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.

There were shouts outside their bedroom, footsteps pounding on oak floors and then the door, but she and Ethan were sheltered at the center of the storm. Static crackled. Electricity arced.

He released the dowels and clamped his fingers on her buttocks. They broke the kiss as the storm heightened, clouds stealing through the open window to push against the ceiling, flashes of light brightening and then darkening in their misty depths.

In the back of her mind, she knew what was happening. Knew there was danger. Knew this was impossible. She’d already been claimed. She’d already mated, and yet here they were at the center of the new storm, a binding that echoed through the ether and heralded a new beginning.

A new beginning with a new mate and a resounding stamp of approval from the Powers That Be. Bryn decided to let go of any doubts she’d held about what they were doing. She’d trust in the Goddess and the demon watching her so closely now.

She smiled, loving the curve of his mouth as he stared up at her. He moved his hands from her hips to her breasts and fondled the pendant dancing between her breasts—the mother symbol, bloated with child. Bryn closed her eyes, breathing harder when he moved to tweak her nipples, pulling and pinching the tips, drawing them into exquisitely aroused points before smoothing downward again.

The roar of voices in the distance receded as she bent and braced against his chest. His bruising grip lifted her and shoved her downward, again and again. They pushed together, drew apart, catching the rhythm of their heartbeats, the pace of their deepening breaths.

Below, her sex clenched around him, ripples moving up and down her inner channel, caressing him, accepting him, gripping him and holding him inside her.

She dug her fingertips into his skin. “I’m there,” she whispered.