She releases my wrists from the ropes of light binding them, and I’m instantly on her, unable to keep my hands off her for even a second in my freedom. I scoop her into my arms and lay her out on the bed, but as soon as I try to lower myself over her, she wraps her legs around my hips and flips us so that she’s on top, smirking at my shocked expression.

“I told you, it’s my turn,” she murmurs, a predatory glint in her eyes, and it nearly undoes me right then. Like a phantom of my dreams, she kisses the hollow of my throat, her pert nipples skimming across my skin as she makes her way down my chest and stomach, kissing every inch of me she can reach. It drives me mad, the slow way she’s taunting me, but I wouldn’t dream of rushing her, wouldn’t dream of rushing this.

Sitting up, her eyes alight with glee a second before a warm, teasing wind dances across my shaft. I let out a gasp, and that only encourages her. Somehow, I feel her hands touching me in multiple places, though I see them resting lightly on the sides of her wide hips. Those phantom hands massage my shoulders and delicately trace the lines of my abs. When they squeeze my shaft and pump up and down in a steady rhythm, I buck my hips and let out a groan. That only makes Laurel chuckle in satisfaction, those haunting green eyes shining with delight.

“Witchling,” I moan. “You’re going to make me come without even touching me. That just seems wrong. Let me. Inside. You.” I mean for the words to come out teasing and cheeky, but they’re breathy, practically pleading. With an unholy, feral grin, she crawls above me, her long hair caging me. When her face is right above mine, she slowly lowers her hips, guiding my shaft inside her hot, wet slit. Her eyes never leave mine, the look on her face possessive. I moan at the perfect feel of her as she drops inch by inch, taking my large girth without hesitation. “That’s it, nice and slow,” I encourage. The way her nipples harden and her eyes heat tells me she likes the praise, so I keep going. “You’re doing so well. My good girl.” At that, she shivers, the movement wracking her whole body in a way I can’t wait to see again. She keeps going, not stopping the tantalizing drop of her hips. When she’s fully seated, we both let out moans, grinding our hips in circular movements. I want to touch her clit, want to pull out so I can thrust back into her. But she’s in control, and there’s too much pleasure in that thought to take it from her. “You were made for me,” I murmur.