Chapter 45
Rosomon
Saxon and I brief each other on more of what happened over the time we were separated. Although it was longer for him—months versus days—more events transpired for me because he was locked in a dungeon.
I tell him about the Shadow Council, about Zogar’s hoard, about the Elf Overlord’s home and the one Zogar and I shared so high in the sky. But I skip over some details about Gabreal and the vampyre club, and don’t mention how Zogar declared his love for me.
Over the time that we’ve talked, we’ve been touching each other gently, and my need for Saxon has multiplied.
I feel certain that his need has grown too.
His erection softened while I told him details about the Darkness, and about the source of the large scar on my belly, but the moment I touch his thigh, it returns full force.
“Let’s move off this rock.” His thumb strokes my cheek. “Let’s find somewhere more comfortable.”
I nod, letting him help me up, even though I still feel it should be me helping him. We walk hand in hand to a spot near the edge of the waterfall. There, we discover a soft bed of moss and pine needles at the edge of the cliff.
“This looks lovely.”
He grins. “I saw it when I was in stag form.”
“Did you know you’d be able to shift in the Light?”
He shakes his head. “I had an intuition. But the moment I entered the forest, I knew for sure, and I just let it happen.” He pulls me into his arms, and his erection presses deliciously against my body. “Is this okay?”
I nod as I look up into his eyes. “I’m worried about your injuries. And your strength. Have you eaten since your escape?”
“I ate some foliage and berries when I was a stag, but the only thing I truly crave right now is you.”
My entire body flutters in tune with my heart, and slickness seeps onto my upper thighs. I’ve been sexually aroused many, many times at this point, but this feels even stronger, deeper, more profound. I want Saxon on so many levels that go beyond sexual.
But I’m still worried. After we emerged from the water, I spotted very raw skin on his ankle, and he has other bruises and cuts. He understated how he suffered.
I step back from him. “Stand there.” I point toward a spot near the cliff. “Before we go any further, I need to inspect you to be certain you’re fit.”
“Inspect me?” He chuckles.
I fight my own mirth. “Yes.” Standing firm, I try to look stern. “You claim you’re not hurt, but I see chafing at your ankle, bruises around your ribs and on your legs.”
He nods. “How shall I present myself for inspection?” he asks, clearly trying to suppress a grin.
“I’ll start with your back. Put your hands against the cliff.”
Grinning he turns and leans forward. “Like this?” He looks over his shoulder.
“Eyes forward. Spread your legs wider. I want to see everything.” And I do want to see everything. Even if he weren’t hurt, I’d want to study every part of Saxon.
I explored his form, over the time we were in Lymbo, but I’ve never had a chance to learn Saxon in the way that I plan to now.
If I can restrain my own needs long enough, I plan to tease him, to fondle him until he wants me enough to explode. I must keep my hands away from his stiff member and sensitive stones, for as long as I can.
He repositions himself, standing far enough from the wall that he needs to lean forward to rest his outstretched arms against it.
He looks so sexy and strong, even with his undernourished body, and I linger a while before touching him, drinking in the beautiful sight that quenches a deep thirst I didn’t even know was there.
In spite of his time in captivity, the mounds of his ass are hard and round, and I slide my hand lightly over one side.
He sucks in a sharp breath in response. “Thrix, that feels good.”
“Shh,” I say softly. “I need to concentrate.”
Worried about the raw skin on his ankle, I crouch to take a closer look. “Does this hurt?” I trace my finger above the red skin. It doesn’t look quite as bad now I’m up close.
“Am I allowed to speak?” he asks, with amusement in his voice.
“When spoken to.” I grin, loving this reversal. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been told only to speak when spoken to. Sometimes by my father or brothers, often by Nurse and by other men at court—most notably Tynan’s grandfather who struck me for speaking.
“I heal faster than most,” Saxon says, his deep voice causing another tight contraction between my legs. “I always have. I now assume it’s because I’m a shifter.”
“That’s interesting.” And does explain why he’s so strong, after being in chains for so long. He must have moved as much as he could within his constraints, because I’m not looking at the body of a man who’s been sitting still for several moon cycles.
I let my fingers trail over his strong feet, and he twitches when my touch slips under the edge of one arch.
Saxon is ticklish. Noted. Then I circle the ankle bone of the uninjured leg and slide one hand over each of his calves, loving their strong, ropey shapes, and the soft hairs covering his shins.
