Black Briar by Sophie Avett

folds, teasing them. Tender. The heels of her feet dug into his shoulder blades as she lurched up and snagged a fist full of black silk. She tried to scramble back, run from the overwhelming pleasure, but he caught her hips in brutal hands, leaving bruises and handprints, and hauled her ass right to his mouth. His nostrils flared. Soft suckling noises of utter fucking abandon. He was eating her with purpose. Without shame or second thought. Without even a passing concern for himself like whatever pleasure he gave was his to reap. All his.
     
    “Nova…” Her pussy was coiling…tighter. Tick, tick…tick.
     
    Boom.
     
    Ecstasy warped and blistered through her core, and she let out a ghostly cry and scrabbled up, clutching his horns so she could roll her cunt against his tongue. “Fuck…yes.”
     
    Tiny talons hooked at the curving pollex of his wings chastised her fingers with nicks. Blood seeping from the smarting paper cuts, she lost her grip, falling back on the bed only to be pinned by the weight of the heavy flesh extensions. Pinned until the gargouille was finished ravishing her. He ate her until she wept for him to stop. For him to keep going. For mercy. He continued, unfazed. Leaving terribly vicious bites on her hips, the sensitive skin behind her flanks—punishment for disobedience done deliciously.
     
    “Sybille.”
     
    He came up for a kiss but left them in his wake along every inch of her body. He started from her sensitive, bruised inner thighs, suckled bruises on her rib cage, leaving leopard prints, and then, sunk back down to her ankle. His mouth lingered on her inked anklet tattoo, a shackle of roses and thorns. From the instep of her foot, and eventually, to the tops of her shoulders, teeth scraping and lips soft. Leaving marks that couldn’t be seen with the naked eye. It felt like being branded.
     
    Such raw and honest affection. No pretention. No air of authority to off put her. He was there to rack and control, not conquer and ruin. Contrary to popular belief, the two were very different. One was about breaking will. The other was about supporting it. He came up for air and stretched out between her thighs, rubbed his length against her slick center, sealed her reservations with brutal kisses. He wasn’t there to play with her heart, he was there to steal her heart and play with her clit. Mostly, at the same time. It was that simple to him. So fucking sexy. So fucking rare.
     
    I don’t deserve him.
     
    She blinked back tears and willed her heavy arms to move. Her hands fanned out across his pectorals, fingers trembling as she pushed, “Lay down.”
     
    He caught her earlobe between threatening teeth. “Why?”
     
    She pushed and he rolled, pulling her with him and dropped them back into the middle of starry sheets. Sybille scrambled to find her balance, straddling him low on his pelvis, leaving his dick to press against her stomach as she caught his mouth in a kiss. So freely given, his eyes drifted closed and a growl rumbled in his chest. His hands slipped around her hips, completely covering the image of three Shakespearian fairies branded into her skin with colored flash ink.
     
    “Sybille.” Curving off the bed, he pressed his brow against her ill-beating heart, laying wet, reverent kisses down the valley of her small breasts. “Ride me. Ride me like you ride your dragon.”
     
    Her pussy clenched in utter fucking agreement.
     
    “No.” She sank her fingers into his hair and whispered against the top of his head, “Lay down…please.”
     
    The gargouille pulled away far enough to sweep his eyes over her in askance. Everything went still for time. It was his bed. His rules. That much always went without saying. But tonight...she wanted something, and she wanted him to know that.
     
    She pushed at his shoulder gently and bit her bottom lip. “Please.”
     
    Expression blank, he humored her by lying back down on the bed, wings trapped and sweeping off the mattress in