35. Katya
35
I should push him away. He’s a brute and stubborn and infuriating, and I wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for him.
I should push him away, but I don’t.
I open for him.
His tongue sweeps in, tentative at first, a teasing brush, then becoming more insistent. He tips my head, deepening the kiss, and I’m melting. I throw my arms around his neck and press my body against his, my soft breasts flattening against his hard chest. His hands rove my curves, like he’s trying to learn every inch of me, and I do the same, running my palm across the hard planes of his chest and abs. I’m trembling, the need like a living thing growing inside of me, out of control. I can admit I’ve wanted him since the moment our eyes met across the crowded dining room, and now that he’s kissing me and touching me, I don’t want it to stop. Let him take me here, right now. It may not be the way I dreamed I would lose my virginity—out in the open with people everywhere—but at least it would be my choice. Gods know what will happen the next time Raiden takes me, but this… with him… This is right.
I want to push my hand past the waistband of his pants and squeeze his cock to see if he wants me as badly as I do him. Just the thought sets a billion butterflies off in my belly. But before I can act on it, he grabs the globes of my ass and lifts me into his arms so we’re lined up and grinds his cock against my naked sex. Warmth pools in my center and gushes between my legs, soaking his pants. Later, I’ll be horrified, but right now, all I want is for him to pull his cock out and ram it into me.
Instead, he slides his hands between my legs from behind, hissing when he reaches my soaked entrance. “Fuck,” he says, his breath hot against my lips, chest heaving. He dips the tip of his finger inside of me, scooping up my arousal and spreading it up my slit and around my clit. I start to moan, but he slams his mouth against mine again, stifling the sound. He continues his slow torment, circling my clit, then back again, his finger dipping a little farther into my entrance with every pass.
“More, more, more,” my mind screams, but I can’t speak, can’t move. He has me pinned against the wall, his mouth on mine, swallowing any sound I make. I’m at his mercy, and it’s the single most arousing experience of my life—not that I’ve had many.
His lips slip from mine to nuzzle at my neck, sending a zing of electricity straight to my sex. He pulls his hand away, and I find myself whimpering at its loss.
Then he raises his head to nip at my ear, and his low timbre rumbling against my chest, he asks me, “Do you want to come, witchling? ”
“Yes.” I more breathe the word than say it, but he hears me.
He moves his hand between our bodies and slides his two fingers between my folds, sending a jolt of pleasure through my body. I let out a shout, and he slaps a hand over my mouth. “Shh. If someone hears, I’ll have to stop.”
I nod. I’ll be quiet.
“I don’t believe you,” he says. “I’ll have to keep your mouth covered, just in case.”
My belly does a somersault. Good gods. Why does that get me even more excited?
Then he pushes a finger inside of me, and he’s right, I do shout. He doesn’t call me on it though, just watches me, his eyes twin pools of blue lava as he begins pumping his finger inside of me. More electricity shoots through my center, and a tingling pressure builds in my core, making me crazy. Then the heel of his hand comes down on my clit, and I well and truly scream, as the pressure in my core ratchets up and up, every thrust of his finger and rub of his palm sending more pleasure swirling through me.
It’s too much and not enough. I fling my head from side to side as the sensations completely overwhelm me. I grip his shoulder, hard enough to bruise, and I roll my hips chasing my climax.
“That’s right,” he says, the words little more than a growl. “Ride my hand.”
And with those words, I shatter, my body fracturing into a million pieces as pleasure rolls through me—like the undercurrent of a tidal wave—and I’m brought under, drowning. He continues his onslaught, milking every drop of pleasure from my body until, completely spent, I sag against him .
He slips his finger out of me and looking me dead in the eye, puts it in his mouth and sucks it clean.
“Mine,” he says.
"Line up,” the red-belted guard shouts. I’m in the middle of rolling up the waist of the skirt Jael scrounged up for me when I hear the call. The damn thing’s so long, I’m tripping over it like an idiot as I scramble to join the rest of the slaves, but it’s better than wearing that nothing dress they brought me back in yesterday. We line up into three rows, our hands clasped behind our backs, heads down, while they do the morning count. The guards move down the lines, slapping people who aren’t standing the way they want and shouting obscenities at the rest. Finally, they dismiss us for breakfast, and I immediately go back to fiddling with my skirt until I can finally walk without tripping. Of course, that means it now looks like I have a donut wrapped around my midsection, but it’s not like I need to be fashionable to hack at a bunch of rock.
