8. Chapter 8 Her Room #3
She started riding him in deep, rolling strokes, hands braced on his chest. Every downward grind took him to the root. Her breasts swayed with the motion. He reached up to catch them again, thumbs on her nipples, and she made that low approving sound in her throat.
"Harder. I want to feel it tomorrow. Fuck my pussy hard. Hurt me, please."
He planted his feet and thrust up to meet her.
The wet slap of their bodies filled the small dorm room.
Her tail had found his thigh now and was coiled tight, squeezing in the same rhythm as her hips.
She talked the whole time—breathless instructions, half-swallowed praise, the occasional sharp demand when he hit the angle she wanted.
"There. Right there. Don't you dare slow down. Lucien—fuck—yes."
He flipped them when the tension in her thighs started to shake.
She went willingly, legs locking around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back.
He drove into her harder, deeper, the bedframe creaking under them.
Her nails pricked lightly at his shoulders.
Her mouth found the side of his throat and bit down just hard enough to sting.
"Come inside me," she said against his skin, voice rough. "I want to feel it. All of it."
He lasted longer than he expected. She came first, her second climax tearing through her in sharp, pulsing waves that milked his cock.
The rhythmic clench of her, the wet heat, the way her tail locked tight around his thigh—it pulled him over the edge right after.
He buried himself to the hilt and spilled into her in thick, pulsing jets, hips stuttering as the pleasure ripped through him.
They stayed locked together while the aftershocks faded. Her skin was still running hotter than any human's should. The lamplight caught the sheen of sweat on her red collarbones, the silver strands stuck to her cheek, the satisfied half-smile on her mouth.
She flexed around him once, deliberately, and laughed at the small sound it dragged out of him.
"Efficient," she murmured, echoing her earlier words. "And thorough. I approve."
Her tail loosened its grip but stayed draped across his leg, warm and heavy. Neither of them moved to separate. The dorm room was quiet except for their breathing and the soft, distant sounds of the academy outside the window.
Afterward, she lay against his shoulder with one leg over his and the blanket somewhere on the floor, and neither of them made any move toward it.
"Don't say anything clever." She sounded rough around the edges. "I'm not ready for clever."
"All right."
"You can say something stupid. Stupid is fine."
"Bramble is watching us."
"Bramble has seen worse." She moved her hand flat across his chest and left it there.
"He wasn’t supposed to come with me to the academy.
I told the whole household I was leaving him behind, and then I put him in the bottom of the trunk at four in the morning like a criminal.
I stacked so much stuff on top of him. He should be flat. "
"Nobody knows you brought him or tortured him?"
"My sister knows. My sister checked the trunk." She said it slowly, with nothing guarded in it. "She never said a word about it. Not once, not even to be cruel. And she is extremely capable of being cruel."
"Then she's better than she lets on."
"Everyone in my family is better than they let on. It's a family disease." She yawned into his shoulder. "You'd hate them. They'd probably hate you because you’re human. That's going to be a thing eventually."
"I'll win them over with my personality."
"Lucien, don’t be an idiot." She shifted, hooked her leg higher, and settled. "Gods, the orgasm aftershocks are doing me in. Thank you."
"Curfew," he said.
"Is at midnight, and it's enforced by a proctor who checks the stairwells at ten past and then goes back to his book." She didn't move. "I've been counting that too."
"Of course you have."
"I count everything."
The lamp burned down toward the low end of its oil. Her breathing lengthened out against his neck and did not go all the way to sleep.
"Lucien."
"Yes?"
"When the Krenning complaint lands and they call you in." Her hand was still flat on his chest. "I'm going to be outside that door. I'm not asking. I'm telling you where I'm going to be standing."
"I know."
"You know because I told you, or you know because you already knew?"
"Both."
"Good.” She patted him on the chest. “You’re a good man.”
She said nothing else. Her hand stayed where it was and her breathing went the rest of the way down, and her tail slid off his calf and lay still across the sheet.
Lucien lay on his back in a room that smelled like her tea and the oil in the lamp.
Silver hair was across his shoulder and his arm had begun to go numb underneath her but he left it where it was.
Two floors down, somebody crossed the quad on the gravel.
The lamp guttered once, caught and held, and the green glass threw its color up the wall and across the shelf where Bramble sat with his one ear, keeping watch over the whole business.
Bramble was definitely judging him.