Chapter 8 #2
I hold his scarlet eyes, dropping my voice low so it hums with heat as I reply, “Personally… I don’t have many reservations. Humans trade their lives for fleeting mortal pleasures. What we do with them afterwards… is simply the price.”
He still holds my chin, leaning closer, his warm breath brushing my lips, making my toes curl.
He chuckles, low and dark. “Should we take advantage of less intelligent species?”
He steps back, his sly grin as wild as it gets, and I shake my head, trying to flick away the need he’s stirred in me.
“They don’t really know what they’re offering,” he murmurs, a teasing glint in his eyes as he studies my reaction.
I shake my head, forcing my focus on the part of my brain that hasn’t been completely fried by his shameless flirting.
“My grandpa thought the same,” I admit, “which Grams always countered with, ‘They feed on their co-dependent species; it’s only fair they fall prey to someone else.’ It spiralled into a whole discussion about being a better Fae.
Trisha and I escaped the room as fast as we could. We were fed up with the topic.”
“They’re disgusting,” he says, wrinkling his forehead. Then his eyes glint. “And that monologue of yours… that’s excellent foreplay.”
“Don’t joke, the matter is serious.” I straighten, leaning forward slightly. “Given how they govern themselves, we will soon be forced to breed them in Rhodria, in case they self-destruct. What will we drink then? Nymph’s oil? Deity’s nectar? Bleh.”
Aidon executes a perfect eye roll. “You are so spoiled.”
“It comes with the title,” I smile, before downing the liquid.
“I guess it does.”
I expect him to scold me, comment on my morals, but he grabs a bottle from the nearest servant and takes a generous sip.
I watch his throat work it, then study his face, not wanting to miss the moment the bliss hits him.
Here it is. His beautiful features relax, and a gorgeous smile visits his face.
I grin in response.
The high from the Fae wine is so good, you crave it the moment it’s wearing off.
Strongly addictive, a never-ending cycle.
My senses sharpen, the hairs on my body rising to attention as I focus on the erotic sound of flutes. Their delicate notes strike something deep in my soul.
Stimulate it.
I look at the Fae around me, and my excitement rises with each sway of hips. I hope I look at least half as sensual when I dance.
“I hope that too,” he teases.
“If you want that moment of my time, you need to say it regardless of how my performance goes,” I stick my tongue out.
My fucking tongue. Like I’m a teen again, but I haven’t been one for at least a decade. Most Fae reach full maturity by eighty-five.
He leans closer. A half-smile dancing on his lips. “I find it endearing.” His close presence brushes me like delicate feathers, tickling in the place where I wish he could reach.
Fucking Fae wine.
I have no time to explore that idea, because masculine hands lay on my hips, swaying them sensually. Aidon stiffens, but before I can ask, I let myself get lost in the sensation. I relax my body. The hands teasingly wander my skin. It doesn’t matter whose; they’re close, and I welcome it.
Another song, another beautiful male approaches me. An alluring smile invites me in and I lay my hands on his neck, making myself comfortable in his muscular arms.
Then the stranger spins me around, and I land directly on a Male Deity before me.
“What a surprise.” He catches me nimbly, and I gawk.
His face could have been sculpted by the Great Architect himself.
Silver eyes glow like the moon, framed by dark waves pulled back into a short, rugged ponytail that just brushes his shoulders.
He wears a sleeveless leather standard uniform, his wings neatly tucked in behind him, and intricate magical tattoos wind over his arms, pulsating faintly with power—a conduit for the vikan magic of his heritage.
I’ve never found the same allure as Trisha in Dragthralls, but this male is a feast to behold.
I am awestruck. Drooling. With a capital D.
The smile he offers me isn’t arrogant. Not like Aidon’s or Jestin’s. He smiles as if he’s relieved I find him attractive. That gentleness clashes with the tattoos and the air of savagery around him.
I feel all tingly when his lips curve on one side, a single brow raises. I swallow, ready to be served as an offering to the Deity. Yet, before I throw myself at him, I make the mistake of glancing down. The view gets only better.
His warrior muscles… Let’s say I will lick every hard bulge.
“May I?” He asks with perfect etiquette, putting his left leg forward and right hand on his chest.
I can only nod; evidently, the cat got my tongue. Avoiding threats to my heart was never my strength, especially under the influence.
