Chapter 9 #3
He lifts me like I weigh nothing, repositions me beneath him on the ruined sheets, and I wrap my legs around his waist and feel the hard length of his cock pressing against my core through his leather pants.
Even through the fabric he's thick and hot and I can feel him throbbing, can feel how badly he needs this too.
The pressure makes me cry out—not enough, not nearly enough, but God, it's something, it's contact, it's him where I need him even if there's still too much between us.
"Off," I snarl, yanking at his laces with clumsy desperate fingers. "Get these off, I need to feel you—"
He rears back just enough to tear at the laces himself, shoving leather down his hips, and then his cock springs free and I can't help but look.
Can't help but stare at the sheer size of him—thick and flushed dark with blood, the head slick with precum, veins standing out along the shaft.
I remember how it felt inside me on the altar, remember the stretch and the fullness and the way he ruined me for anything else.
Then he's pressing against me, the head of his cock sliding through the slick mess I've made of myself, nudging against my entrance without pushing in. I can feel every ridge of him, every throb of his pulse, the heat of him like a brand against my most sensitive flesh.
I make a sound that's not quite human. Needy and broken and so far past pride that I don't even care anymore.
"Please—" The word tears out of me. "Rhystan, please, I need your cock inside me, I can't—"
He drives into me in one brutal thrust.
The stretch is devastating—his cock forcing me open, thick and hot and so deep I feel him in my throat.
My back arches off the bed, a scream caught somewhere between my lungs and my lips, and for a moment I can't breathe, can't think, can only feel the impossible fullness of him splitting me open, his cock buried so deep our hips are flush.
It hurts. Of course it hurts—he's too big and I'm too tight and he didn't ease into it, didn't give me time to adjust. But the pain changes almost instantly into something else, something that winds through the pleasure and amplifies it, makes every nerve ending light up like I've been struck by lightning.
"Yes—" The word comes out broken, barely recognizable. "That's—oh fuck, that's—"
He doesn't give me time to finish. Doesn't give me time for anything. Just pulls back until his cock is almost out of me—the emptiness already unbearable, my body clenching on nothing, trying to keep him—and then slams back in so hard the headboard cracks against the stone wall.
I rear up and sink my teeth into his shoulder.
His blood floods my mouth—copper and smoke and something wild underneath, something that tastes like dragon fire and ancient magic. He snarls above me, his hips snapping harder, driving his cock into me with punishing force, and I drink him down like I'm dying of thirst.
"Fuck—" His voice is gravel and ruin. "Your teeth—when you bite me like that—"
I bite him again. Different spot, higher on his shoulder, closer to his throat. Feel the way his whole body shudders, feel the way his cock twitches inside me, pulsing against my inner walls, feel the wave of savage satisfaction that rolls through the bond from him to me.
He likes it. Likes the pain. Likes that I'm not just taking what he gives but taking pieces of him too, marking him the way he marked me on that altar.
His pace turns brutal. Each thrust drives his cock deeper than I thought possible, drives me up the bed until he has to grab my hips and drag me back down onto his shaft, until I'm bracing my hands against the headboard just to stay in place.
The sound of our bodies coming together is obscene—wet and slapping and punctuated by my desperate moans and his animal growls, the thick slide of his cock in and out of my drenched cunt.
He shifts his angle and the head of his cock hits something inside me that makes the world go white at the edges.
"There—" I'm babbling now, can't stop the words spilling out of me. "Right there, don't stop, please don't stop—"
He doesn't stop. Keeps hitting that spot with every thrust of his cock, relentless and precise, like he's mapped the inside of my body and knows exactly where to strike. The pleasure builds and builds, coiling tighter in my belly, my thighs trembling where they're wrapped around his waist.
His hand slides between us. Finds where we're joined, where I'm stretched around his cock, where I'm swollen and sensitive and dripping down his shaft. His thumb presses against my clit and I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me without warning—pleasure so intense it borders on pain, so complete it feels like dying.
Every muscle in my body locks tight around him, my channel convulsing in rhythmic pulses that seem to go on forever, squeezing his cock so hard he groans like I'm killing him.
I scream against his shoulder, the sound muffled by his flesh, my nails raking down his back hard enough to draw blood.
He doesn't stop.
Keeps fucking me through it, keeps working his cock in and out of my spasming cunt, keeps working his thumb against my clit, keeps dragging out the pleasure until tears are streaming down my face and I can't tell where one orgasm ends and the next begins.
It's too much—too intense, too good, too everything—and I'm sobbing against him now, completely overwhelmed, clawing at any part of him I can reach.
