Chapter 17 #2
I grab the first thing I can reach—his horns—and the moment my fingers close around them, Varek moans, the sound vibrating through me as his grip flexes on my hips. He pulls me down, guiding me deeper until I feel myself hit the back of his throat.
“Fuck—fuck… nngh—” Coherent thought abandons me the moment he swallows, clamping down in a way that’s overwhelming—consuming—too much and not enough all at once.
He takes complete control, using me like an icy pole on a brutal Aussie summer day, working me into his mouth with a rhythm that leaves no room to think.
I should be the one in control here—I know that—but it’s not even close.
Between the pull in my balls and the relentless bliss surging through my cock that vibrates across my whole body, all I can do is hold on and let it happen.
The sensation builds fast—too fast—spiking hard and dragging me under before I have any chance of holding it back.
I come with a broken sound, body pitching forward, vision flashing white as it rips through me. My breath stutters, uneven and useless.
A strong hand braces my chest before I can face-plant into the wall. I grunt out something that might be thanks, then shudder when he eases me back, lifting me off him with controlled care.
My cock slips from his mouth, still hard, still throbbing, like it hasn’t quite caught up to what just happened. I blink down at it, mildly impressed and completely wrecked.
Varek watches me with a soft, satisfied smile as he shifts me again, guiding me down until I collapse fully against him. The low, vibrating rumble in his chest hums through me where my cheek rests against his skin, and it might be the best sound I’ve ever heard.
Comfort.
Belonging.
Home.
He’s pleased with himself. Entirely, completely content with his success at short-circuiting my brain. I can feel it through the bond, the threads between us lit up and humming, satisfaction bleeding through every connection.
But time is slipping.
Reality is already knocking, and I want him to feel this too—not just through me, not just through the bond.
I force myself to move.
“My turn,” I say, voice rough, barely holding together.
“Don’t you mean my turn?”
A slow, self-satisfied grin spreads across my face. “Fuck no. The pleasure is all mine, so this is definitely for me.”
I shift down his body, pressing kisses into his skin as I go, following the shimmer of purple with my mouth, tracing my tongue over the ridges of muscle beneath. His body is all strength and structure and something entirely otherworldly, every inch of him built with purpose.
Bloody hell. He’s stunning.
My gaze drops further, and I swallow hard.
His cock. Right. How the hell am I going to do this without completely embarrassing myself?
“Pax,” he says quietly, watching me. “Your pleasure is enough for me.”
I snap my eyes up to his. He means it. There’s no hesitation, no distortion in the bond, no chance of doubt. But that’s not the point.
“I want this,” I say, steady despite the heat building all over again. “Let me.”
“Always.” His voice softens, something deeper threading through it. “Anything you want that I can give is yours.”
That gets me more than anything else. Because yeah, I’d spent a long time thinking there was no version of the world where I got something like this—someone like this.
Turns out, I was wrong.
It just took being dragged through a rift and dropped into another dimension to find him.
Figures.
I exhale slowly, then drop my focus back to him.
No more hesitation. No more overthinking.
I lean in and commit, parting my lips and taking him into my mouth.
Varek’s groan is immediate—low, rough, and completely unguarded. It hits me harder than it should. Like a reward. Like something I want to drag out of him again and again.
A pulse of his silvery slick follows, warm and unexpected, filling my mouth. I should have anticipated it. I’ve felt it before—used it—but like this, it catches me off-guard.
I pull back just enough to swallow, my tongue dragging lightly as I do. The taste is exactly how I remember.
Better, maybe.
“Are you well?” Varek’s tone shifts, threaded with something deeper than concern. “Is it too much?”
I glance up at him, meeting that half-lidded, glowing stare. He looks wrecked already. Or on the edge of it.
“No,” I say quietly. “Just forgot for a second.”
I allow a beat to catch my breath. Then, because I know exactly what that look means—because I can feel the tension coiled through him—I add, softer, “You taste incredible.”
That does something to him.
The hesitation flashes—there and gone—but I don’t give it time to settle. I take him back into my mouth, deeper this time, closing my lips firmly and drawing him in with intent.
Varek’s back arches, control slipping for a fraction of a second before he drops back against the bed, a breathy exhale breaking from his chest. One of his hands moves—hesitates—and then comes to rest on my head before it wraps around my hair, not guiding, not forcing, but anchoring himself like he needs something solid to hold onto.
