Max #3
Pleasure crested and took everything with it.
I shattered around his cock, clenching tight, milking it, and then releasing in long rolling waves that went on and on, my whole body wrung out and shaking.
He followed a heartbeat later—a low, raw, and rough sound tearing out of him as he buried himself deep and spilled into me, his hips stuttering through the last few strokes, his whole body shuddering apart against mine before he finally stilled.
We stayed like that, breathing hard, forehead to forehead, the moon cold and indifferent through the window, and I grinned at him.
I’d always meant to end here, in his arms, in the dark, with the moon for a witness.
Aelindor swept me up and laid me down on sheets cool as stone.
He stretched out beneath me and pulled me over him, his hands settling at my waist, his eyes already molten.
“Ride me.” A command dressed as an invitation. “I’m all yours.”
“You’re mine,” I said, and knew it.
I sank down onto him, taking every inch, and watched the Fae prince come undone beneath me for the second time as his breath left him in a hard rush. The power of that, of being the one to do it, of having him at my mercy for once, lit something reckless and feral in me.
I rolled my hips, and he twitched inside me, deep and thick and filling me completely.
I rose, slow enough to feel every ridge of him dragging against my walls, and sank back down.
His exhale came out ragged. I did it again, setting a rhythm, each stroke longer than the last, each descent harder, and the pleasure built in me like a held note climbing toward a break.
His hands stayed at my waist, guiding and never gripping. His eyes, full of lust, never left my face.
I poured all of it into fucking him—the years stolen in the dark, the grief I’d never had time to sit with, fear for the sister I might not reach, the death that might be waiting for me in the Haven, and the slim, stubborn hope for something with the heirs that I hadn’t let myself name yet.
All of it went in. And he took every piece of it and gave it back as pleasure until there was nothing left in me but this.
Then his hips snapped up to meet me, driving deeper, and I lost the rhythm entirely and stopped caring.
I slammed down to match him, both of us chasing it now, graceless and urgent, his hands gripping my hips to hold me in place as he drove up into me again and again, hitting something inside me that made my thighs shake and my vision blur at the edges.
The headboard knocked against the wall. I heard myself making sounds I didn’t recognize—low, broken, his name or something close to it.
“Harder! Yes, more… Fuck me just like that, Aelindor… Don’t stop!”
The orgasm hit without warning, cresting and crashing through me all at once, and I arched into it, shuddering hard around his cock.
He followed a breath later, his grip on my hips iron-tight, his own release tearing a sound from him, low and raw and real, nothing of the composed Fae prince in it at all.
I collapsed onto his chest. Spent. Wrung out. Entirely free.
He held me tight against him, his heartbeat hammering under my ear, his fingers tracing up my spine while we both came back to ourselves.
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured. “I’ll never let you go.”
“Then don’t,” I said.
For a long moment we just lay there. His chest rose and fell beneath me. Outside, somewhere in the mansion, a sound, a door, a footstep, and the world filtered back in.
The mission. The approaching dawn. The hours bleeding away.
“I have to go,” I said.
“Stay.” His arm tightened. “I’ll have Frost drive you back after breakfast.”
“But—”
“Spend the rest of the night with me.” A pause. “I haven’t slept well in weeks. Months, if I’m honest. Would you leave me to suffer it alone?”
My heart went soft for him.
“Fine,” I said. “But it won’t be a full night. Dawn’s only a few hours off.”
He grinned.
My heart stuttered. It was the first time I’d ever seen him do it—truly grin, boyish and bright and unguarded, nothing of the immortal Fae prince in it.
Caspian had told me once that he wished I’d smile more, and lying here now I finally understood him.
If my smile did to Caspian half of what this grin did to me, no wonder he chased it.
“I’ll take whatever you can give me,” he said.
My body was already pulling toward him again, an ache rising between my thighs, wanting another round we had no business starting.
I laid my head on his chest instead and let the quiet settle over us.
Then something rose between us—a thread of light, fine and new, spinning into being before settling back into us both.
My own magic stirred, deep down where I never let it wake—that old ache, familiar and unwelcome—roused by the pleasure or the bond or both, reaching toward the surface like a diver coming up for air.
The demon passenger held its breath, waiting for the opening with ancient hunger, leaning toward that rising power, ready to hitch a ride.
No.
I clamped down on it, shoved the magic back into the dark well, and slammed the lid. My whole body went rigid in Aelindor’s arms with the effort, terrified that if I let it crest, I’d lose myself, the demon would close the gap, and I’d never be only me again.
I would not allow that to happen. Not even for this.