Chapter 76 Danica
Danica
Rhyland's cock is a masterpiece, a work of art crafted by the gods themselves.
I swear, I could worship at the altar of his dick for eternity and never get enough.
The way he fills me, stretching me to the brink, hitting that sweet spot deep inside with every thrust—it's pure ecstasy, sending me careening over the edge every damn time.
You know the old saying—size doesn't matter. Well, that's a fucking lie. Rhyland is the biggest I've ever had, and he's showing me what I've been missing my entire goddamn life.
He's got me pinned against the shower wall, my body trapped between the cool tiles and his hard, unyielding muscles.
His hands grip my ass, his fingers digging into my flesh as he controls my movements, slamming me down onto his thick, pulsing length.
His tattooed arms flex and ripple with each powerful thrust, a mesmerizing display of raw, primal strength.
I'm a writhing, moaning mess, clinging to him desperately as the hot water cascades over us, the steam rising in a heady fog. My nails rake down his back, leaving angry red lines in their wake, a physical manifestation of the pleasure tearing through my body.
"Fuck, woman," Rhyland growls against my neck, his breath hot and ragged. "You're driving me crazy." His hips piston into me with renewed vigor, his cock driving into me like a jackhammer, relentless and unforgiving.
"Give it to me, Angel," he commands, his voice a low, guttural rumble that vibrates through my very bones. "I can't last much longer with the way you're squeezing my cock, milking me for all I'm worth."
His filthy words are my undoing, pushing me over the precipice into mind-numbing ecstasy. I come with a keening cry, my inner walls clamping down around his throbbing length, pulsing and fluttering as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me.
Rhyland's answering groan is animalistic and primal as he buries his face in the crook of my neck, his teeth grazing my sensitive skin. His hips stutter, losing their rhythm as he chases his own release, and then he's coming, his hot seed spurting deep inside me, coating my walls with his essence.
The sensation triggers another orgasm, my body shuddering and convulsing in his arms as the white-hot flames of rapture consume me. The wet, obscene sounds of our coupling echo off the shower walls, a lewd symphony of passion and desire.
We stay like that for a long moment, our bodies intertwined, our chests heaving as we struggle to catch our breath. The water continues to pour over us, washing away the evidence of our coupling, but the memory of it is seared into my mind, body, and soul.
After our steamy shower session, Rhyland and I dried off, got dressed, and I sent a quick text to Emily with Lucian's address.
We made our way to the kitchen, and let me tell you, calling it a kitchen is like calling the Mona Lisa a doodle.
This place is a gourmet wonderland, a culinary wet dream that would make The Food Network weep tears of joy.
It felt amazing to finally shower with actual products instead of a bar of kelp soap that smelled like low tide. Lucian's bathroom was stocked with every luxury, from high-end shampoos to fancy lotions that cost more than my entire wardrobe.
I'm perched at the kitchen island, rocking my favorite pair of cotton shorts and a cozy oversized sweater that hangs off one shoulder. It's the perfect blend of comfy and cute—like I'm ready for a lazy Sunday morning but still could kick ass if needed.
Rhyland, my caffeine hero, is brewing a pot of coffee that I've been craving like a junkie in need of a fix. I don't care if the sun is setting; I need my liquid energy, and I need it now.
As I perch on the kitchen island stool, still flushed from our steamy shower session, I can't help but ogle Rhyland as he moves around the kitchen.
He's a walking temptation in nothing but low-hanging gray sweatpants, clearly borrowed from Lucian.
His damp black hair is artfully tousled, cut tight on the sides with just enough on top to make me want to muss it up again.
That thick, well-groomed beard frames his chiseled jaw, still glistening with a few stray water droplets.
My eyes trace the contours of his gloriously naked upper half, a masterpiece of golden tan skin and Nordic tattoos stretched over rippling muscles.
From those washboard abs to the arms that easily manhandled me against the shower wall just minutes ago, every inch of him screams, 'Touch me. '
I'm mesmerized by the tantalizing trail of dark hair that starts below his navel and disappears into the waistband of those sweats, forming a 'V' that points like a neon sign to the impressive bulge I was intimately acquainted with earlier.
Seeing him and the lingering endorphins from our passionate encounter sends me a fresh wave of heat. My skin tingles, my heart races, and I'm pretty sure I'm grinning like an idiot. It's taking every ounce of willpower not to drag him back to bed, coffee be damned.
