She loved what Yuri could give her. She loved the way he played with her. She loved his tender dominance. She loved the velvet violence she received once he was inside. She especially loved that every time he gave her something exquisite: an orgasm that was always better than the ones he’d gifted her with before.

But she also loved this, when she was done and he was not. She could come again, easily, but she tried to hold it back. (This failed when he wished for her to orgasm. Yuri tended to get what he wanted and Aurora always liked giving it to him.)

She tried to hold it back because she wanted to be all about him after he’d been all about her. She loved the sound of his grunts and groans. She loved the feel of him losing control and rearing inside her before he found his own climax. She loved the power it made her feel, knowing their play seemed as if she handed it all to him, but in these moments, she knew she held it all along.

She gloried in it.

Power over a vampire.

Power over her vampire, Yuri.

She gloried in it.

She was, of course, a witch.

So she would.

And right then, he gave it to her. Sliding the hand between her shoulder blades to the side of her waist, he clamped on and lost control, thrusting wildly, his grunts filling the room, his groan of release thrilling through her with enough power to make her whole body quiver, inside and out.

He made love to her gently as his climax descended, and she knew it had left him when his hands slid high on her hips so he could stroke her bottom with his thumbs.

Finally, he slid himself in to the root and asked gently, “All right, button?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” she replied.

“Mm,” he murmured, the purr of it making her clit twitch.

Oh yes, she gloried in her power over her vampire.

Slowly, he slid out and she bit her lip at the disappointment of losing him.

Then she felt his tongue lapping the swell of one of the cheeks of her bottom.

Another lap and she made a soft mew when she felt the dull bite of his fangs sinking through.

She tipped her bottom up, deeper into his mouth.

He growled against her skin, gripping his fingers high on the inside of her thigh before she felt his tongue again. Then with his natural speed, she was on her back with her vampire on top.

She looked to his face, which could be cold, or remote, or bland, and it was often this way when he looked at her.

So she didn’t look at his face.

She looked in his eyes, eyes that always told her what she wanted to know.

That he gloried in his witch just as much as, if not more than she gloried in him.