Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
Spread before him, with nothing but the milky water covering her center.
“Are you fucking joking, Jax? This is my punishment? I’d rather go back to the godsdamned Tannery dungeons,” he complains, unable to keep the strain from his voice.
“Be a good boy for me, and I might let you join,” she teases. But her voice hardens in a heartbeat. “Now, tell me what you learned.”
Ronyn drags his hand through his chestnut hair—doing whatever he can to keep a leash on his pulsing cock. This fucking woman.
But he laughs. “You’re so fucking evil, Jaxxy. Men would end worlds over you,” he drags his hands over his face, unable to look at her—a feast before him—without moving to her.
She trails her tongue over her lips, her face full with the promise of pleasure. “So would women, Ronyn.”
His eyes snap to hers. That was not what he was expecting her to say. “Holy fucking Stars,” he mutters, burying his head back in his hands. “You cannot speak of you with women while you’re spread before me like this and I’m still fully clothed.”
She giggles like she’s won. “I can, and I will. Women are exquisite lovers, Ronyn. Responsive, sensuous, know exactly how to angle their tongues for pleasure.” Her hands drift below the water. She lets out a blissful moan as she strokes herself. “And their mouths… so delicate.”
“Dear gods,” Ronyn begins praying, “give me the strength to admire from afar, I beg you. Please, bless me with good fortune and great riches for the restraint I am showing.”
Jax smiles. “I could snap that restraint in an instant, Ronyn.”
He knows. Gods, he knows.
“Can I at least touch myself?” he begs.
“No. Information. Try to stay focused, or that little dragon,” she points at his crotch, “will be flying solo tonight.”
“Fine,” he grits out. “Information.”
He sucks in a long breath, like he’s preparing to dive underwater.
And then he speaks, fast and frenzied. “Thalmyr orders weapons from here. Never collects the full order. Pays, leaves without the rest. I’ve never seen the Royal Guard with Vyrhalian weapons.
So he’s coming for something else. Order is due in three days. ”
He sucks in a breath like he’s coming up for air.
He sits on the chaise, decidedly trying not to make eye contact with Jax, sucking in ragged pants. “Your turn. Go,” he commands, rushing the process.
Because if he has to wait much longer… well, he just can’t.
Jax takes great pleasure in his discomfort. Like all of this is a game to her—because it is.
And Ronyn is stupid—he lets his eyes flutter open and find her form. She drags a tempting finger down her neck. Through the valley between her breasts. Down her stomach. Until it disappears beneath the water, gliding toward the apex of her thighs again.
Oh gods.
Ronyn returns his head to his hands, squeezing his eyes tightly. “Information, Jax,” he commands, but he knows he has no control.
She giggles again. “I got a name.”
A name.
Ronyn stills, and for the first time, he looks at her with severity. “What kind of name?”
She tips her head back over the edge of the bath, still splayed like a waiting feast. “The kind of name that gives us direction,” she purrs. “The head of the unit coming to collect the weapons. The one that will know everything.”
She looks at him with the promise of violence. Torture. Whatever it takes to know the truth.
Ronyn waits, his eyes locked on hers.
“The Crown’s Blade. Commander in charge. Thalmyr’s little bitch,” she says, but her voice is still edged with seduction. “The Blade.”
The Blade.
The words land like a blow.
Ronyn was hopeful they’d find the dragons. Yes, so they could save the realms. But really… so he could find people like him.
But if he was honest, he didn’t think they would.
Now, not only are they on a mission to locate the Melders, but they’re also on the verge of understanding Thalmyr’s operation.
This is a lead. A genuine lead.
“I’ll find a way to extract more information from Orrin about The Blade tomorrow,” Ronyn says, voice distant with forming plans.
“I’ll go hunting for information. Women like to gossip. I can pretend I do, too,” Jax counters.
Ronyn’s eyebrows rise of their own accord.
“What?” Jax snaps indignantly.
“Jaxxy, you are genuinely incapable of pretending literally anything. I fear pretending to gossip will drive you to accidentally become a bit murderous,” Ronyn points out, voice barely steady with a laugh that threatens to break through.
Jax scoffs arrogantly. “You had no idea I was pretending last time I took little Tarrakai for a ride.”
“What do you mean—”
Ronyn cuts himself off, mind catching up to the insult.
“You faked it!?” he snaps, disbelieving.
He stands up, throws his hands to his hips, and strides around the room—questioning everything.
Jax chuckles. “I was just trying to get your confidence up, Ronie,” she defends herself sarcastically.
“Oh thank you so much for the confidence,” he quips, clapping his hands theatrically, “unfortunately it came at the cost of my fucking dignity.”
