He’s on me in an instant, dragging my hips down to the edge of the sofa and tugging my hands farther up above my head with his light. He gently strokes my inner thighs, but instead of pulling away when he gets to the apex like he has every other time, he lets his hands move where I want them to, stroking me in maddening circles. It’s barely the ghost of a touch, so soft that I push my hips farther into his hand, demanding more pressure. He only smirks at me. One finger, then two, pump in and out of me, and I squirm at the pressure, desperate for his fingers to return to that spot. Thorne only places a hand on my abdomen, locking me down so that I can’t move. He plans to take his time, and I’m not sure my body can wait.

Ribbons of light appear around us. They tease my nipples while Thorne uses his fingers, and the sensation is—I have no words to describe it. Needy whimpers escape me involuntarily as I buck my hips, but Thorne continues his gentle caress. It’s hard to remember to breathe with all the different ways he’s touching me. With no warning, ribbons and fingers swap places, and Thorne squeezes my breasts firmly with his warm hands while a beam of light teases between my legs, gently swirling and pulsing with pressure that is both punishing and delightful. His magic is playful, working me up only to back away right when it finally feels just right. I close my eyes at the sensations, but he barks my name, a commanding noise that has me tingling.

“Laurel. Keep those eyes on me.” My eyes snap open to find his locked intensely on my face. I haven’t seen this side of Thorne yet, haven’t seen the male who can command every movement I make with just a few words. There have been glimpses, mostly when he lets the mask of the Shining Prince slip and the true leader beneath shines through. But this is different, and I can’t get enough of it.

He removes his hands from my breasts for just an instant so he can bring his lips to mine in a demanding kiss that has me losing all sense of myself. My magic hums at the surface of my skin, desperate to be let out, but I somehow push it down and keep it at bay. Like he senses the last bit of control left in me, his fingers return to my clit, and he finally—finally—gives me the pressure I’m craving. He rubs me in hard and fast circles, and I cry out, my words incomprehensible. He only laughs, keeping that steady pace unwavering and his gaze firmly locked on my face. Somehow, his fingers know exactly the right rhythm and pressure I like, and heat builds low in my stomach.