That Prince Is A Girl: The Vicious King’s Slave Mate Novel

Chapter 342: A prickling sensation crept up the back of her neck, like the faint brush of unseen eyes watching her every move.

She spun around abruptly, her eyes scanning the woods. Nothing but trees.

"Being away from civilization has me jumping at ghosts that aren't there," she muttered.

A twig snapped behind her. Her heart leaped into her throat. It was probably nothing. Yet, Emeriel quickened her pace, glancing behind her a few times, her ears straining to catch any sound.

She heard it again. A faint rustling, just beyond the tree line.

Emeriel broke into a run.

She had barely taken more than a few steps when strong arms seized her from behind, lifting her off her feet. She thrashed wildly, catching a brief glimpse of figures clad in black masks. Before she could scream, a hand clamped a cloth over her face.

A sickly scent filled her nostrils, acrid and overpowering. She fought against the growing darkness.

"Got you at last, human," a male voice growled in her ear.

Aekeira moaned softly as his kisses trailed down her collarbone and along her spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake. By the time his fingers withdrew, she was shaking, teetering on the edge. She gripped the sheets tightly, bracing herself as his hardness nudged her folds.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she waited for the hard slam, but he entered her slowly instead. Aekeira cried out as he opened her up, inch by inch, stretching her and filling her completely. Yet, he kept gliding in. How much more of him could there possibly be?

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"Hell, you feel…" Lord Vladya broke off in a stuttered breath. "You feel so good wrapped around me." With a final thrust, he filled her to the hilt.

Aekeira buried her face in the mattress, panting and overwhelmed. It felt… good. How could something that always hurt, like swords forged in Tartarus, be this pleasurable? As sweet as the nectars of the gods.

Lord Vladya leaned over her, covering her with his body. "Okay?" he asked, his voice low.

She would have scoffed if she were capable of it at that moment. Since when did he need her permission to move? "Y-yes," she gasped, her cheeks heating up. But she wanted more. Aekeira pressed her hips back against him desperately.

"Someone needs it badly," he drawled, then straightened. He withdrew and plunged back in. Again. And again. And again.

Aekeira couldn't control the moans spilling from her throat. She was full, almost to the point of discomfort, yet her pleasure mounted with every stroke.

"You are not a Syren," he rasped, pulling out and plunging back in. "You weren't made for this." His words were punctuated by another slow, deliberate thrust. "Your body wasn't made to take me, to wrap around me so tight and squeeze me like a snake," he growled, thrusting harder with maddening control. "You weren't made for this. You weren't made for me."

Leaning in closer, the grand lord gripped her hair, pulling the loosened knot. "So, why," he ground his hips blatantly, his hardness pressing deep, and Aekeira whined. "Tell me why." He brushed his lips against her ear. "Do you feel so goddamn good?"

Aekeira cried out, fighting battles words couldn't explain. Pleasure attacked every nerve she possessed. His words took time to hit home, but when they did, they lit her up from the inside. He enjoyed her body that much…?

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