Good. This is what I want.
I adjust, slower now, more deliberate, testing the angle, the depth. Learning him in this way—on my terms.
I’m nowhere close to taking all of him. Not yet.
But I will be.
The thought drops low and heavy in my gut, heat coiling with it.
I want this. I want him. All of him.
Just once—just to know—I want to feel him lose that iron control, want to feel the moment he stops holding back. Want to take everything he is and make him break around it.
The bond flares, hot and alive.
It pours through me—his control slipping, his need spiking, that edge of something more primal threading through everything he feels.
I feel it.
All of it.
And it only pushes me further.
I adjust, working him deeper, slower now, testing the stretch, the way my body has to shift and adapt around him. He’s bigger than anything I’ve handled like this—long, thick, and built in a way that demands attention—but I don’t pull back.
That’s when I feel it.
The change.
It starts subtle—a tightening at the base, a shift in his body’s response—but then it grows, swelling steadily, undeniably, until the shape of it presses against my lips in a way that makes my breath hitch.
His knot. Even just the beginning of it is different, heavier. It’s thicker than the rest of him. The stretch of it pushes at my mouth in a way that makes instinct flare—warning and want tangled together.
Varek’s gasp is strained and full of need. “Pax—”
It’s a warning.
A request.
A line he’s trying to hold.
The bond spikes again, hotter this time, edged with something dangerously close to panic—not for himself, but for me.
I feel it, and I don’t stop. Not completely. But I don’t push further either.
I hold here instead, feeling him, the shape of him, the tension locked through his entire body. He’s fighting it—fighting the instinct to take, to press, to completely lose himself—but I don’t want him holding back.
I want him to come.
I lift my gaze, catching his eyes, and arch a brow in quiet challenge.
His control fractures. His eyes are wide, blown, hanging by the thinnest thread.
I slide my hand down and wrap it firmly around the base of him, squeezing around half of his knot where I can’t take him deeper.
That does it.
A raw, unrestrained roar tears out of him as his back arches hard off the bed.
I hold on as he releases, the force of it catching me off-guard.
Heat floods my mouth—too much to contain—spilling, overwhelming.
I pull back just enough to breathe, keeping the head of him in my mouth, sucking, swallowing what I can as the rest spills warm and steady over my lips.
The bond ignites, hitting like a shockwave.
My eyes roll back as it tears through me, dragging me under with it, and I come hard—untouched, wrecked, completely undone by him.
His grip in my dreads flexes, grounding, anchoring, as I shudder through it. “Enough,” he says, voice rough, fraying at the edges.
Not a command.
A plea.
That’s what finally makes me pull back.
Slowly.
I release him, breath uneven, lips tingling from the stretch, from the pressure, from the sheer intensity of it. My head spins, my body still riding the aftershocks, every nerve lit up and slow to settle.
Varek’s chest rises beneath me, his gaze locked on mine—bright, blown, stripped of that usual careful control.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
It doesn’t matter that I’m a mess, that I’m covered in Varek’s cum, that I look completely wrecked. I’m exactly where I want to be. With him.
The bond hums between us, still warm, still alive, no longer spiking but steady, full—like it’s settled deeper after everything we just shared.
I swallow, my voice rough when I find it. “Fuck, baby…” A breath of a laugh slips out, unsteady but real. “Holy shit.” I shake my head slightly, still trying to come back to myself. “I love you.”
His hand is still tangled in my dreads, still holding on, not firm now—just there. Comforting. Certain.
Unsurprisingly, we don’t leave the bed straight away even though we both know we should.
Reality is already waiting for us outside those doors, sitting heavy over the settlement, the weight of what comes next pressing in from every direction.
Varek doesn’t get the luxury of ignoring that for long—not when people are already looking to him to lead, to decide, to hold everything together after what we lost yesterday.
Still, when we finally part, it’s slow and reluctant, like neither of us is quite ready to let go of the quiet we carved out for ourselves.
His hand lingers at the back of my neck as I shift away, fingers brushing through the shorter, thinner dreads there in a way that feels absent-minded but is anything but.
I lean into it without thinking, pressing one last kiss to his mouth before I straighten, forcing myself to take that step back even though every instinct in me argues against it.