Refusing isn’t an option.
He offers me his insane, masculine hand, but instead of grabbing it right away, I lift my hand, and the servant appears with more wine.
I down the liquid, again.
He chuckles, but doesn’t take a shot himself. A flicker of self-consciousness hits me, but the familiar rush of wine clouds it instantly. His hands settle on my waist, pulling me to him with a possessive ease that makes my pulse quicken.
We sway together, bodies perfectly aligned, every subtle movement synced as if we have done this a thousand times before.
Nothing else exists, no music, no garden, just the warmth of him, the magnetic pull of his presence.
I whimper as he draws me even closer, and it feels like we share something older than us, something written in the stars.
I swear Gorok himself placed him on my path, a living emblem of fate I cannot resist.
I don’t know how long we stay like that before another male steals me away. I dance with the intruder for a brief moment, desperately wanting to return to the Deity, but when I turn back, he isn’t there.
The sudden emptiness hits me like a physical blow and my chest tightens with an ache that spreads to my very soul.
The warmth, the magnetic pull, the connection we shared, it is gone and I cannot fill the void.
Not wanting to dance with anyone else, not wanting anyone else’s touch, I slip away from the dancefloor, my movements hollow, each step heavy with the absence of that Dragthrall.
I head to the veranda and see the deck chair where Jestin had been surrounded by the brothel workers now stands empty. His eyes find me, solemn and unblinking, studying me in a way that makes my skin prickle.
I flash him a grin and his brow lifts. His gaze pins me, intense and calculating. “I saw you met your tutor.”
“That’s an interesting development,” I say with a smile. I shall certainly reconsider my statement about needing tutoring.
Excited I will be seeing the stranger again, I hop onto the edge of Jestin’s deck chair.
“Enjoying yourself?” He asks, each word deliberate, heavy with meaning I cannot place, certainly not now when my brain is hazed by the wine.
“Not the way you are, apparently,” I tease, commenting on his previous activities with the sex worker.
“Shh,” he murmurs, pursing his lips before offering me his rare dimpled smile. He looks sublime, with his messy hair and chest on display.
“I can fix it,” he purrs, lazily rising to his feet. “I know exactly what to do with you.”
He apprises my flushed cheeks and the dazed expression. “Are you sure you’re sober enough to consent?”
“How dare you assume I don’t know my own mind? Believe me, Jestin, from all the things you can worry about me consenting to, pleasure is not on the list. In fact, I am painfully sober.” I snatch a glass from the nearby table and gulp the liquid in one go.
His jaw ticks. “I don’t want you to have regrets in the morning. Again.”
“I was afraid of my feelings, not your magic penis.” The rush of oblivion clouds my mind, cleaning the rage away. “Do you want me to beg you to make that night better?”
His laugh grinds on my pussy like a two-day stubble. “I don’t mind a little begging.”
In answer, I open my thighs.
“Lean back,” he orders.
A shiver goes through my spine. I love his dominant side. Not many are brave enough to command me, but it’s his court; he’s used to giving orders. He doesn’t even second-guess it, especially since it is not our first time.
I comply, and he nods.
“I suppose we’re past the point of just being friends,” I mutter, no fucking idea why.
“I don’t want to go back. To the hollow days when touching you was a privilege I could only dream of.” His voice is quiet and serious.
My heart throbs from his declaration. Jestin wasn’t my first, but he was the one who introduced me to sex. At least the world-shattering part of it.
He combs his hair with his hand, surveying me intently. I hold my gaze, and he bites his lower lip before an arrogant smile spreads, as if he’s deciding what to do with me—and finally settles on an idea.
He stands between my legs, and just when I think the anticipation will kill me, he kneels before me, placing his hands on my inner thighs.
What?
I am stunned at how beautiful he looks before me. I want him there. Always.
He doesn’t rush with lifting my skirt, while sand manacles restrict my ankles, spreading them.
My heart almost escapes my ribcage, but this time I welcome the feeling.
I am being presented in front of the entire Santorili court.
Adrenaline, excitement, vulnerability.
He caresses my thighs and I moan. Just like that. Exhibitionism and wine make me super sensitive.
So needy…you couldn’t even wait for me. I hear Aidon’s voice in my head. How generous, letting him worship what’s mine.
