind had connected with hers, and Dear God, she could see what he was seeing, imagining the entire night—-

Wetness flooded her folds, and she automatically pressed her thighs together in an effort to stem the tide.

“And the entire night, I fucking regretted not having a taste of you—-”

A throaty moan slipped out of her, and her head fell back as he nuzzled her neck, biting the tender skin before moving his mouth down her bosom.

The entire world disappeared in her need for him, and she could only moan as he shifted her in his lap until she was straddling him and his hardness was between her legs. She had read in her secret books about these moments, had read about what it would make her feel.

But still, none of it prepared her for the beauty of it—-

The hot, wet, pulsating beauty of his hardness meeting her softness, of his engorged cock straining against his breeches as if it had the absolute need to pound itself into her.

His hands clasped her waist in a possessive grip. Her eyes flew to him just as he pulled her down hard, grinding her wet and aching mound on his satin-covered breeches.

She moaned long and hard. He started rubbing her up and down his cock, and she moaned again, the pleasure agonizing and unbearable in the sweetest possible way.

“Look at me, ma lisse,” he growled.

The growl was inhuman and powerful. It was pure wolf, and she should have found it terrifying but she didn’t. Instead, she thrilled to his command, and with another shudder, she lifted her eyes to him—-

“You are mine.”

Her body went up in flames at the possessive claim, and she knew she was speaking to the wolf behind the marquis’ beautiful façade.

This was the real Ilie Marcovici.

“And you know this, don’t you, ma lisse? You can deny it with your words, but your body knows it.” His hands left her waist and moved up, past her rib cage, before stopping right under her breasts.

She shuddered anew. Oh, how close he was to touching her breasts, which were now swelling and aching like she was about to burst.

She watched his gaze trail down to her breasts, and she swallowed, his hungry eyes making her nipples pucker into life.

“These breasts can’t be seen by anyone else, ma lisse. Anyone who stares at them will have his eyes torn out, and you wouldn’t want to be the reason for people to go blind. Would you?” His silver eyes – the part of him that was always pure wolf – captured hers.

She shook her head. “N-no.”

“Good.” His satisfaction was primal. She wanted to think he was being barbaric, but her body felt differently, arousal making her want to cry out for his touch.

His gaze went back to her breasts, and she whimpered at the way his eyes devoured them. “Do you know what this kind of dress does to me? Do you?” He fingers grazed the undersides of her breasts, and oh, how that simple touch made her ache even harder.

“It makes me want to scoop my hands inside it—-”

And then he was doing it, his large, powerful hands scooping into her gown until the silk inched down and her breasts filled his palms.


He began to knead her breasts, and her head fell back as pleasure rocked her body. He squeezed her breasts hard, and it squeezed a moan out of her. Then his fingers found her nipples, and nothing – oh, God, nothing – could have prepared her for how excruciatingly exquisite it was. He began to tug, and she began to pant.

He tugged harder, she panted harder.

He tugged faster, she panted faster.

And then his mouth replaced his fingers on one nipple—-

“Ilie!” His name came out a sob, and her fingers instinctively found their way up to his hair. He started to suck, and she started to grip his head to her. He sucked hard, and she pushed her nipple deeper into his mouth, wanting it never to end.

“Ilie.” She sobbed his name again, hoping he understood what she could no longer put in words.

He moved to her other breast, sucking hard on her nipple, and she could only sob his name over and over.


She rocked against him, wanting more.



And as if he had heard her – she didn’t really know, she was no longer aware of which thoughts of hers made it to him – he suddenly had their positions switching, his inhuman speed allowing him to settle her on his seat in the blink of an eye.

Tags: Marian Tee Fantasy
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