Dennis wasn't far behind. He fumbled at the buttons of his pants. His hands shook, his pulse thundered in his ears. When he finally freed himself and pushed into her wet folds, he let out a guttural groan that echoed around the room.
There is a particular feeling that comes from being denied something you crave for far too long, and then, at last, being allowed to taste it. It's a kind of madness, a trembling ecstasy that eats logic alive. That was what this was. Neither gentle nor composed. This was hunger, primal and rushed. Fast. Hard. Desperate.
They moved together, no rhythm, no grace, just thunder meeting lightning. Zoe clutched the edge of the table, while Dennis gripped her hips with the ferocity of a man drowning in desire. His teeth grazed her shoulder, but he didn't bite. Not yet. He couldn't. Not until she was queen. Not until the council said she was worthy.
And gods, how he hated that.
