Mor relinquished her wine glass easily, and gasped as he pushed her against the door frame. She was astonished, yes, but also she thought that Brooks might like it if she made sounds. Or, better, it might make him frustrated, and guilty, and then he would press her harder against the door.

She tangled one hand in his hair and tugged, because Brooks was not the only one who could make it hurt. Mor raked her other hand down his back. She was frustrated by how clothed Brooks was, but there was no way around it — she would have to hope that he could feel her nails on his back through the layers.

  

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set by Bee

Hating the need that welled up in his gut and the satisfaction at getting an audible reaction from her, Brooks pressed further against her, hands already working at the buttons of her bodice. If he was going to hell, she was coming down with him and he may as well enjoy it. The self-loathing would settle in later and he would try to talk himself out of it, try to rationalize what he'd done, but he couldn't think through it now.

The feeling of her nails down his back had him hissing out a breath against Morrigan's skin, a mixture of pain and pleasure and satisfaction all rolled into the building arousal he just couldn't fight. There had always been an inescapable magnetism here that he'd tried to dispel but never had any luck.

With the bodice out of the way and discarded on the floor, Brooks bunched up her skirts in his hands, pulling them out of the way, palms finding purchase on her thighs, bloomers still frustratingly in the way. He paused, pulling back just a little to look her in the eye. It was a small moment of rational thought, but he felt it necessary to make sure they were ready for the mutual downfall.

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Her bodice hit the floor. Morrigan tugged on his hair, trying to get sound out of him, and satisfaction welled in her chest when he balled up her skirts in his fist against the door. He met her eye, and she paused for a second, holding the gaze for a beat. She knew what he was asking — thought she knew what he was asking — and her heart thrummed.

She'd gotten a clinical explanation from her stepmother, the night before she left Brooks. She'd pried more specific details out of Dru. But she'd never actually gone there — she'd touched herself and thought about it and considered what this would have been like, being penetrated, but had never done it. And she was nervous, but —

she did not want to ask for tenderness, would not ask for tenderness.

Mor swallowed. "You want to fuck me?" she asked, voice quiet in a challenge.

  

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set by Bee