Page 65 of Dark Fate

"I'm gonna shoot my load all up in this ass. You're going to be dripping with my cum" Rhyland growls behind me.

Lucian then adds two fingers inside me, expertly massaging my inner walls while simultaneously sucking and flicking my clit with his talented tongue.

"Oh, FUCK…I'm gonna…" I'm about to reach my peak…

"Umpffh—yeah, give it to me," Lucian says huskily.

"DANI!"

I snap awake, shooting up straighter than an arrow.

There’s Lucian, rocking that signature smug grin like he's got all the secrets, and then Rhyland, glaring with a fury that says he's about two seconds from wringing my neck.

Holy shit!

Quite the wake-up call.

Danica

27

Mother of god, it was all just some twisted, steamy dream. But seriously, brain, what’s with the after-hours XX-rated reel?

Lucian's expression morphs into a smug, knowing smirk as if he possesses some X-ray vision directly into the deepest recesses of my subconscious. Arching one eyebrow mischievously, he throws out an offhand "Hey princess... have a nice dream?" in a tone dripping with implication and innuendo.

That sounds exactly like he peeked into my head and had a front-row seat to the scandalous show.

Rhyland's growl vibrates through me, practically shaking my bones. "We've arrived," he clips out, a no-nonsense note in his voice.

Before I know it, he's got my wrist in a vise grip, yanking me out the door like a caveman claiming his prize. I let out a squeak of surprise as he slings me over his shoulder with all the ceremony of hoisting a sack of potatoes, my skimpy excuse for a dress doing absolutely nothing to hide my backside from the universe.

Lucian's chuckling is the soundtrack to my upside-down, head-pulsing protest, his amusement as infuriating as it is contagious. "Dammit,Rhyland! Put me down!" I demand, my voice climbing an octave as I pound my fists against his back.

Rhyland, ever the man on a mission, barks atFaderyn, "Where's her tent?"

Without missing a beat,Faderynpoints the way, and offRhylandstomps with me slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour. I thrash and holler, my fists drumming againstRhyland's back, but to him, it's likely just the pitter-patter of an irate, miniature human throwing a tantrum.

Inside the tent,Rhylandlands a stinging swat on my rear, and I can't hold back a yelp of frustration. The next thing I know, I'm plopped onto my bed piled with furs, my hair a tousled mess, and my cheeks flushed with indignation. I swipe my hair from my eyes and shoot him a glare that could scorch his skin off, my voice a mix of anger and disbelief. "What the hell,Rhyland?"

He looms over me, caging me with his arms, his face so close that I have to tilt my head back to escape the furnace of his fury. "I'd like to ask you the same question,Angel," he rumbles, his voice low and dangerous.

Heat creeps up my cheeks, and suddenly, I'm burning up, the warmth having nothing to do with his proximity. A hard knot forms in my throat, and I force it down, my mind racing with the implications of his words.

Could he possibly know about the scandalous theatre my subconscious just staged? The thought sends a shiver, equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

As if reading my mind, he answers, "Oh yeah, sweetheart. I know all about what went on in your pretty little head.Lucian's little gift, and he filled me in with every detail after I nearly choked it out of him." He says this with barely contained rage, his eyes flashing with a possessive fury that takes my breath away.

Oh, for the love of—this is just fucking great! When didLucianadd mind-reading to his bag of tricks? And more importantly, when did he decide to use that particular talent to spill the beans about my dirty dreams?

Rhyland's eyes roil like dark, tempestuous oceans, and I'm scrambling for an anchor, my mind reeling with the implications of his words. "I..." Words fail me for a millisecond, my tongue tied in knots. "I—I don't know why I dreamt that,Rhyland."

My words mix honesty with a dollop of defensiveness, my confusion swirling within me like a maelstrom. As much as I hate to admit it, even to myself, a part of me is thrilled by his jealousy, by the possessive fury that radiates off him like a heat wave.

But there's also a part of me that's indignant, that bristles at the idea of being held accountable for the whims of my subconscious mind. I mean, who's the dream whisperer anyway—able to dictate their nocturnal narratives?

Not me, that's for damn sure.

Rhyland's rumble hits a bass note that practically vibrates the space, and I'm half-convinced there's a puff of smoke swirling out of his ears. "I'm going to fucking kill him," is all he says, his voice low and deadly.

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