Chapter 14 #2
"Because I speak the truth." He kissed her stomach once more, then moved lower still. "And because I will prove it to you. Every day. Every night. Until the lies you were taught cannot survive in the face of what you know."
His breath ghosted over her center, and Delia's hips jerked.
"I gave you this pleasure before," he said. "But I need you ready. Open. I need—" A rough sound escaped him. "I need to taste you again."
Before she could respond, his mouth was on her.
It was different this time. Before, in the watchtower, he'd been teaching her.
Showing her what her body could do. This time, he was taking, licking into her with single-minded focus, his tongue pressing and circling and stroking until she couldn't think.
His tusks pressed against her outer lips, framing the heat of his mouth, and the combination of smooth and hot and dangerous made her shake.
One thick finger pressed at her entrance. Pushed inside.
She was already embarrassingly wet, and he slid in easier than he had before. The stretch was still significant, but her body remembered this, welcomed it.
"More," she gasped, surprising herself.
He growled against her, and added a second finger.
Now there was stretch. Real stretch. His fingers were so thick, and two of them together filled her in a way that bordered on too much. She felt herself clenching around him, trying to adjust.
"Breathe," he murmured against her sensitive flesh. "Let your body open. Don't fight it."
She forced herself to relax. To breathe. And slowly, the discomfort eased into pleasure. Into a building need that made her want to move against his hand.
He stroked inside her, curling his fingers.
At the same time, his tongue worked her bud, circling with maddening precision.
She tried to close her legs on instinct, but his free hand clamped down on her inner thigh, spreading her wider, tusks grazing the soft skin there as he sucked harder.
The pressure built sharp and fast, coiling low in her belly.
"I can't—" She gripped his hair, pulled. "Ralvar, I—"
"Come for me," he commanded. "Let go. I have you."
Her back arched off the furs, and she heard herself cry out his name, no longer caring who heard. Her cunt clenched hard around his fingers. Every contraction dragged another whimper from her throat; she couldn't stop them.
He kept working her, tongue lapping slower now but no less firm, fingers stroking through the spasms instead of pulling out. Her whole body locked, then shuddered violently once more, a second, smaller peak ripping through the aftershocks until she collapsed back into the furs.
He eased up just enough, giving her a heartbeat to breathe, but his thick fingers stayed buried deep, curling lazily, stretching her open in slow, deliberate circles.
"What—" She gasped as sensation sparked through oversensitive flesh. "What are you—"
"Preparing you." His voice was strained. "You need more. You need to be ready."
Her thighs trembled around his shoulders, soft and heavy, the generous curve of her hips spilling over his grip.
He had one massive hand splayed across her lower belly, thumb brushing the plush swell just above her mound, holding her steady while the other hand worked inside her.
Two thick fingers now, then three, scissoring slowly, coaxing her body to yield more space.
The stretch burned sweetly at the edges, a reminder of how much bigger he was, how much more there would be soon.
"Oh—" The sound punched out of her. "Oh, gods—"
He stroked into her with those three fingers, slow and deep, and her body answered in a way she hadn’t expected.
The initial sting had melted into thick, insistent pressure—every ridge of his knuckles dragging along her walls, every curl pressing right where she was most sensitive.
It wasn’t gentle anymore; it was full, heavy, crowding out everything else.
Her hips rocked up to meet him before she could think, chasing more of that impossible stretch.
"There," he rumbled, voice thick with approval, breath hot against her inner thigh. "Your body knows what it wants. Listen to it."
She couldn’t have stopped if she tried. Her clit throbbed against the occasional graze of his tongue, but it was the fullness that undid her, the way her inner walls had to stretch and stretch around him, fluttering helplessly, trying to grip something even bigger.
Her breath came in short, ragged hitches. Her belly quivered under his palm, every muscle tightening as the peak rushed up.
Then it hit.
Not a slow roll, but a sudden, brutal clamp.
Her cunt seized around his fingers in hard, erratic spasms, so tight she felt the resistance in his knuckles.
A low, guttural groan tore from his throat, vibrating against her skin; she felt his shoulders tense, felt the way his grip on her hip tightened like he was fighting to stay controlled.
She could only manage broken little gasps as her whole pelvis jerked once, twice, grinding down onto his hand. Her thighs clamped around his head, soft flesh trembling violently, heels digging into his back.