"That's it," he growls against my temple, his voice wrecked beyond recognition. "That's it, fuck, you feel so good when you come—so tight around my cock, squeezing me so fucking hard—"
The words push me higher. Another peak cresting before the last one has faded, my body a live wire sparking everywhere he touches.
"I can feel it through the bond," he pants, his rhythm growing erratic, his hips stuttering. "Feel how good my cock feels inside you. Feel you falling apart every time I fuck into you. You have no idea what that does to me—"
"Show me," I gasp. "Stop talking and show me—"
He shows me.
His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise bone, tilting me up, changing the angle so his cock is even deeper somehow, hitting places inside me I didn't know existed.
I'm making sounds I don't recognize—high and desperate and broken—and I don't care, don't care about anything except the feeling of him thick and hot and moving inside me, the drag of his cock against every sensitive spot, the way he fills me so completely there's no room for anything else.
I feel the knot starting to form. The swelling at the base of his cock catching on my entrance with each thrust, stretching me wider, forcing my body to make room for even more of him.
"Kess—" His voice breaks on my name. "I'm going to—the knot—if you don't want—"
"Give it to me." I drag his mouth down to mine, bite his bottom lip until I taste blood. "I want it. Want your knot inside me, want you to fill me until I can't think, can't move, can't do anything but take your cock and your cum—"
He makes a sound that's pure animal—raw and desperate and utterly undone.
The knot catches on my entrance. Stretches me impossibly wide, wider than I can stand, the base of his cock so thick now I don't know how my body will take it, and I'm keening against his mouth because it's too much, I can't, I can't—
Then it pushes inside and everything goes white.
The orgasm that hits me is nothing like the others.
This is complete. Total. Absolute. I feel it in my bones, in my teeth, in the roots of my hair.
My whole body convulses around him as the knot swells to full size inside me, locking us together, his cock sealed so deep that I don't know where I end and he begins.
He roars above me—a sound that shakes the walls, that vibrates through my chest, that sounds like it's being torn from somewhere ancient and primal.
I feel every pulse of his cock as he comes.
Hot and endless, flooding me in waves, filling me until I'm sure I can't hold any more but my body just makes room, takes every drop of cum he gives and demands more.
The knot keeps everything sealed inside, keeps his cock locked deep in my cunt, and each throb of it against my inner walls triggers another aftershock of pleasure that makes me cry out.
It goes on forever. Or maybe only minutes. I lose track of time, lose track of everything except the feeling of being full—finally, completely, impossibly full of his cock and his cum and him—and the weight of him on top of me, inside me, everywhere.
When the world finally stops spinning, I'm lying on my back with him collapsed on top of me, still locked together by the knot that shows no signs of going down.
His face is buried in my neck, his breath hot and ragged against my skin.
My legs are still wrapped around his waist, my hands still clutching at his back where I've left long bloody furrows in his skin.
His arms shift, wrapping around me, pulling me closer against his chest. The knot shifts with the movement and we both make sounds—overwhelmed, oversensitive, completely undone.
"Sorry," he murmurs against my hair. "Too much?"
"Shut up." There's no heat in it. I'm too wrung out for heat, too satisfied, too completely destroyed. "Just don't move. Don't talk. Just..."
"Okay." His hand strokes down my spine, gentling, soothing. "I've got you, Kessa."
I hate that I relax into his touch. Hate that I shiver at the sound of my name in his mouth. Hate that my body trusts him, knows his hands, has learned to feel safe in his arms despite everything he is.
The silence stretches, broken only by our breathing and the occasional pulse of his knot that makes us both shudder.
"Your heat came too fast," he says finally. "The bond accelerated it. I should have warned you that might happen."
"Would have been nice to know." My voice is muffled against his chest. "Thought I had months."
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing for things you can't control."
He's quiet for a moment. Then: "What about the things I can control? Coming back when you told me to go. Breaking down your door."
"I told you to do it."
"After I was already in the room."
"Rhystan." I force myself to lift my head, to meet his eyes. They're gold again, mostly. Just hints of black at the edges. "I called for you. I said yes. I meant it. Stop trying to find reasons to hate yourself that I didn't give you."
Something shifts in his expression. Something that might be surprise, or gratitude, or both.
"The heat will build again in a few hours," he says quietly. "The cycle won't break until it runs its course. Three days, maybe four." A pause. "I can stay or go. Your choice."
"Stay." The word falls out before I can stop it.
His arms tighten around me.
I feel his relief through the bond—a wave of it washing through my chest.
And some part of me that's been fighting alone my whole life finally stops.
Just for now.
Just while the heat lasts.
Just until I remember that I came here to slice his throat open.