CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE #2
Carlisle’s cock wasn’t long, but it was thick, and that’s how I preferred the cocks I fucked.
Wide so it would spread my walls, so I’d feel every inch of it.
I took what I needed from him before he had the chance to catch up.
The orgasm moved through me clean and quiet, and I kept my face composed throughout. Then I lifted off him.
The problem with Carlisle wasn’t his appetites or his temper or even his particular brand of blunt-instrument loyalty to the rebellion.
The problem was that a day or so ago he’d decided, without consulting Vaelen or myself, to strike the garrison at Ember Ford.
It had been a small operation by his reckoning: four men, a supply cache, and a route he wanted cleared.
By any reasonable reckoning, though, it had been a catastrophe.
We’d lost one of our best-placed operatives in the fallout, a man who had taken two years to position inside Camelot’s supply chain and who was now dead in a ditch outside Ember Ford because Carlisle had grown impatient and decided that waiting for authorization was for men with less experience
than he.
Vaelen had spent the time since then calling in obligations to contain the damage and reroute our people away from the compromised passage.
Neither of us had said anything to Carlisle that would make him understand the true cost of what he’d done, because a man like Carlisle responded to blame by doubling down.
But I’d been thinking about it since. A man who acted unilaterally once would do so again.
The only question was whether the next time would be something we could survive.
He was watching me from the bed with the satisfied expression men wore when they believed they’d been the primary event. I reached for my robe.
“Now,” I said. “Let’s discuss the problem at hand.”
Carlisle made a sound that wasn’t quite a word. He was still breathing hard, his large hands fisted in the sheets.
“Morgan,” he grunted. “I haven’t—”
He hadn’t spent himself. I didn’t care.
“—I know.”
He stared at me, those hawk-sharp eyes going very dark. Clearly, he wasn’t a man who was used to being denied. “That’s not—”
“—if we solve the problem,” I said with a little purr, “I might allow you to fuck me again.”
There was a beat of silence. Then the corner of his mouth pulled into a smile. He loved this. That was the thing about Carlisle: he understood games because he’d been playing them his entire life, just never with a board this interesting.
“I thought you only warmed Vaelen’s bed,” he said.
I reached for the wine on the nightstand. “I fuck whoever I want to fuck.”
He watched me drink. Then he pushed himself up against the headboard and wrapped one large, muscular arm around my waist from behind. He was warm. Solid. Unapologetically male in a way that was occasionally useful and occasionally exhausting.
“My proposal,” he said, his voice dropping into the tone he used for war rooms, “is sending three of Merlin’s magically elite through the old tunnels beneath the castle. They are passages he helped design during Uther’s reign. It could be a surgical insertion,
and we could extract the girl before dawn.”
“And Corvin?”
“We don’t know if he’s dead or alive,” he whispered as he kissed my neck.
“He’s alive.” I stood up and then bent over in front of him, spreading my legs slightly. “Fuck me with your finger while you talk.”
He did and continued explaining the situation, which I appreciated. Competent multitasking was an underrated quality in a man.
“Three operatives,” he continued. “In and out.”
I listened for a few seconds before I began to take the plan apart.
“Go harder and give me another finger.”
“Fuck,” he whispered, doing as I said. “You’re so fucking tight.”
“First problem,” I said. “Can Merlin’s elite suppress their magical signatures completely while inside Camelot’s wards?”
Carlisle’s fingers stilled.
“Mordred’s detection net,” I continued, answering for him, “is designed specifically to catch magical intruders. Merlin’s mages are powerful, but that power is the problem. They carry magic the way other people carry scent. Suppression is possible, yes, but it’s imperfect. A flicker, a surge,
one moment of stress-triggered instinct, and Mordred knows they’re there.”
“True,” Carlisle said quietly as he pulled his thick fingers out of me and then pushed them back in once more. His cock was still fully engorged. Good, that was how I liked them. “Gods, let me lick you. I need to taste your cunt.”
“Go ahead.”
He pulled his hand away and lowered his head, and I let him, bending further forward to give him full access. He licked into me slowly and with genuine attention. He wasn’t half bad at it either.
“Second problem. Can they operate effectively without magic? Because suppression isn’t a switch; it’s a sustained effort. Strip them of magic inside Camelot, and they become three people with no weapons, no reliable escape route,
and no knowledge of how the castle’s interior has changed since Merlin last walked those tunnels.”
I paused. “Corvin is the only person alive who knows the current layout. And Corvin is in a cell and... not doing well.”
Carlisle pulled back. His chin was wet. He looked up at me with those hawk eyes and said, “You’re right.”
“Yes, I know.” I was always right.
“Merlin is also against this plan.”
“I’m not surprised.” Merlin was against any plan. It seemed he had his own reasons for not wanting his daughter freed, and I intended to find out what those reasons were.
Carlisle looked at me for a long moment. Then he said, “I want to fuck you again—”
“—I know.” I held his gaze as I lifted my leg and gave him a full view of my cunt. “So, fuck me.”
He moved over me and entered me without fanfare.
Just shoved that thick cock as far as it would go.
He wasn’t careful about it, and he also wasn’t tentative.
Carlisle fucked the way he led, with blunt, unhesitating force and without excessive concern for elegance.
He was hard, rough, and he didn’t apologize for either.
I approved.
“Don’t cum,” I said.
He made a sound low in his chest.
“I want more,” I said. “So don’t.”