Just when I think I can’t take anymore, he lowers his head and blows cool air across my sex, and I shudder in pleasure. He grins wide and feral, then lowers his mouth. The anticipation alone undoes me, and my hips thrust upward to meet his lips. He chuckles against me, and the vibration feels so good. But then, Thorne’s tongue licks up and around my sensitive spot in slow, sensual strokes, and I realize I didn’t know what good felt like.

“Aethers, you taste good,” he groans, but I can’t respond, too lost in the feel of him and taking the brief relief from his touch. “You can’t fathom the number of times I’ve dreamed about this, wondering what you would taste like. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.” Without hesitating, Thorne lowers his head again, returning to that maddening swirl of his tongue. This is incredible, unbearably pleasurable. He licks one more long stroke before clamping down on my bud and sucking. An animalistic need courses through me, and I fist my hands in his hair and tug firmly.

“More,” I pant, my voice pleading, and another satisfied chuckle creates maddening vibrations that nearly send me over the cliff of my pleasure. I hold him to me, not letting him move his face away from between my legs, but I don’t think he minds as he gives me exactly what I asked for. Never taking his mouth from me, tendrils of light dance in and out of my center, filling and releasing me over and over again, all while he continues the perfect rhythm of his tongue.

The tension builds, coiling low in my gut. I writhe in pleasure, but Thorne just tightens the light restraints holding me in place, adding a band of light over my lap to keep me from moving my hips. It brings me even closer to the edge, unable to release the pressure that threatens to erupt out of me. I have the vague sense that the room has filled with a misty light, and Thorne chuckles when a vine crawls all the way across the room from the window and laps lazily at his abs. I’ve lost some of the control I had clamped around my magic, but I can’t bring myself to care.

“Thorne,” I moan, my words a plea for him to bring me over the edge.

“Come for me, witchling,” he growls. Then he lifts his head, and I let him, though I keep my hands in his hair. His mouth glistens with my wetness, and his full lips are vibrant red. “Come for me, Laurel. I want to watch that beautiful face of yours come undone.”