Rhyland must feel my eyes boring into his back. "Ready for another round, baby? Should I put this coffee on hold?"
I can't help but roll my eyes. Of course he knows exactly what I'm thinking—damn vampire senses. He can probably smell my arousal from across the room, the cocky bastard.
"Don't you dare stop that coffee," I warn, trying to sound stern but failing miserably. "I need caffeine if I'm going to keep up with your insatiable appetite, Mr. 'Let's-See-How-Many-Rounds-We-Can-Go.'"
He turns then, flashing me that devastatingly sexy smirk that never fails to make my heart skip a beat. "Can't blame a guy for trying, Angel," he purrs, his voice low and full of promise. "Besides, you weren't complaining about my appetite a few minutes ago."
I feel my cheeks flush even hotter if that's possible. "Coffee first," I insist, pointedly ignoring how my body screams for an encore. "Then we'll talk about satisfying other... cravings."
Rhyland's answering grin is positively wolfish. "I'll hold you to that, baby," turning back to the coffee maker. "Better drink up quick."
I quickly switch on the kitchen TV, needing a distraction from the Norse god in front of me—figuring I might as well catch up on the latest news while I wait for my life-giving elixir.
Let's see what chaos and mayhem the world has been up to while I've been playing mermaid in the underwater realm.
I find a news station and crank up the volume, the reporter's voice filling the room.
"Breaking news: Another werewolf massacre rocks Sammamish today as Wolf Pack leader and Sherriff of Area Twleve, Mason Brooks, claims the victims crossed territory lines, sparking the brutal attack. Stay tuned for more on this developing story at eleven. Back to you, Tom."
I stare at the TV, my jaw hanging open like a broken puppet.
Rhyland, the caffeine-bearing godsend, sets a steaming mug of liquid gold before me.
"Looks like we've got our work cut out for us, Angel," his hands land on my shoulders like a pair of heat-seeking missiles, kneading the knots out of my muscles like he's on a mission from the massage gods.
No shit. What the ever-loving fuck is Area Twelve?
"I can't believe this," I mutter, shaking my head in disbelief. "We've been so caught up in playing supernatural fix-it crew for the other realms that we've totally neglected our own backyard."
I sip my coffee, letting the bitter liquid scorch my tongue and jolt my brain into action. "Seriously, though, what the hell is going on? I know Emily mentioned that the wolves were claiming territories and shit, but what does this mean?"
"Werewolves have been trying to claim territories for eons, baby," Rhyland sighs, his fingers still working their magic on my tense muscles.
"But I'm flying blind here. I need to do some digging and find out what the hell happened to the vampire council.
I'll make some calls in the morning to see if I can get the lowdown on these packs and their little turf war. "
I nod, taking another sip of my life-giving elixir. Suddenly, my phone buzzes like an angry hornet, demanding my attention. I snatch it up, hoping it's not another crisis to add to our ever-growing list of apocalyptic problems.
But when I see Emily's name on the screen, I can't help but grin like an idiot.
In route. We should be there in about an hour and a half.
Okay, drive safe. See you soon! And don't forget to bring the good snacks. You know, the ones that don't taste like cardboard and sadness.
I hit send, feeling a little lighter, a little more hopeful. Sure, the world might be going to hell in a handbasket, but at least I've got my crew. My family.
A wave of relief washes over me, the knots in my stomach loosening just a bit. Emily's on her way. My ride-or-die, my partner in crime, my platonic soulmate. With her by my side, I know we can take on anything.
Rhyland leans down, pressing a kiss to my cheek. "Emily's on her way?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that makes my nipples ache.
"Yeah," I nod, leaning into his touch. "Her and Sable. They should be here in an hour and a half, give or take a few bathroom breaks and snack stops."
Rhyland chuckles, his breath tickling my ear. "Good. We're going to need all hands on deck for this one. And if anyone can help us figure out this werewolf mess, it's Emily. That girl's got intel for this type of shit and a tongue sharp enough to cut through bullshit like butter."
I can't help but laugh, picturing Emily verbally eviscerating a bunch of posturing werewolves. "Damn straight. Those fleabags won't know what hit them. Between your brawn, Emily's witchy powers, and my dazzling wit and charm, we'll have this territory dispute sorted out in no time."
Rhyland snorts, "Dazzling wit and charm, huh? Is that what we're calling it now?"