When the spasms finally started to slow, he didn’t pull away immediately. He kept his fingers buried, stroking gently through the last helpless twitches, letting her feel every inch of how open she’d become.
Only then did he ease out, slow and careful, one thick finger at a time. The sudden emptiness made her gasp again, a soft, needy sound she couldn’t swallow.
"Please," she heard herself whisper. "Please, I need—"
"I know what you need." He rose over her, positioning himself between her thighs. The heavy weight of his cock pressed against her entrance. "If it hurts—"
"I'll tell you."
"If it's too much—"
"Ralvar." She reached up, cupped his face in both hands. "I trust you. Now please."
He pressed forward.
The broad head of him breached her in one slow, inexorable push. The first ridge caught just inside her entrance, the raised band of flesh dragging against her as he sank in another inch. She sucked in a sharp breath, fingers digging into his jaw, feeling the hard line of his tusks under her palms.
Even with his preparation, even with her body relaxed and open and wanting, the stretch was intense. He was so much thicker than his fingers. So much more.
“Fuck,” he hissed through clenched teeth. His forearms braced on either side of her head, muscles corded, every line of him taut with restraint. “So tight. So fucking perfect.”
Another ridge slipped past her entrance, and her inner walls fluttered wildly around it, trying to grip, trying to adjust. She whimpered, hips twitching upward on instinct even as her thighs shook around his waist. The stretch burned now, but it was laced with heat, with the strange, addictive drag of those ridges catching and releasing against her fluttering cunt.
Every tiny shift of his hips sent sparks racing up her spine.
“Breathe,” he murmured, forehead dropping to rest against hers. His breath was hot, ragged. “Breathe for me.”
She tried. Short, shaky inhales that turned into soft, broken moans every time he sank deeper. Halfway in, he paused, giving her a moment to feel the impossible fullness, the way her body was forced to open around him.
Her nails scored lightly down his neck. “More,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Don’t stop.”
A low growl rumbled in his chest. He rocked forward again, another ridge popping past her entrance with a slick glide that made her gasp and arch. Her cunt clenched hard around him in response, involuntary and desperate, and he groaned like the sound had been punched out of him.
“Gods, do that again,” he rasped.
She couldn’t help it. The next clench came on its own, her walls rippling around the thick length buried inside her. He shuddered above her, hips jerking once, driving him deeper still.
The last few inches sank in with a slow, burning stretch that bordered on too much. She was so full she could feel her own pulse throbbing around him, every ridge seated perfectly, every inch of him locked inside her.
He stilled completely, chest heaving, letting her adjust. One massive hand slid down to cup the generous curve of her hip, thumb stroking soothing arcs over her skin. The other cradled the back of her head, fingers threaded through her hair.
"Are you—" His voice was wrecked. "Is this—"
"Yes." The word came out fierce. "Yes. Move. Please, Ralvar, move."
He started slow—agonizingly slow.
A shallow withdrawal that let every ridge drag in reverse, each firm band catching and tugging at her inner walls like it was trying to pull her soul out with it.
Then he pressed back in, just as measured, letting her feel the broad head open her again, followed by that first pronounced ridge popping past her entrance with a slick glide that made her gasp.
Delia’s nails scored lightly down his back. “Ralvar—”
"Look at you," he growled, and his voice was barely recognizable. "Taking all of me. Your body was made for this. Made for me."
He angled his hips slightly on the next thrust, and one of the middle ridges caught perfectly against that swollen spot inside her.
Her whole body jerked, a sharp cry punching out of her.
“There?” he growled, repeating the motion. “Right there?”
“Yes—fuck—yes—”
He locked into that angle, stroking that exact place with every deep grind. Pleasure stacked fast—too fast after the last orgasm—but her body didn’t care. It chased the feeling, hips rocking up to meet him, soft thighs trembling around his waist.
Then he lowered his head and dragged one tusk along the side of her neck with just enough pressure to make her skin prickle and her breath stutter.
The contrast was devastating: the hot slide of his ridged cock inside her, stretching and stroking, and the cool, hard glide of his tusk against her throat like a promise of danger held in perfect check.
She whimpered, head tipping back to give him more access.
He took it.