24. Obsession
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Obsession
My fingers clutched his shoulders harder. Using my legs braced at his sides to arch my spine, I tried to get as close to him as possible to sate the ache between my thighs. With his next suck, my channel clamped repeatedly from another release, stealing my ability to breathe.
His hand slid down my side to grip my bottom, his long fingers clasping the flesh hard. Pleasure rippled outward, and he strode to the bed, sitting so my knees braced on his thighs. He pulled back from my neck with a final long lick that wrenched a moan free.
“Draven,” I panted, bracing my hands on his shoulders.
His lips parted, and his steel member twitched between us. Liquid gathered at the tip, the flushed flesh visibly throbbing. I craved his pleasure with a ferocity that should have stunned me. He watched me with narrowed focus, his eyelids thinned.
My pulse pounded in my throat.
“I want to please you, Lord Draven,” I murmured, my voice husky from the remnant pleasure of the climax.
His pale eyebrows, a shade darker than his hair, rose high.
I ran my palms down the front of his chest, following the dips of his muscular form. He was like rock under silk. When I reached his sides, I slid off his lap and lowered to my knees, bracing myself on them to be able to reach the thick shaft.
The thin strip of fuzz below his navel felt as soft as feathers. I raked my nails across it. Lord Draven inhaled, but what fascinated me was the twitch of his length. My fingertip grazed against it, and his member bobbed, extended and swollen.
Waiting for release.
An answering trill of pleasure wracked my frame. I was ruined. My life was no longer my own. Bit by bit, the Warlord was claiming me, and I was helpless under the thrall of his presence.
I grabbed the length with one hand.
Lord Draven stiffened, his hands curling into the fur bedding.
Discomfort expanded in my belly, but I did not let myself cower or turn away as much as I desired to.
It pulsed in my palm and I gripped it firmly with the appropriate pressure. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye. He continued to watch me. Since he didn’t speak a word, I reached with my other hand to grab the base where it swelled outward.
The flesh pulsed under my palm.
I inhaled sharply, freezing, gaze flying to meet his.
Humor reflected in his eyes. “Keep touching,” he ordered huskily, watching me through half-lidded eyes.
“Yes, my lord,” I whispered and returned to gliding my hand up and down the length.
Slowly, I worked the flesh, rubbing the seed to slick his length. With my hand at the base, I squeezed and slid lower, to cup the heavy, smooth sack.
He groaned, his head falling back.
I leaned forward and licked the tip. I did not think he could become any more like steel, but he proved me wrong.
Another wave of moisture leaked from the tip. I took hold of the middle of his length and lowered to take more of him in my mouth. My tongue lay flat against the side, and a vein pounded underneath it.
With careful pumps of my hand, I licked his shaft. His hand settled atop my head, his long fingers sliding into my tresses, and gripped. The bloom inside me shuddered, growing under his pleasure. I ran my tongue under the slight bulging flesh at his tip, running it around it with quick swipes.
“Cursed Saints,” he gasped.
After another squeeze of his sack, I took his knot in hand again, squeezing. It pulsated, then release exploded onto my tongue, so much of it.
Still, I did not move away, swallowing his seed—or as much as I could manage.
Peeking up at him, I found his eyes closed, his chest heaving, and his lips in a thin line.
Each time I licked his length, he twitched, and the throb between my legs had grown with each of his reactions until it was a frustrating ache.
Raising my head, I licked my lips and pulled myself up onto his lap, grabbing his shoulders to help brace me as I settled my thighs against his.
His lips remained parted, hinting at his fangs as he watched me with his eyes so half-lidded they were almost closed.
The unique smell of his skin caressed my senses: leather and ink.
I hoisted myself higher.
Drusilla’s warning echoed in my memory.
In an instant, I made my decision; I would take pleasure from him without shame. This entire time, I fought to keep a part of me safe, but it was a losing battle.
Angling my head, I leaned and took his lips, kissing him with as much fervor as I could, mimicking the way he had kissed me before.
I ran my tongue over his fang. His stillness revealed I had caught him by surprise.
It took him a moment, then his arms banded around my waist, and he crushed me to him, plunging his tongue into my mouth.
His shaft twitched, the semi-flaccid length stiffening once again and nudging at my belly. He pulled away to drag a breath in. I pressed my nose against his, waiting.
“Why did you leave without a word?” I whispered against his lips.
