Chapter 23
Rosomon
Zogar’s kiss is like none we’ve shared before. One large hand gently holds my head in place as his lips explore mine like delicate treats he wants to savor. Perhaps it’s more like he wants to thank my lips, along with the rest of me, for saving his life.
In exchange, I want to thank him for sharing his story, for exposing such a deep, raw part of himself, and for letting me see more of the man whom I’ve come to admire and rely on so greatly.
As we kiss, I stroke the sides of his face and thread my fingers into his still damp hair.
Our mouths continue to taste and explore, exchanging immense pleasure, and our tongues perform a slow dance, like a waltz, until I feel as if I am truly floating around a ballroom, but one where Zogar and I are the only occupants.
His rod shifts, landing firmly against my body. He groans, and I suck in a breath, absorbing the sound into our kiss. My desire has expanded beyond comprehension, and yet I want to relish every moment of our kissing. I want to prolong this intense and intimate feeling forever.
His fingers trace over the necklace he gave me, following the trail of rubies down between my breasts.
Once there, he circles and strokes, teasing my breasts and nipples with all the varying textures of his hand—the rough calluses, the hard knuckles, the soft hairs—and every movement sends sparks to my cleft.
Zogar has touched me gently before, but never like this.
Somehow it feels different, now that we know each other more deeply, and the contrast between this level of tenderness coming from such a powerful man offers me everything I’ve ever wanted, things I didn’t know I needed.
At this moment, I know I am valued, that I’m special, that I’m cherished and seen.
Drifting lower, his hands trace over my ribs, gently caressing me everywhere, and it wakes flights of butterflies, sparkles of fireflies, swarms of bees in my belly.
I’m on fire, and as much as I’m enjoying his soft kisses, his tender caresses, I’m starting to crave more.
I rub my damp sex against his hard thigh.
As if reading my mind, his hand slips down, teasing my pubic hair, and then lifting my parted legs off his thigh so his fingers can slide through my cleft. One of his hands still holds my head in place to continue our kiss, as the other fondles my very damp folds.
His fingers slip back and forth, continuously teasing my entrance, my button, softly touching me everywhere, and the delayed gratification, while not fully delivering what every part of me wants, combines to satisfy everything that I need.
My hips pulse against his touch, relishing all that he’s giving me—and everything he’s denying me—his actions both perfect and not enough.
Just as I am about to break our kiss to demand more, he presses two thick fingers inside me.
I drag in a ragged breath, creating suction around his still probing tongue.
His kiss grows more demanding—more ravenous, more possessive and crushing—but his fingers slide gently, and I love the contrast between these two actions—the fervor of his punishing kisses, while his thick fingers tenderly probe, stroke and twist.
Breaking from our kiss, he leaves me breathless, my lips stinging and bruised, and he pauses for a moment, gently sliding his fingers and looking deeply into my eyes.
Then, without warning, he plunges his fingers more deeply, quickening their pace and force.
But along with this fiercer penetration, his eyes and expression remain soft and adoring.
My eyes become trapped as I fall deeper into his, and I suck in shuddering breaths that fail to carry enough air.
At this moment, Zogar isn’t my king, he’s my humble servant, dedicated to giving me pleasure, to paying attention to everything that I need. But at the same time, every twisting plunge of his fingers has my body fully under his command.
His thumb brushes my button, and I buck in his arms. I long to tell him how good this feels, but I can’t speak. I can’t possibly do anything beyond accepting the gifts his fingers and thumb are delivering.
I grasp his neck, his shoulders. I grab on to whatever I can reach, so I won’t fly straight up to the top of this cave. But there’s no chance of escape. His other arm traps me as he continues to hammer his fingers deep inside.
Unable to bear the pleasure, I writhe in his arms, and his rod brushes my body. If I were capable of doing anything of my own free will at this moment, I’d want to offer his cock the kind of pleasure he’s giving me.
The necklace grows hot and heavy on my chest as each of his thrusts lifts me higher from his lap, and I cling to him as my body stretches closer and closer toward a climax I both long for and fear.
I don’t want this to end, or even to change.
I want this indescribable pleasure to go on and on for the rest of my life.
His fingers still ravaging me, Zogar looks deeply into my eyes, and his thumb strokes my unbelievably stimulated button.
“You’re so swollen. So hard. So wet,” he says deeply.
I cry out, but the sound erupts on shaking breaths, as I contract around the thick intrusion of his fingers. My body writhes, as if trying to escape, but that’s the last thing I actually want.
“Shh… Shh…” Zogar’s deep voice soothes me as I shake and shudder in his arms. My inner contractions are erratic now.
Each time I think my peak has ended, another wave of convulsions tremble through me, twisting and jerking my body as I buck in his powerful arms. My button is so sensitive now, even a light brush makes me writhe.