I’m lost in my thoughts, so when Aemon approaches me from behind and says, “Morning, witchling,” I about jump out of my skin. I spin around, fully prepared to smack him into next week, then he smiles at me with those pretty white teeth and strangely adorable dimple, and I can’t help but smile in return. I don’t know when, but at some point, that nickname changed from a jab to an endearment. Or maybe it was always an endearment, and it’s my attitude that’s changed. Regardless, when he calls me that now, something in my chest flutters.
Problem is, now I don’t know what to say to him. Usually, I’d follow up with some jab about turning his privates into icicles, and he’d make some crude comment about how I can lick his popsicle and so on, but now I just feel… awkward.
I follow Aemon to the food station. There’s already a massive line, so Aemon tells me to look for a place to sit while he gets our food. There isn’t a lot in the way of seating, so I settle against the stone wall and wait for him to find me.
He finally got me to spill my guts about what happened yesterday after our little tryst behind the stone. Well, spill my guts isn’t really accurate because I held back a lot. I had to explain about the bloodletting because of the bandage on my arm, but no way was I about to tell him how I orgasmed when Raiden drank my blood or how the blood fae we met at the arena leered at us. He was angry enough that they took my blood. If I told him the rest, Veda knows what he might have done.
I can’t tell if it’s just because I’m anxious about being alone or because it has actually been a long time, but it feels like an eternity has passed before I see Aemon walking my way. He plops down beside me and hands over a hard chunk of bread and a cup of what looks sort of like milk. I set it down on the floor, intending to leave it there. He must have read my mind because Aemon points to the cup and says, “Drink it.”
Hello, bossy. “I don’t want to.”
“The man standing in front of me in line said it’s full of nutrients and we’ll get sick if we don’t drink it.” He takes a long gulp of his own cup, and by the grimace on his face, I’d say it tastes just as disgusting as I imagined. Amazingly, he powers through it, not setting down the cup until it’s completely empty. A shudder bolts up his spine and he tears off a large bite of bread, chewing with a great deal more effort than should be necessary.
“I think I’ll take my chances.” I attempt to bite into my bread, but it’s like biting into a rock, and I have to wrench my head to the side just to rip off a piece.
He lays a hand on my knee. “Please,” he says, giving me a boyishly sweet, pleading look. I didn’t even know his face was capable of making that expression. “You need your strength if we’re going to get out of here.”
Manipulative ass. “Fine.” I pick up the cup and chug the liquid down before I can think better of it. It isn’t until I’m about halfway through that the taste hits me—like fermented milk. I barely manage to swallow down what’s in my mouth before my stomach wants to send it right back up again. “Oh god.” I swallow hard, trying to keep it down. The last thing I need to do is throw up the little bit of food I get, but I can’t stop gagging. Aemon hands me a piece of bread, and I stuff it in my mouth and chew. I swallow it down, but it does little to help, so I rip off another piece, chew and swallow, then another, until I’ve finished every last bite of my bread. My stomach’s still icky, but the food seems to be staying down at least.
I sag against the wall, hand resting on my belly. “Remind me to never listen to you again.”
He smirks, eyes going to my cup, then back to me again. “You didn’t finish.”
I level a glare at him. “I don’t like you anymore. ”
Aemon presses his lips together in a half-assed attempt to hide his laughter. Like I can’t see his entire body shaking from it.
“You’re not exactly helping your case here.” I get up to leave, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me down on top of him. “Aemon,” I shout, smacking at him to let me go, but not smacking too hard because I don’t really want him to let me go. I just want him to think I want him to let me go. And while I realize how totally insane that sounds, I can’t back down because then he’ll win, which means he’ll have the upper hand. And if he has the upper hand—
I don’t get to finish that thought because Aemon slams his lips against mine, and I go from fighting him off to jamming my tongue into his mouth in an instant. My hands slip around his nape and into his soft hair. I grip it hard, probably too hard, but Aemon doesn’t complain. He moans. Tilting his head, I deepen the kiss, and gods, he feels incredible, tastes incredible. Then the stupid bell clangs, ruining everything. Reluctantly, we pull apart. “To the mines,” a guard shouts. I don’t know how many of the humans understand what he’s saying exactly, but they all know the routine. People begin clearing away trash and dump it into a metal bin on their way to the mines.
“Come on,” Aemon says, lifting me from his lap. “I don’t know what they’ll do if we’re late, but I don’t want to find out.” I push the rest of the way to my feet, then hold out a hand to him. He squints at it, like he’s never seen a hand before, but takes it anyway. He doesn’t really need my help getting up, so it’s no wonder he doesn’t actually put any weight on me as he stands. What’s interesting is that he doesn’t let go.