Chapter 19
Easton
I lean over my mate, feeling the heat of my phoenix coursing through me, ready to flood her with the warmth she craves. Her breath catches as I take her plump earlobe between my teeth.
"When you come, I want this mountain to roar with you. I want the earth to shake and the bond to explode with colors."
Rising slightly, I arch a brow, my heart swelling with pride as I watch her teeter on the brink beneath me. The sight of her unraveling—each gasp and moan—is a testament to the power I have over her. I release her hands and grip her hips firmly, pinning them to the desk with possessive force.
Leaning forward, I press my naked body against hers.
The flames on my shoulders flicker as her fingers dance through them, sending shivers down my spine despite the heat.
I trail slow, deliberate kisses from between her breasts to her stomach, my lips lingering at her belly button.
When I nip at the sensitive skin, her sharp intake of breath makes me smirk.
Her arousal is a heady scent that overwhelms my senses, making my inner bird sing with anticipation. I end my teasing trail just above her mound, savoring the moment, her breathless pleas making my heart race.
"Easton... Please..." The desperate whine in her voice sends a thrill through me.
"Patience, my flame," I murmur, my hot breath washing over her skin. Dropping to my knees between her legs, I give her one last tug to bring her to the edge of the desk. I grab the chair and take a seat, my eyes drinking in the sight of her spread before me.
"You are such a feast set before me. My favorite dessert." I lean forward, savoring the desperate sounds my mate makes as my warm breath washes over her. I hover an inch from her glistening core, the anticipation thick in the air. The heat rising off her drives my shift insane.
She needs us...
I know.
She wants us... My bird echoes, still amazed that we are desired as much as the larger shifters.
The sight of her—swollen, wet, aching for me—sends a jolt of desire straight to my cock.
I do the one thing any male would do. I lick her from bottom to top in one long, slow stroke.
The taste of her explodes on my tongue—sweet and heady, uniquely her.
I pause at that swollen bundle of nerves, drawing it into my mouth and sucking hard.
The keening cry that escapes Feray's lips, her hips straining to lift off the desk, makes my blood boil hotter.
I press one hand flat against her lower belly, holding her down while I feast on her.
With deliberate slowness, I tease her entrance with two fingers, circling, pressing, but not entering.
She whimpers, trying to cant her hips toward me, but I hold her firm.
"Easton—" My name is a prayer on her lips.
I slide two fingers into her slick heat, feeling her walls grip me immediately, trying to pull me deeper.
The sensation makes my cock throb painfully.
My tongue works her clit in tight circles as I pump my fingers in and out, curling them upward to find that rough patch of nerves that makes her scream.
Her thighs begin to tremble against my shoulders.
It doesn't take long before I feel the first flutters of her core around my fingers, that telltale rippling that means she's close.
So I stop.
I pull my fingers out slowly, holding them up so she can see how they glisten with her arousal. Feray's sudden, icy glare as she sits up makes my blood run cold. Her eyes have shifted—ice-blue and burning with frustrated fury.
"Easton..." she growls.
And then she lunges at me.
For a brief moment, my life flashes before my eyes.
Until she takes my length in her hand—her grip firm and demanding—and guides me to her entrance, sinking down onto me in one swift motion that traps me on the chair.
The intense sensation as she envelops me sends shockwaves of pleasure through my body.
She's so wet, so hot, so tight around me that I nearly come on the spot.
"Fuck—" The word tears from my throat, utterly undignified.
I hold on to my mate as she rides my length, rougher than she normally does, her intensity catching me off guard.
Her hands grip my shoulders for leverage as she lifts herself nearly off my cock before slamming back down.
The wood of the chair groans beneath us, and I meet her thrust for thrust, my hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.
The slaps of our bodies colliding reverberate through the silence of the basement.
Her panting moans escape in ragged breaths, each one a spark igniting my senses. The wet, rhythmic sounds of our fucking—obscene and perfect—mingle with her cries, setting every nerve on fire. She's using me. Taking what she needs. And gods help me, I love it.
My release rockets toward me, an unstoppable force, yet I can feel she still teeters on the edge, not quite there.
The need to bring her with me overrides everything else.
I reach between us, my thumb finding her clit.
I begin slow, deliberate circles, coaxing her closer while she continues to ride me with abandon.
"That's it, my flame," I growl against her throat. "Take what you need. Use me."
