Chapter 13 #3
“Good boy.” His own cock was hard and bouncing against my stomach as he rode me, and I wanted to touch it, wanted to wrap my hand around him, but my wrists were tied.
All I could do was thrust up into him and take what he gave me.
“That’s it. Fuck, you feel so good inside me.
Your big gorgeous cock filling me up — look at you, Moerrven, you’re losing it, aren’t you? ”
“Yes.” The word ripped out of me. “Yes, I am. Sky, I cannot. The trolgar, it is — I have never—”
“Better than your books?”
“I did not. I could not have known—”
He folded down to catch my horns again, slammed his hips down, and twisted his thumbs into the trolgar points simultaneously and I arched off the ground so hard I nearly threw him.
He laughed, breathless and exhilarated, and rode the buck, adjusting his grip on my horns.
I understood in that moment that this small human had absolute command of my body, that I would let him do anything at all, because the sensation of being fucked and trolgar-claimed at the same time was rewriting everything I thought I knew about pleasure.
“I want you to come inside me,” Sky said. He was grinding down on me now, deep and slow, his cock leaking against my stomach. “I want to feel you fill me up. Can you be a good boy and come for me? Oh fuck, your cock is going to make me come so hard, baby.”
He released one horn, still holding the other, jerking himself with frantic speed and I felt the intensity of each stroke as I did my best to rut up into him. His body clenched around me as he came, squeezing me so hard I gasped.
I could not have stopped if I had wanted to.
The orgasm built from the base of my horns and the base of my cock simultaneously, met somewhere behind my sternum, and detonated.
I came with a roar that I am certain was heard in the next county, my hips slamming upward, my cock pulsing inside him, and the trolgar flared so hot that tears streamed down my face and I did not care, could not care, because the pleasure was so vast it had consumed everything else.
He collapsed forward onto my chest. His forehead pressed against my collarbone.
He released my horns and slid down to my shoulders, and he held on, breathing hard.
I lay on the bedroll in a forest clearing with my wrists still loosely bound, cum on my stomach, and the ruins of fourteen novels scattered around me.
After some time, Sky propped himself up on one elbow and looked at me. His hair was damp with sweat. His cheeks were flushed. His expression was smug in a way that I found both infuriating and devastatingly attractive.
“So,” he said. “How was that compared to Chapter Twelve of The Black Night Guard?”
“I am going to rewrite every sex scene I have ever published.”
He burst out laughing. “That bad?”
“That inaccurate. I had no idea, Sky. I wrote it as if — as if describing a sunset to a blind man. I captured the concept and missed the entire experience.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I am being precise.” I turned my head to look at him. “Untie my hands. I must touch you. Please?”
He did, gently, rubbing the circulation back into my wrists with his thumbs.
Then he pulled a blanket over both of us and tucked himself against my side, his head on my chest, his leg thrown over mine.
Poppy made a sound of feline judgment from her habitat, and I ran my hand down his back, massaging his muscles, bringing comfort to the body that had brought me the most intense pleasure of my life.
“When can we do that again?” I asked. The question left my mouth before I could examine it, which was unlike me.
I examined everything. I weighed words with a precision that my readers praised and my sisters found exhausting.
But the thought of experiencing that sensation again had bypassed every filter I possessed.
“When you’ve recovered.” Sky traced a pattern on my chest with one finger. “So, tomorrow?”
“Tonight.”
He looked up at me. “Tonight?”
“I am a troll. We recover quickly.” I paused. “Though perhaps with slightly less restraint.”
Sky’s grin spread across his face like a sunrise. “You liked being tied up.”
“I did not say—”
“You loved it. You pulled against the cord when you came. Your wrists are going to have marks.”
I looked at my wrists. They were red. I did not mind.
“I would like to note,” I said, “that in none of my novels did I accurately convey the compulsive nature of this experience. I wrote it as transcendent. It is not transcendent. It is addictive. There is a meaningful distinction.”
“A meaningful distinction,” Sky said, and his voice was warm with laughter. “You’re already workshopping your rewrite.”
“I am always workshopping.”
He kissed my chest. “Good. Because I still haven’t fucked your hole yet… wait until you get to feel me inside you.”
I stared up at the canopy, at the stars beginning to show through the oak leaves, and contemplated the fact that I was already hard again.
I drew my hand down to his cock, and he groaned, then smiled wickedly at me as he gave my cock one more lazy pass with the oil and climbed back on, sinking down on me with less urgency now, dropping his lips to mine to kiss me slowly as our bodies undulated together.