He twitches again when I touch the backs of his knees, and I decide to leave my inspection of the front of his legs, until after I ask him to turn around.
Instead, I drag my hands slowly up the backs of his thighs, squeezing at times and loving how I can feel his muscles flex and relax under my touch.
My fingers slide to the insides of his upper thighs, and he groans.
Clearly, he’s as sensitive there as I am.
Or something close to it. There’s little evidence of his recent ordeal on the backs of his legs or his buttocks, but I see the scars from his childhood beatings at the hands of the klericks.
I trace my fingers over some of the more prominently raised lines.
“For the love of Othrix, ma chérie. I’m going to shoot my seed before you even get close to my rod.”
“Quiet,” I say. “And let’s not invoke the name of that god. Not ever again.”
Grunting, he nods, and I slide my hands over his lower back, then over his ribs. The bruises I saw there have already faded, which makes me incredibly happy, and I let my hands fan out over the expanse of his back, tracing the shape of his muscles—watching and feeling his reactions to my touch.
His shoulders are my favorite part yet, molded into extra hard mounds with his palms braced against the cliff. I’m not tall enough to slide my hands over his arms, so perhaps it’s time to ask him to turn.
To tell him to turn.
I’m surprised by how much I like this game of giving my former instructor instructions. “Turn around,” I say as firmly as I can.
He reaches for me.
I step back, wagging my finger and shaking my head. “You can’t touch me until I say so.”
A dark grin invades his expression, and the browns in his eyes darken too. Clearly, he also likes this game. His stiff cock is standing straight up, shifting from side to side and clearly seeking the touch of something, anything beyond the air that’s grazing it now.
I start with his arms, then his face, exploring the textures of his golden beard, then his neck and his chest, working my way down his body as slowly as I’m able. But I’m as eager as his cock to have this game reach its logical conclusion. I need to feel him deeply inside me.
My fingers trace through his belly’s ridges. He moans, and his cock shifts. It’s even more difficult to avoid it now, not only because I want to touch it, but also because it seems to be trying to touch me.
I slide my hands down his solid thighs, exploring the mounds of muscle and the ridges above his knees. Then my palms slide down the fronts of his shins and all the way back up again.
My face lingers near the base of his cock, and I consider extending my explorations to his stones and his rod, perhaps even tasting him. I lick my lips, remembering how I saw women in the Darkness taking men deeply into their mouths. I salivate at the mere notion.
“Have I passed inspection?” he asks in a near growl. “Because this torture is far worse than anything I endured in that dungeon. You could ask me anything right now, and I’d tell you.”
Grinning, I rise to full height. “Inspection complete.”
The moment the words are out of my mouth, he moves, taking me with him. In a flash, my feet are off the ground, my back’s against the cliff, and his stiff rod is inside me.
We both cry out in pleasure, and my cunt pulses around him, tightening in waves, like I’ve already reached a climax.
“I can’t take you like this.” He pulls out and lifts me away from the stone. “I’ll scrape your back.”
Setting me down, he quickly turns me and enters me again from behind.
I cry out in pleasure, and also in alarm as the force pushes me forward.
He guides my hands to the cliff so I can support my upper body.
Once he’s sure my position’s secure, he starts pumping, his thrusts unbelievably hard and deep, and he pulls me back to meet every single one.
“Fuck!” he shouts. “Ma chérie, oh, how I have missed your sweet cunt.”
I want to tell him that I’ve missed him too, even though it’s been less time for me, and I’ve been with Zogar in the interim, but my mouth is completely incapable of forming words. Many sounds, however, erupt from inside me, sharp moans of pleasure and delight I can’t begin to control.
His rod is so welcome after all my stalling, and as it drags through me, each moment wakes more and more pleasure. I regret making us wait, although it may have contributed to the heights I’m reaching right now.
I’d rather be looking into his eyes with him moving more gently, but at this moment I’ll take Saxon’s cock in any way that it’s offered.
“Won’t last long,” he cries out, pumping more quickly. “Not right now. Too much.”
His finger finds my button, and within seconds I explode, writhing against his still powerful thrusts as I contract around him. With a loud deep shout, Saxon also erupts, and the hot slick of his seed fills me.
All too quickly, his upper body slumps over mine. He’s panting. I’m panting too, exhausted but loving the feel of his heaving body surrounding mine.