The Emperor (Dark Verse, #3)

by RuNyx

she whispered, a tremor going down her spine, the vibration right under his fingers, and he continued to spread the clay all over, watching the layers dry, the scars immortalized in them. Scooping more clay, he pressed up against her back, feeling the wetness smear over his chest, and spread his fingers over her stomach, ensconcing her bump generously with the argil, before moving it back up over her breasts. He plucked at her nipples, kissing the side of her neck, and felt her arch in his hands, her ass pushing into his hard cock. He pushed back, nestling himself between her cheeks over layers of their clothing, and her breathing stuttered. His Amara was a breather. She moaned occasionally, screamed rarely because of her damaged vocal cords, and spoke sometimes, demanding his attention in the middle of sex. But she breathed—soft, slow, hard, fast, short, long, and so on. Dante had learned her breaths to learn her responses and anticipate her needs. He had spent years tracking the changes in them, understanding what each variation meant. He had memorized her like his favorite song. That stutter in her breath meant she was getting close to coming. Dante let go of her nipples and began circling his wet fingers around them, close but not close enough.