Her moans pitch higher, her rhythm faltering as the pleasure builds. Her walls start to flutter around me, gripping and releasing in a maddening rhythm. Using my teeth, I bite her nipple—gently but firmly through the piercing—and she shatters.
Her release triggers mine, a shared explosion that tears through us both. She cries out my name as her core clamps down on my cock, milking every drop from me as I spill into her with a groan that echoes off the stone walls.
I stroke that bundle of nerves through her aftershocks, feeling her thighs tremble uncontrollably as her core spasms around my softening length.
Each pulse draws another whimper from her lips.
Feray reaches for me, gripping my face with both hands, her touch tender despite the urgency of moments before.
She pulls me in, kissing me gently, her lips a soft caress against mine.
I move my hands to her hips, stilling them, and savor the sensation of being buried inside her still.
It's such a rare gift to have this time alone with my mate, and I treasure every second.
Feray giggles, the sound vibrating against my skin as she nuzzles into my neck.
"What's so funny, my flame?" I press my lips to her cheek.
"A desk chair is a new one." Her laughter bubbles up again.
"I'm glad it was sturdy. It would have really been a showstopper if it broke while we were.
.." She lets the sentence trail off, her hand waving lazily to complete the thought.
The insinuation paints several vivid pictures in my head, each more disastrous than the last.
I chuckle along with her, the absurdity blending with the profound intimacy we share.
In this moment, filled with shared joy and the lingering thrill of our connection, I realize just how deeply I love her.
Feray slowly climbs off my lap, her movements deliberate and graceful.
I watch our combined release slide down her inner thigh, and something primal in me purrs with satisfaction.
Mine.
Within moments, Diaval stomps down the stairs, carrying washcloths and dry towels, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement.
"I thought we left the risky maneuvers to the young males to make asses out of themselves?" His voice drips with sarcasm as he chucks a washcloth and towel at me. The washcloth hits my bare chest with a wet thud.
"She chose the chair, not me," I protest.
Diaval huffs, and a plume of smoke escapes his nostrils. "You are almost fifty-three times her age. You should know better by now." His arms cross over his chest. "And you burned your dress shirt off. What are you, a hundred again? Get a grip on yourself."
The weight of his reprimand sinks in, heat rising to my cheeks. The remnants of the burned shirt cling to my wrists, a stark reminder of my lapse in control.
"You're a fine one to talk," I say sharply.
"You knotted and used your flare. I'm not the one who got themselves lodged in our mate for hours when we weren't trying for children.
" I watch him recoil, the memory of his poor choice during our mate's heat clearly stinging.
She was so sore the rest of the day she barely moved after dinner.
"Point made." His gaze falls on the shirt Feray had worn earlier. "At least our mate left you a shirt to wear."
He grabs his silk sash and turns to leave.
I hadn't even noticed the shirt had survived our lovemaking. Exhaling, I slide it on, my mind drifting to a time long past. Back when the Empire of Dusk flourished where the Basilisk now rule. Back when my bloodline were sovereigns over the shifters.
I refused the arranged marriage with Nadira, the daughter of the Basilisk ruler.
It was a defiance that sparked a war—a war that turned most of us to stone, never to be resurrected.
I was sent away as an emissary to the Dragon Court in Vasserdell.
Had I stayed, I would have perished along with my family, frozen forever.
The loss is a shadow that haunts me. Shaking my head, I push the memories to the back of my mind, forcing myself to focus on the present.
My fingers move over the buttons, closing the shirt with practiced precision.
I pull on my underwear and slacks. As I tuck in my shirt, I notice a distinct wet spot covering most of the tail.
I freeze, feeling the dampness soaking through my silk boxers. Drawing in a deep breath, I summon the warmth within me, raising my body temperature. The heat radiates outward, evaporating the wetness until the fabric is dry and warm against my skin.
Feray's voice echoes from upstairs—food is ready.
I gather the documents I was studying before Feray decided it was time to reconnect, and climb the stairs.
There's an unease within me, an awareness of our shared disadvantage.
Diaval and I struggle to perceive Feray's unspoken needs more than the younger males.
Our origins are steeped in species where females initiate intimate moments—old-world sensibilities that leave us fumbling in the dark.
But moments like today remind me why it doesn't matter.
She chose us anyway.
And I will spend every remaining century of my existence proving worthy of that choice.