45. Onora
Chapter 45
Onora
O nora found it odd that Dryston seemed to be lurking in the corner, drinking and watching them, but she had to admit that she only noticed because the heat of his gaze felt like it was searing her skin. The hand that Mandel rested on her side was hot and heavy and she wished it was Dryston’s. But he wasn’t saying anything. She hadn’t called his bluff. She hadn’t forced his hand to tell her that he wanted her. Even if it were only sexual.
And now she was fairly certain she was being involved in plans for a foursome, and normally she’d be fine with that but she wanted Dryston. She wanted to feel his cock throbbing inside of her, she wanted his hands holding her down, his teeth scraping over her nipples.
She glanced back over her shoulder and Dryston had stopped cleaning up glass on the floor to gaze at her, nostrils flaring, as if he could scent her lurid thoughts about him.
She turned away, toward Mandel, placing a hand on his chest. Mandel smiled down at her, his hand tracing a line on her face, down her neck, her chest.
“You seem eager,” he said, and his hand traced below her breast, skimming softly and making heat flood her core. Maybe she should do this, go through with it. Mandel was kind, assuring, and handsome as the gods. And Dryston seemed intent on forgetting about her.
She ran her hand down his chest, slowly, taking her time as his eyes darkened, his body pressing closer to hers. She traced a line over his lower abdomen, and Mandel let out a grunt, biting his lip as his hand skirted up from her rib, between her breasts, and grasped her neck, finally cradling her face. He tilted to kiss her, when a strong arm wrapped around her waist and she was tugged away. She yelped, and Mandel stepped back as Dryston grabbed her, throwing her over his shoulder like she was a sack of grain.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she hissed.
But Dryston didn’t respond, and Mandel just gave her a wave and a tight-lipped smile as Dryston carried her off. She glared at him and Mandel chuckled, turning away, and she had the sudden, gnawing feeling that Mandel had planned this to get under Dryston’s skin.
It seemed to have worked. Dryston carried her off, people watching and muttering, and she turned, speaking into his ear.
“You’re making a scene.”
“Good,” he growled.
“It’s embarrassing,” she lied. Something in her thrilled at the display.
“I want them to know you’re here with me,” he said, his hand gripping her legs, her thighs in a way that made her core throb.
“Oh? I am?” she ground out, annoyed and thrilled in equal measure.
He met her gaze, a dangerous look there that made her almost whimper. She swallowed it instead. “Yes. You are.”
She curled his fist around his shirt, and she could feel how fast his heart was beating. It matched her own rhythm—furious.
“Let me down.”
He gave her an icy glare that made her stomach flutter. “No.”
They came to a room in the back, and she craned her neck around to see people were talking, touching each other in soft caresses and turning when they saw them. There was a large bed in the back with a velvet comforter and enough space for several demons.
“Out. Every one of you. And let the others know that they aren’t to come in here.”
They all nodded, hastily leaving, bowing to him as they did, and he took her to the bed, sitting her on it.
“What the fuck was that about?” she demanded, standing, only for his firm hand to push her back down in a sitting position, gripping her shoulder.
His breaths were heavy, shadows curling around him in agitation. “I can’t stand to see you with Mandel.”
Heat flooded her, firing her cheeks, and she crossed her arms. His eyes darted to her breasts, and she realized she’d put them, somehow, more prominently on display.
“That’s not really your choice.”
“I know. Fuck ... I know. I’m sorry. I just ...”
His voice trailed off, and he paced. She stayed sitting, enjoying how rattled he seemed. Good. He should feel bad about his actions.
“I don’t want you here,” he said.
She rolled her eyes, standing and walking toward the door. “That’s not your decision. Fuck you, Drys. Just because we fucked a few times, do you think you own me?”
He stepped in front of her, blocking her path.
“No, of course not. It’s not like that. It’s ...”
“What? It’s what?”