Jax laughs. Loud, true, uninhibited. Something Ronyn doesn’t believe many ever get to witness. And suddenly, his dignity feels like a worthy price to pay for it.
Jax stands from the bath tub, her naked form stealing every thought from Ronyn’s reeling mind.
She slides her legs over the edge, not bothering to dry herself. She stalks toward Ronyn like he’s prey caught in her snare.
Her deep-brown eyes fix on his, “I will graciously allow you to redeem yourself, though.” She positions the statement like she’s doing him a favor. Fuck, maybe she is.
This woman could bend the godsdamned Stars to her will.
“So very gracious, indeed,” Ronyn allows, submitting to her.
Rule number four: Give her what she fucking wants.
“But if I make you come this time, I get full permission to be absolutely insufferable about it later,” he adds.
Jax smiles, her lips full of temptation and taunting.
“Deal. Now wash the forge off you, Ronyn. You’re not leaving this room until you deliver.”
Ronyn has never bathed so quickly in his life. He scrubs his body raw in less than sixty heartbeats, plunging himself under the water like his life depends on it happening as quickly as humanly possible.
It doesn’t.
But gods, it feels like it.
Jax lies naked and waiting on the bed, legs spread wide like temptation given form.
Ronyn slides out of the bath, stumbling over his own feet.
“You look absolutely fucking delectable, Jaxxy,” he praises, his voice dropping low and heady.
He approaches her, cock already beading at the tip.
Jax’s finger finds her clit, and she arches her back off the bed in pleasure, a drawn out, soft moan escaping her lips.
“Then come devour,” she purrs.
And Ronyn accepts the invitation like a man starved.
He drops to his knees at the end of the bed, hooks his arms around her thighs, and drags her ass to the edge for better access.
She drags her hand away—a subtle invitation.
Ronyn’s mouth finds her pussy instantly.
He licks her, plunging his tongue into her center, and not stopping until the tip of his tongue drags all the way to her clit.
“You taste so fucking good, Jaxxy,” he groans, and her hips grind against his mouth for more friction.
His tongue laps at her pussy, swiping, licking, tasting her center like a man possessed.
“A little to the left,” she groans, trying to move her hips.
He obliges, willing to give her the exact pleasure her body demands. Ronyn is nothing but accommodating with his lovers—he prides himself on it.
He moves to the left, applying the same steady pressure his lovers have taught him to apply. Ronyn has always believed that pride has no place in the bedroom. A smart man listens to his lovers and willingly acquiesces—wonderful training, he always thought.
“No,” Jax instructs. He stops immediately. “Use your fingers.”
Ronyn drags his head from between her legs, wiping her from his face with a feral grin. “As you wish, my lady,” he obliges.
Ronyn plunges two fingers into his mouth, and licks them thoroughly. He glides them in, feeling her squeeze around him. He does it slowly, allowing her to adjust. He curls them just slightly, hitting that spot that so many women love. That she loves—though he’s now questioning that.
“Faster,” she instructs again, tone brash, moving her hips awkwardly.
Ronyn picks up the pace, and her hand finds her clit.
“No,” she snaps. “That’s not it.”
Ronyn inhales a long, calming breath.
Give her what she needs.
His confidence takes a hit, but he forges on—always willing to adjust for his lovers.
“What would you like me to do, Jaxxy?” he asks, forcing confidence into his voice that he doesn’t feel.
He can see the frustration in her eyes. See the way her body refuses to relax.
He presses kisses to her inner thighs, grips her hips and ass, dragging his hands along the curves of her.
“Would you like me to just hold you?” he offers, a softness creeping into his tone.
A scowl crawls across her face. “No, I don’t want you to fucking hold me, Ronyn. I think— I think I just need you to fuck me.”
All right then.
Ronyn doesn’t question her. Doesn’t argue.
Not because he can’t see what she’s doing—allowing his hands to touch her but controlling every movement—but because he wants to help her.
Wants to give her exactly what she needs.
Wants her to lean into his touch. To let him take care of her. To just… need him.
She flips over to her hands and knees, lifting her ass in the air, back arched. Ready for him. Impatient.
“Whatever you need, Jaxxy,” he says, kneeling behind her.
He slides his throbbing cock into her, moving slowly for her to start.
“What are you waiting for?” she snaps.
Frustration flares in Ronyn’s chest. Because he’s not waiting—he’s accommodating at every fucking turn. But he starts moving, anyway. He rocks his hips, sliding in and out of her in the rhythm that matches her own movements.
He watches her—the way she grinds, spreads wider when she’s enjoying herself, grips the blankets when pleasure moves through her body.