Raven Chapter 21 Exhaustion and Ecstasy 270 #4
There’s an obsessive hunger in his eyes that I am absolutely going to feed. “Nothing at all,” I confirm with a smirk.
There’s a cough behind us, and I watch as Em pulls a giant knife out of seemingly nowhere, his eyes locked on Silas behind me.
“What are you doing?” I squeak, knowing he definitely shouldn’t be assaulting the man who makes their covert magical travel possible.
He tilts his head, the knife resting in his hand like a sculptor would hold a chisel. "Some vistas are not meant for public consumption. I am ensuring this one remains a private collection."
I should probably be worried that this man is treating my body like a priceless work of art that's been viewed by an unworthy peasant. Instead, it’s lit up like a live wire, and I have to focus to not jump the man right here and now.
This worship goes both ways, and I want to let this feeling eat me alive and spit me back out as a sated, happy woman.
“Put the knife away,” I say, half-heartedly, because a significant part of me desperately wants to watch this gorgeous creature eviscerate someone in my honor. The other, more responsible part is trying to smother that bitch with a pillow. “We’ll just treat this like a warning.”
He eyes me up and down before putting the knife away, the blade seeming to vanish into thin air.
How in the mother of all tentacle porn did he do that? I keep the question to myself, knowing we have minutes—maybe seconds—to escape before he changes his mind and I won’t be able to talk him down.
When we return upstairs, the vibe is decidedly different. Having not bothered with shoes in the first place, I walk straight past the entryway area, my gaze locked on a little wrapped bundle on the floor. I scoop it up and tear it open, recognizing it instantly.
“Best day ever.” I moan, popping the chocolate into my mouth.
When I come down from nirvana, I spot another on the floor just ahead.
And another beyond that. I follow the delicious trail down the hall, straight into Emerson’s room, and right up to his television.
I look around, cradling my hoard of about twenty chocolates, and finally notice Kieran leaning against the wall near the door.
I must have been so focused on my chocolate-scavenging mission that I walked right past him.
I quickly pile all the chocolates up at the end of the massive bed because it simply won't do to have them all melt from the heat radiating off of me—a problem Kieran is definitely not helping right now. He’s just standing there, holding a remote with a sexy-as-sin smile stretching his face.
It’s not his usual jolly, happy-go-lucky smile.
No, this one is predatory and utterly satisfied.
"Movie time, Wisp," he purrs, pressing a button.
The screen flickers to life, revealing three familiar faces strapped to chairs with heavy chains.
Only two are conscious, and they look ready to piss themselves.
Em’s voice is the first thing I hear, and I spin to face him.
He just stands there, observing me with his usual obsessive intensity, but his lips don’t move.
I turn back to the screen and realize the cool, analytical monologue is coming from the speakers.
He's discussing psychological torture tactics with the detached energy of a man reading a grocery list, his voice quiet enough that I don't think the two on screen can even hear him.
The topic should not fan the flames any more than they already have been after Em’s little knife show downstairs, but oh boy, does it. My libido has officially reached "Only YOU Can Prevent Forest Fires" levels of danger, and these men are a bunch of careless campers.
When Kieran’s voice, charming and utterly deadly, asks a question about who they work for, I know I’m absolutely done for. Lock me up and throw away the key, because no other men will ever measure up to this level of unhinged devotion.
I watch, enraptured, as they systematically destroy both men, extracting detailed confessions from them as they go.
I watch as the third wakes up and starts screaming at the state of his friends before turning and looking behind the camera, where I’m assuming my guys are standing.
I watch as this guy actually pisses himself, the wet spot blooming on his pants for everyone to see, and chastise myself for getting so incredibly turned on.
That part, for the record, does nothing for me. The rest of it, though? I'm going to need to have some words with myself later.
I look down, sure that the wetness I’m feeling has to be dripping down my legs by now. Before I can even start thinking about the logistics of easing this unbearable ache that has been building while watching literal torture, Kieran sidles up beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
"We thought you'd appreciate a front-row seat to the consequences of layin' a hand on what's ours." He informs me, and I actually moan.
Well, that settles it. I have officially joined the unhinged parade.
The fact that I'm not currently fleeing in moral terror, but am instead considering which surface is best for Kieran to ruin me on, is the largest indicator.
I honestly think this might even outweigh the life-changing bath Dre drew up for me.
Deciding to withhold the ranking for now—as it will depend entirely on whether this is also going to end in an earth-shattering orgasm—I turn and look straight into his glowing green eyes.
“Am I going to have to beg?” I ask with a very obvious whine.
“For what, Wisp?”
“I need your hands on me. Immediately.” I reach for him, and he shakes his head like he’s snapping out of a nightmare.
A pained, almost disgusted look flashes across his face.
He takes a full step back, putting distance between us.
"Dinnae," he grates out, the word rough, his accent the thickest I’ve ever heard from him.
"Dinnae ask me for that. Ye've nae idea what yer askin' for.
" He runs a hand through his hair, the gesture uncharacteristically agitated. "Ye'd regret it."
I watch him bolt from the room like his ass is on fire, the words stuck in my throat: I wouldn’t regret a single second with him, even if we were out there robbing banks or burying bodies.
I groan—loud, dramatic, pathetic—and glare at the bed like it personally offended me. Then I crawl onto it anyway, because the ache between my legs is about to stage a full-blown political coup in its efforts to get what it wants.
Screw it. I flop back into the pillows, let my knees drop open, and finally give myself what I need.
One finger on my clit, circling slowly, then sliding down and pushing inside.
The relief hits so hard I moan like one of those actresses in the human pornos I’d used to watch over people’s shoulders.
When I pry my eyes open, Em’s right there—way closer than he has any business being, staring like he’s been lost in the desert and I’m the first oasis he’s seen in years.
Perfect.
He watches my finger move inside of me, and I use it as a teaching moment, showing him exactly how I’ve discovered I like to be touched. As I slip another finger into myself, my thumb finding my clit, and I moan again, his name on my tongue as I do.
His gaze snaps to mine—pure torment filling them.
He wants to touch me so bad I can taste it, but something’s holding him back.
Reasons, rules, whatever. Doesn’t matter.
Him watching is already the best foreplay I’ve ever had, and if these idiots think I’m going to sit here like some celibate saint while they sort their shit out, they’re dumber than a bag of rocks.
I chase it harder, the slick sound of my fingers fucking myself filling the room like the filthiest soundtrack ever created.
“Em,” I chant, over and over, a dirty little hymn.
It’s not getting me into heaven, but it rockets me straight into the kind of orgasm that feels like dying and being reborn all at once.
My back arches off the mattress, hips bucking, breath sawing in and out while my pulse thunders in my ears. I ride the aftershocks until I finally collapse, sweaty and wrecked, staring at the ceiling like it owes me an apology.
And then it hits me: I just came harder than I ever have in my life, and it was in front of an audience. An audience of one unhinged elf who may or may not be obsessed with me for reasons that are unclear as of right now.
Do I regret it?
Fuck no.
The real question is: does he?