Finally, he withdraws his thumb, then his fingers, and I slump against him, limp, tired and utterly happy.
If he’d continued much longer, my shuddering might never have ended.
I didn’t want it to end, but my body has taken all it can for the moment, and I’m grateful he saw what I needed, even if I did not.
“Are you cold?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Thirsty?”
I nod.
He gently shifts me off his lap, and as he moves away from the bed, I admire the luscious curls of his now drying hair, and drink in the long-stranded ropes and hard planes and mounds of his muscles—especially the way they combine to move his large body so deftly.
Searching the edge of his hoard, Zogar locates a large golden goblet, and then steps toward the water.
My chest tightens as he crouches to tip it into the pool.
Given what he’s told me, and what he experienced today, this simple action is a display of bravery.
He returns, offering the cup to me before he drinks the rest.
We sit side by side against large cushions, and I couldn’t be more content. But my gaze drops to his rod. It’s so stiff and red, clearly angry that it’s been left out of the activities. And as tired as I feel, I know my desire will rush back the moment his cock touches my cleft.
He might require sex to restore his powers at times, but his cock definitely reawakens mine. Everything about sex between Zogar and me defies belief.
“Does sex—with me—really restore your powers?”
“It does,” he says. “But have no fear, my queen. My powers aren’t depleted right now. You have no obligation—”
“Zogar.” Straddling his extended legs, I caress his face, loving the reaction I see in his eyes and hear in his breaths. “I feel no obligation.”
He smiles and his rod twitches against me as I lean forward.
“You restore my powers too—my thirst for sex, anyway.” I shake my head, realizing my comparison is foolish. “I know it’s not the same. I have no magic, no powers.” I laugh lightly.
“I beg to differ.” His hands slide over my torso, teasing my skin in delicious ways. His lips are grinning, but his eyes are filling with hunger. “Your cunt most certainly has power.” His expression turns more intense. “Power over me.”
Warmth spreads like fire inside me. My feelings for Zogar have grown tenfold today.
It doesn’t seem possible that my heart or my mind could have room for another man, but sitting here with him now, my body spent from multiple inner explosions, I can no longer deny my strong feelings for Zogar.
And I can no longer imagine my life without him.
Even if we weren’t bound by marriage, I’d always want Zogar in my life. And I’ll always protect him, just as he’s vowed to protect me.
At this moment, I’d do anything to make him happy.
My urge to take his huge cock expands, and I arch, rubbing my body against his stiffness.
He moans deeply, the sound rumbling through me and lighting even more flames of desire.
I rise up on my knees, but that doesn’t get me high enough, so I shift to my feet, slowly bending my legs to crouch over him.
Growling deep in his chest, he holds his rod to make it easier for me to direct myself toward it.
The moment his rod kisses my damp skin, pleasure floods through me, and my channel expands, pulsing and stretching to prepare for him. I won’t survive another minute, without him inside me.
“Oh, Zogar, what you do to me.” I look into his eyes.
“It cannot compare to what you do to me.” His hands circle my hips, and he gently eases me down, until his thick head breaches my entrance.
My head snaps back, and I cry out, gasping at the quick stab of pain, followed by a rush of pure pleasure. Pleasure I can’t comprehend.
Resting my hands on his shoulders, I slowly let my legs relax to draw him in further. My body stretches and opens as his hands lift and lower me, and together we work to drop me deeper and deeper over his cock.
He’s the one entering me, but with each inch I take I can see further inside of him, comprehending even more parts of Zogar than he exposed to me earlier.
Wanting more and more of him, wanting everything from him, I drop, sinking even deeper and taking him in more fully than ever before. Every part of me feels his thick presence. His rod is in so far and stretching me so wide I can no longer breathe.
He tips up my chin and looks into my eyes. “Too deep?” he asks. “I can use my hand to prevent you from lowering too far.”
I shake my head, struggling to find enough air to respond. “This…so full…so good.” I suck in more air. “Just give me a moment.”
Even though I claimed it wasn’t necessary, he encircles his cock with his hand, pressing it right up against me, and my gratitude for Zogar builds yet again. I do feel safer now—completely secure and free to move however I want without danger.
And I am very ready to move. So ready.
Looking into his eyes, I brace my hands on his shoulders and bounce over his stiffness. My legs move as quickly as a stallion’s racing across an open field, and as I plunge him into me, over and over and over, I feel just as wild and out of control.
The only thing keeping me here in this room is looking into Zogar’s eyes and witnessing his pleasure. It can’t rival mine—that’s not possible—and yet his shallow breaths, his reddening skin, the pulsing veins on his forehead tell me our levels of pleasure are in a close race.
I rise and fall countless times, and each time I drop, his fist catches me, adding to my pleasure and reminding me that Zogar will always protect me.