I sense his words have a double meaning, but my Fae wine-soaked brain has no ability to process it, so I forget the detail instantly, like every other important thing, and I give all my attention to Jestin, as he nears my exposed pussy.
Jestin’s nostrils flare. “I’ve missed that smell.”
His lips take their sweet time, trailing kisses up my thighs, deliberately skipping the one spot my body is aching for, driving me insane.
He reduces me to a clingy, whimpering mess with only one word on my mind.
More.
Then, when he pauses to soak up the sight of me trembling for him, he finally gives me what I’ve been yearning for.
His skilful lips close around my clit and I arch my back, luxuriating in the sensation. He slows down, drawing a gasp from my throat.
He teases again and again, finding the pace I need to edge towards orgasm, before slowing once more.
Over and over.
I cry from the torment. Desperately needing release.
A plea escapes my lips and he grabs my ass. I smell his excitement, like he’s barely able to stop himself from ripping my pussy raw, yet he keeps himself in check.
“Good girl,” Jestin purrs, his warm breath adding only more torment on my pussy.
I envy the bastard. Aidon’s mental admission almost throws me over the edge. You’re tempting me to join, little Queen.
I cry out, and Jestin finally dives in.
His hands clutch my ass, one daring to explore the entrance to my asshole. He circles the opening with the slickness dripping from my core.
I brace myself, anticipation burning through me. Jestin slowly slides his middle finger inside my ass, stretching the muscles, and I feel like I might shatter, if not for the hollow emptiness inside my pussy.
I need more.
Yet his lips are relentless, circling my clit with patience that never lets him cross the threshold.
I can’t endure the torment any longer, I need to be filled.
I lift my head to hurry him and meet the Deity’s gaze. He looks at me like he’s dying of thirst, while Jestin drinks a gallon of the freshest, most sublime water.
I cry out.
My vagina feels so empty that I desperately want to clench a cock in it.
“That’s it, good girl,” Jestin chuckles, finally delivering.
Two fat fingers slide inside me and curve, hitting my top wall. My eyes roll to the back of my head.
One. Two.
I shatter.
Overstimulated. The sensation is so strong that it connects me directly to the Power Tree inside me, which answers my need to calm down, opening the roof of the gazebo to bring blissful rain on us. I partly register the cheer of the Fae around, welcoming the reprieve from the heat.
Jestin shifts me from lying to kneeling, pressing his hand against my stomach.
“Can you be a good doll for me?” He whispers.
“I… I don’t know,” I gasp, dazed from the pleasure.
“You do. Stay still. Be mine, my sweet little doll.”
“I do. I am a good doll.”
“Mm… you’re doing so well.”
Yes. I relax further, and the purr he gives me makes love to my very soul.
“If only you had always been that good for me,” he whispers, sucking my earlobe. I don’t tilt my head for more.
I am a good doll, and I stay still when he rubs his length at my ultra-sensitive opening. I don’t move an inch.
I don’t scream when his head hits my wall, and I don’t mourn when his length retreats all the way, sliding out of me.
I don’t fucking move when his absence aches.
“You’re dripping for me.” He chuckles, circling his shaft around the entrance. “God… you smell so potent.”
I whimper.
“Nuh-uh. Not. A. Sound.” He thrusts inside me and every fibre of my very being is focused on not existing.
Then he dares to slow down, retreating to his fat head before thrusting again.
I am nothing and everything. Pleasure wracks my body, threatening release, as I breathe through it.
One inhale. One exhale.
He continues that torment, and I am everything contained within the still form of a doll, body taut and unyielding, losing the ability to recognise the edges of my own skin.
“You’re such an exceptional doll today.”
I am a good fucking doll and wait as my master decides to give me what I need.
I make no move as he slides his fingers into my mouth, brushing each dry tooth one by one.
“Mine,” he growls and pounds faster, with a passion you would reserve only for a doll, not a living being. I don’t scream while my pussy spills over, and I don’t have any control over it.
I spasm, but I don’t move.
“Look at you, falling apart,” he purrs.
I’m limp as he flips me over, pulling me onto his side, and I rest my head on his chest. It feels so tranquil. I am falling asleep in his arms. In the middle of the party, like the complete loser I am.
Before I lose consciousness, I hear Jestin’s soft promise. “This time, I won’t let you run away.”
With that in mind, I welcome the Dreamworld, and it is a peaceful place tonight.