Page 11 of Lich's Bride

I reach between us and take him in my hand, stroking him gently while looking up at him through hooded lids. His eyes dance with lust as he gasps softly, and I lean forward to taste him. The taste on his tip is salty and sweet, making me even more desperate for more. I swirl my tongue around the head before taking him deep into my mouth, sucking gently on the velvety skin while my free hand massages between his legs.

He hisses loudly and grabs onto my hair, pulling gently as he moves in my mouth. His hips jerk forward roughly now, slamming into the back of my throat. I gag slightly but take it all in stride.

His musky scent fills my nostrils as I bob my head up and down his shaft, feeling the heat radiating off of him. I slide my hand up to cup him, rolling my fingers as he pushes deeper into my mouth. My lips stretch around him, and I groan into his flesh, loving the sensation of being used in this way. His thighs tremble beneath me. He's losing control quickly as I work him over.

I pull away for a moment, licking the droplets of sweat from his skin before looking up at him with a sultry grin. He watches me intently, eyes dark with desire and lust as he grabs my hips and pulls me against him roughly. “Fuck,” he murmurs against my mouth before flipping us so that I'm now on top in the cowgirl position.

My heart races in anticipation of what's to come and every nerve ending is alive with need. I straddle him, taking him in one smooth motion until he's fully seated inside me. The heat of him stretching me open feels amazing.

"You feel so good, Kira,” he pants against my earlobe, his tone breathy and husky, while his fingers dig into the flesh of my hips as he pushes deeper inside me. Our bodies move together in a dance of need and lust, our cries echoing off the tent and blending into the crackling flames of the bonfire outside. The scent of smoke mingles with our sweat as we ride this wave of passion together, lost in each other's touch.

My peaks harden even more as I feel every inch of him inside me, hitting spots deep within that I didn't know existed. His grip on my hips tightens as he pounds into me mercilessly, each drive sending waves of pleasure coursing through my body. My nails dig into his skin, drawing blood yet it only spurs him on to move faster, harder, deeper.

"Malachar..." I groan out his name, my voice raw with need as I arch my back and tip my head back, baring my neck to him.

With a growl, he obliged me, his sharp teeth sinking into the sensitive skin where neck meets shoulder. I cry out as my climax crashes over me like a tidal wave, my walls contracting around him spasmodically. His drives become erratic as he follows suit.

We lay there panting for what feels like hours, our heartbeats slowing down to normal as our breathing evens out. Finally, he pulls out of me gently, and we both sit up facing each other with flushed cheeks and smiles plastered on our faces.

"That was..." I manage to say between gasps.

"A long time coming," he finishes with a smirk before leaning in to claim my lips once more.

9

KIRA

Isurface slowly from the depths of unconsciousness, like a diver ascending through fathoms of inky water. The first thing I'm aware of is warmth, a soothing cocoon that enfolds me like a tangible aura of safety and protection. Gradually, other sensations filter in - the subtle rocking motion of movement, the rustling whisper of wind through leaves, the earthy scent of moss and loam.

I crack my eyes open, blinking against the dappled light that slants through a latticework of branches high overhead. Memory comes rushing back in a dizzying flood - the glade, the fae creature, the terror and pain and despair. I jerk fully awake, a gasp lodging in my throat...

Only to realize that I'm cradled securely in Malachar's arms, my cheek pressed against the smooth blackwood of his armor. He moves through the forest with preternatural grace, his strides eating up the ground, the shadows parting before him like curtains of cobweb.

I consider struggling, demanding to be put down... but the sheer relief of safety, of rescue, is too potent. I find myself relaxing into his hold, my heartbeat gradually slowing from its panicked gallop. There will be time enough later for pride, for the reassertion of boundaries and autonomy. For now, I am content to savor this fleeting sanctuary, this moment of peace amidst the chaos.

It seems to take both forever and no time at all to reach the Nightfort. The towering ebony gates swing open at our approach, the bone-white gravel of the courtyard crunching beneath Malachar's boots as he strides towards the keep. I feel the ancient wards wash over us like a dark tide, tasting my aura, weighing my allegiance. They let me pass, apparently satisfied by whatever claim Malachar has laid on my soul.

He carries me up the winding stairs, down echoing corridors lit by guttering sconces, finally coming to a halt outside a familiar door. My room. He shoulders it open, bearing me inside to lay me with infinite gentleness on the bed.

I expect him to leave then, to melt back into the shadows from whence he came. But he surprises me by settling into the chair beside the bed, his ember-bright gaze fixed on my face.

"Sleep," he says, his sepulchral voice oddly soft. "You are safe now. I will watch over you."

And incredibly, impossibly, I do. Drifting off into a dreamless darkness, swaddled in the aura of his power, his presence, I feel truly safe for the first time since I crossed the keep's eldritch threshold.

When I wake, hours or eons later, he is still there. Watching me with an inscrutable expression, his hands steepled before his lips. Seeing me stir, he leans forward, his eyes lambent in the guttering candlelight.

"How do you feel?" he asks, and there is a strange note in his voice, a tension that might almost be concern.

I take stock, marveling at the lack of pain, the absence of wounds I know I sustained. "I... I'm alright. Better than alright." I meet his gaze, a thousand questions clamoring on my tongue. "You healed me."

It's not a question, but he nods anyway. "A simple working, for one with my gifts." He hesitates, a flicker of some indecipherable emotion crossing his austere features. "I... regret that you suffered such harm under my aegis. It will not happen again."

I blink, taken aback by this nearest thing to an apology I've yet heard from the dark lord's lips. "I don't understand. Why did you come for me? Why risk yourself, after everything..."

"You are mine." The words are low, fierce, almost angry. "Mine to shape, mine to mold... mine to protect. No other hand may touch you, no other power may have you. Not while I still draw breath."

I shiver at the intensity in his voice, the possessive fire that kindles behind his eyes. Once, not long ago, such a declaration would have raised my hackles, stirred my defiance. But now, with the memory of my own helplessness still bitter on my tongue... there is a strange comfort in it. A dark thrill, an illicit heat.

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