He blinked, his thick sooty lashes sweeping up as his eyes widened.
“I . . .” he paused, looking at me as if I had gone mad.
A sound rumbled in his chest, deep and vibrating. He had been about to answer. It cut off just as suddenly, and he flashed his fangs with his sneer.
“You have no need to question my whereabouts, redblood.”
I should keep my opinions to myself—I knew better, but his derision wrenched anger forward. I had been placed with the rest of his harem. What had I expected? Unbelievable that such an archaic concept existed, but that was essentially what it was.
“I suppose you are right. Who am I to question the grand Warlord?” He cocked his head at my accusatory snipe. “If you’ve been serviced appropriately, release me for I must return to my duties.”
“Duties? What duties?” A thundercloud traveled over his features.
“I have been aiding the alchemist.”
Deafening silence was followed by his deceitfully calm voice. “That stops now.” The cloud of anger only worsened. “I am your duty.” He narrowed his eyes and clasped the bottom of my jaw. I struggled for freedom.
“You are not to leave my side,” he threatened in his soft voice. He reached through a panel of my skirt and shoved past the bloomers.
“Draven,” was all I was able to gasp. Pressure expanded at my entrance, and I jerked on him. He dragged me closer.
“Tight little cunt,” he whispered against my ear.
“My lord—”
His fingers plunged into my soft, feminine flesh. Again and again, expanding the heat there until I could not breathe. By the third swirl of his thick fingers, my hips moved to follow the rhythm of his plunging digits.
Ecstasy began to take hold. I sank my teeth into my lip, and my fingers curled into his shoulders, scoring hard enough that onyx blood welled. Then he stopped the rhythm of his fingers. Without removing his focus from me, he lifted his two digits to his mouth, licking the glistening moisture.
My lips parted on a harsh exhale, and his gaze dropped to my mouth.
He moved with Warlord speed, tossing me onto the bed until I was face down. I only had the chance to lift my head before he yanked off my bloomers.
I hadn’t even had the chance to push to my knees because his arm wound under my belly. He pulled my waist up so my bottom lifted more, and the gown bunched at my waist, leaving me exposed. All my weight fell upon my elbows.
Lord Draven shoved my legs wider, his hands on my bare hips. Pressure expanded at my entrance. I drew in a harsh breath, tensing. He ran one of his hands over the small of my back.
“Shh, mortal, relax.”
My body did his bidding, and he invaded another inch. The pressure felt fuller, different, keener.
I squeezed the fur under my face.
My channel fluttered around him as he pushed deeper. I closed my eyes to the stretch down there. A mingling mix of pain and pleasure. More of him filled me. I cried out, the pulsing shaft ripping need from my channel until I was desperately wet.
Draven moaned.
“My filthy little redblood knows how to come on my cock.” His whisper was edged with need.
“More,” I ordered, arching my spine, gaining more of the fullness. My insides had rearranged for him, taking him, gripping him with the clasp of my channel.
He made a choked sound, and his hands on my waist stopped me from pushing against the base of his cock.
“None can take my knot, little mortal,” he breathed. “Have a care.”
“Cassiel,” I snapped. He’s being much too careful!
He groaned and began a steady, deep thrusting rhythm, removing me from this realm and onto a cloud of utter pleasure.
I met every thrust with fervor in a dance of wills. Mine to take every inch of him, and him, retreating each time. A shake began in my legs, and I whimpered, my sex clamping as I reached another climax.
His pace slowed. While I still pulsed around him, I pushed my palms into the bed and shoved. My channel stretched, the throb of my orgasm soothing the ache as I took his knot.
“Saints,” he hissed. The blissful stretch only lasted moments before he pulled his length from my squeezing channel. Warm release sprayed across my bottom.
I had only a moment of being stretched, and I wanted more.
He reached under my belly and clasped my sex, fingers pressing into the bundle of nerves with just the right pressure. I would not have been able to stop the climax.
My hearing became obsolete as I rode the wave of pleasure. Nothing could ever touch how fully he claimed me. How complete being in his arms made me feel. I could lie here with him . . .
The orgasm passed, and I went limp, my cheek smashing against the fur.
Lord Draven worked his shaft inside me, arm tucking me tighter to his chest.
I lay on the fur bedding, trembling. My legs refused to listen to my head. I could not twitch a muscle with how limp everything felt.
The experience, the pinnacles that wracked my frame, woke something in me.
An uncontrollable urge for more.