Chapter 24 A Feast for One #2
Draven’s eyes darken and his lips crash against mine.
He is demanding, unyielding, unquenchable.
Cupping my face in his hands, he walks me back toward the bed, our bed, and then his hands travel to my waist, gripping around my sizable backside, and lifts.
Something about feeling featherlight in his palms has me slickening, a tingling rising in my chest, peaking my breasts.
He flattens me to the mattress, and my hands comb through his hair, stroking the ridges of those horns.
What perfect handles. I tug his mouth to my neck and the moment he sucks against it I’m surrendering against him, his fangs scraping my skin in a way that has me writhing.
I couldn’t hold back now even if I wanted to.
His weight is pleasingly dominating, ungiving as my hips grind against him. He chuckles into my ear, tongue lashing against my neck, fangs leaving traces up the side, as if praying to bite once again, to worship and consume me as sacrament.
“Gods, Rune, are you trying to get me to cum before I even fuck you?”
It’s my turn to break, a smile inching up my face. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
Yet I can feel his thick hardness pressing against the fabric, a promise of what I have to look forward to. His hands entwine in my hair now, tugging back, and my neck arcs against his mouth. My bones go molten, body loosening in the best of ways.
Sucking and teasing, he moves down, stripping off my shirt as he goes.
The part of me that cares for him more than I will admit wants to slow down, suddenly self-conscious of my body.
Draven fingers the clasp of my bra, right between my breasts.
With a movement that speaks of too much experience, he breaks it free, and the insecure part of me grasps hold of my wits again, hands flying to my chest.
He stops immediately.
“What’s wrong?” The way his eyes weigh with hunger has my grip relaxing.
“You’re just …” But words fail me. He looks so tousled, his hair messy, lips swollen from kissing my skin. My cheeks flush and lines of consternation crease his dark brows. “Practiced.”
“Dearest … are you saying you’re inexperienced?”
“I’m no virgin.” I toss him a snarky smirk, and he smiles, clearly not one either. “But I’m also not a conquest. So, tell me, Draven … what does that make me, to you?”
His gaze is a caress. “It makes you mine.”
There’s a release in me. I let go, surrendering, lifting my head to claim his lips.
His kiss is calmer, drawn out, tasting every inch. Savoring me like the rarest of wine, as if we might be separated for a lifetime. I cling to his shirt with one hand, cupping his face with the other. His mouth moves to my neck again, and it undoes me.
“I want you, Draven.” I would burn every wall I’ve built between us to have him take me. “But worse, I like you.”
He finally pulls back and gasps against my lips, “Slowly, then?”
“I want this. Just … take your time,” I confirm.
Judging by the thick bulge that’s shifted against my leg, I will need an adjustment period anyway.
He kisses me again, longingly, hand flattened against my sternum.
I lay my hand over his, and lead it down, down, down between my legs. “Maybe we start with this.”
“I thought you’d never ask.” He rips down my underwear, but his hand is tender as it palms around me, and he gives an intake of breath, surprised maybe, as he handles the slickness there. He shakes his head slow, biting his lip. “What naughtiness you’re tempting me with.”
While he’s looking at the space his hand explores, I lift my lips to his neck and the groan he gives vibrates against my tongue.
He plunges two fingers down, spreading me, pumping.
I moan, but keep my mouth sucking on his neck, mapping the scars I left on his flesh when I claimed him.
He continues to work his fingers inside, the palm of his hand grinding against my apex—enough that it alone might destroy me.
I cup his hand, demanding those fingers travel deeper. They do, smoothly, adoringly.
The teasing motion of his fingers raises my desire higher and higher …
I’m not sure it’s ever gotten like this before with anyone else.
No one’s ever been so patient, so thorough.
I push my hips against his hand over and over, rolling against him with demand.
He kisses my neck now, my breasts, all provocatively enough that I don’t think I can take much more. I gasp against him, knowing I’m close.
“Open your mind to me,” he pleads.
“Are you going to fuck it, too?” It’s a joke and it’s not, but it takes nothing to lower the shields there, heightened as I am.
“I want to feel this together.” He slinks inside my mind, everywhere I think is just him, the arousal it creates nearly unbearable, my skin afire, my thoughts, too.
His eyes close, and he strains against me, the clothes separating us so thin, as if all this might undo him, throw out his restraint entirely.
But a moment later his eyes flash open, bright magenta, and he says, “I will taste you before this is done.”
Then he’s moving to the end of the bed, kneeling on the floor, hand pulling out of me only to yank my body closer, the backs of my knees hooked over his shoulders. I told him to beg, and here he is on his knees.
His tongue takes over, splitting me, turning want into need, pulling the threads of this orgasm so insistently I know he won’t stop until I’m done.
I’ve never reached a climax like this with anyone.
But as I meet his eyes over my heaving chest, I see no trace of judgment there.
He will have me satisfied, or not at all.
“Can you breathe?” I pant.
“Who cares? Fucking smother me, Rune,” he demands. His fingers return, pumping into a new position that has my toes curling, eyes rolling back as I reach above me, gripping the pillows, the sheets, anything to ground me.
He releases one of my thick thighs and offers his spare hand and mine entwines in it, like a lifeline, hips thrusting against his fingers and face.
Pleasure strikes true. My hips arc into him, hands clawing into his hair, grasping his horns, and holding.
His free hand moves from mine to clench my ass, as if he wishes to suffocate himself in me.
His tongue never stops flicking, splitting, devouring.
Nothing matters in this moment but this, so if riding his face is what it takes, so be it.
My limbs go limp, I’m breathless, wrung out.
Draven climbs back onto the bed, drinking me in.
He looks … happy, even though we are supremely uneven.
My hand strokes the outside of his pants, along his sizable length, and he shudders, kissing my neck again, licking where his claim lays buried in finely laced scars, the smell of me all over him.
“My turn,” I huff.
“Is it now?” He stops, as there’s a knock at the door.
I immediately tense, and he grabs the comforter, piling it in my lap, so I can cover myself. He wipes his face with his hand, making sure I’m ready. He cracks the door open only a few inches, his wings hiking higher to block me. I can barely see the light from the hall, let alone whoever’s there.
“What do you want?” he snaps.
“Apparently we’re all late.” It’s Scorpius. “The elven king is throwing a minor tantrum about it.”