“I’m fucking jealous as the pit, Onora.” He cupped her face with his hands, tilting it up, and she swayed toward him. “I think about you all day long. I think about all the things I did to you in the forest every night.” He bent down and kissed her forehead and her breathing became shallow. “I think of your naked body, and I get so hard I have to take care of it myself so I don’t knock that door down between our rooms and ravage you every night.” He kissed her nose, and those butterflies returned, making her dizzy. “I want to touch you every moment of the day. I want to be inside of you.” His hand slid down her neck, gripping softly, gently, commanding as his mouth peppered kisses there, coming up to her ear. “I want to feel your skin on mine.” He bit her earlobe. “I want to hear those sweet moans you make right before you finish.”
His lips found hers then, and she ran her hands up his chest, rubbing her thumb over his nipple and savoring how he groaned into her mouth. He pushed her back toward the bed, kissing her, the intensity of it increasing with each brush of his lips on hers, every soft bite. Their tongues danced against each other, his exploring her mouth in broad strokes.
They came to the bed and his hand slipped to her breasts, palming them as his other hand slipped to her waist, bringing her roughly against him. He was so hard, and she moaned, desperate to feel him inside of her. But he carefully took her dress off, caressing her as he did, sending shivers of desire through her body.
Then he laid her down, kneeling at the edge, hiking her knees on his shoulders. His horns came up proud and strong as he dipped down, taking one long swipe, making her jerk and whimper from the sensitivity of it. But he kept at his ministrations, licking, sucking, swiping, as she rocked against his mouth, finally reaching down to grab his horns and he grunted, the vibration sending a ripple through her that shot straight to her head, buzzing through her whole body.
She was lost to the sensations of his hands gripping her thighs when she felt something nudge at her entrance, and then go inside of her, and she gasped as it hooked and she realized it was his tail. She arched as he pulsed inside of her and she finished with a cry, gripping his horns hard as she rode out the wave of pleasure.
Then he was standing, taking his own clothes off. His erect length came free, hard, the swollen head already dripping as the veins bulged. He kissed her passionately, slowly, his hand caressing her face before it tangled with her hair. Then he positioned himself at her entrance and rubbed the tip of his cock there, his eyes closing as his body shuddered, and he moaned like he was dying. Then he thrust in, only a little at first, nudging, grunting with each thrust until he was finally inside of her, and she reveled in the feel of it, how he filled her.
He thrust slowly, taking his time as he touched her, and she returned his strokes. The exchange built up in her like light and shadows, as her hands explored his body, memorizing every imperfection and every perfection. They kissed until their lips were swollen and raw and her skin was peppered with the marks of his teeth, his hands pressing into her, his body marred with the marks of her nails on his back.
He picked up the pace, sweat gleaming on his bare chest, his hands gripping her thighs like they were his only anchor in a ravaging storm.
“Dryston!” she gasped out.
He stuck two fingers in her mouth, swirling around and bringing them out to massage her clit while he pounded into her. “Say my name again.” He growled.
“Dryston,” she whimpered.
“You’re such a good fucking girl.” His words were praise, a command, but his eyes held a longing so deep she could barely breath looking into those eyes. But she couldn’t look away, didn’t want to as the look of possession coupled with desperation accelerated the mounting rapture each stroke he laid into brought.
He moved inside her so long it became a constant for her, and her pleasure built and built, his harried breath hitting her skin until she contracted around him, biting down on his shoulder as bliss exploded through her with a force that made her whole body shake.
He pulled her against him, his strong arm holding her up as he thrust once, twice—then he came with a roar that echoed off the walls. He stayed inside her as they laid down, drawing the covers over them. She was tired, and his eyes blinked rapidly to stay awake, but his hand traced the lines of her face as she traced his chest, afraid of sleeping and waking to this being nothing more than a dream. Afraid of waking to his regret. Afraid of waking to them talking about how it wouldn’t work, and she wouldn’t have any more moments like this with him.
Because she wasn’t certain she could bear that talk. Those words. She wasn’t certain she could bear not having him. He’d been jealous? So had she. The thought of this ending felt like a lance through the heart.
So she didn’t. She banished the thoughts and nuzzled close to him as he grabbed her tightly to him, as if he too were afraid of letting it go.