Page 68 of Her Tortured Beasts

My head pounds in time with the pulse of my cock, the need for release, long built up within me. With one hand covering my eyes, I allow my right hand to wander where it pleases, down the hard plane of my abdomen and lower, to that insatiable beast between my thighs that has been aching all day. My balls feel heavy, calling me to empty them.

I crack open my eyes just enough to see the shapely mound that is the anima next to me.

My wife.

A scream pierces my skull and the fractal vision of a bloody chase blinds me for a moment. I don’t realise that I’ve reached for her until I feel smooth, luxurious skin. Closing my eyes so I don’t have to look at her face, I run my hand down her shoulder.

She makes a small, sleepy noise that might be endearing if I didn’t dislike her personality so much. Francesca sighs, the scent of arousal perfuming the air as she turns towards me.

At least she can’t say that I’m not doing my husbandly duties. For all I know, she’ll take every detail of this back to her father. Her arousal is so strong that it consumes my sinuses, leaving no other scent, no other thought in there. It drags me deeper into my own need and my hands sweep away her long tresses, finding her face and tilting it up towards mine. I capture her lips, the taste of her heady and sweet. So fucking sweet.

She gasps into my mouth.

And it does something so primal to me. A growl tears from my throat, greed and desire taking me over completely. Herscent—gods, her scent is everything, and my dragon sways in approval. I sweep the sheet off her, sliding my hand down the curve of a delicious waist, down a smooth thigh and lower to the back of her knee. With another growl, I hike her leg over my hip, my cock painful and hard as obsidian stone.

“I need you,” I mutter. “Fuck, I need you.”

She whimpers, her own primal desires making her writhe, making her skin slide over my naked skin, leaving me panting and half-mad. My cock twitches and catches her between the legs, the head sinking into moisture.

She hisses and so do I, making me slide my hips, greedily wanting to be coated in that sweet wetness. I palm her breast and she arches into me, moaning wantonly. The scent of her wet pussy makes me drunk and I suddenly can’t think of anything else except what that would feel like inside of my mouth and on my tongue and on my entire face. I want to cover my whole body in that sweetness.

“I need to taste you,” I say hoarsely, sliding down her body, tasting her skin as I go. The centre of her chest, a line down her body. The taste of her is almost orgasmic, like a buffet of every perfect taste in the world. It gets better the lower I go and I covetously grip her hips as I find my lips tickled by a tuft of soft curls.

I took her for a Brazilian type of woman, but it doesn’t fucking matter, not when it’s ambrosia, not when I crave it like I crave the fucking sky.

She cries out when my lips kiss the line where her labia meet. I stroke my tongue down her centre, lapping up the beads of her heady juices as I do. Sliding my tongue between her lips, I groan deep in my throat as that nectar slides into my mouth, simultaneously heating me up and cooling my brain. The cerebral relief I feel is unmatched as I lave into her pussy, exploring the delicate skin like a skilled explorer. A flick of her clit makes her cry out, hands reaching into my hair and tugging in just the way I like. My lips find her clit and I suck on it gently, and happily find a flood of the heady slick in my mouth. I reach down and stroke myself as I savour this delicacy, feeling my hard shaft respond to the pleasure in my mouth.

I squeeze the base almost cruelly hard, milking my cock and feeling its veins bulge. Precum coats the broad head and I imagine the flutter of my tongue of her most sensitive spot, grinning as I feel her writhe and almost choke on a moan. I’m relentless, wanting to feel more of the unexpected pleasure, pumping my shaft hard and fast as if I was in her.

Release gathers at the base of me, rumbling like a volcano ready to explode. I work my cock as I work her clit and she comes first, screaming and crying, her back almost lifting off the bed completely before she pants, yanking on my hair so hard it hurts in the best way. Pressure hits a breaking point in my own body and I sit up, tilting my head back and moaning into the sky as I let go weeks of release onto her body, milking out every laboured millilitre of my seed. I inhale a sweet breath and exhale a relieved one before flopping down on the bed.

Lazily, I rub my cum into her skin, letting my scent claim her, letting my seed soak into her skin.

Silence.

There is blissful silence in my head.

And for the first time in an age, I go soundly to sleep.

I wake to a soft, warm body wrapped next to mine. She smells like me and my release and that makes the dragon in me snort in lazy contentment. My mind is calm, near serene, the feeling so unexpected and so delightful that I actually smile. It’s a vague thought in the back of my mind. Could it be that fucking another dragon is the only thing that placates my own? Perhaps I should take Francesca out flying like she’d asked. We could probably work out how to fuck in mid-air and that would bring back my joy for flight again. Keeping my eyes closed against the cruel light of day, I run my hands up that interesting curve of her waist, then higher up, dragging the pads of my fingers up her arm, across her collarbone and?—

Find a thick hunk of metal encompassing her neck.

My very world tilts sideways as my limbs throw my body to the other side of the bed and Aurelia stares at me, wide-eyed and panting, as shocked as I am.

Olly knocks on the door before opening it, revealing himself and Heather in the doorway.

Spawn’s off the bed as fast as a rabbit, scrambling back into her cage and shutting the door as if she’d been in there the entire night.

Chapter 39

Aurelia

The pretending that didn’t happen game is probably the best one ever invented. And everyone plays it with me. It serves us well this morning as, just as I tuck myself under the blankets next to Eugene, Heather opens my blackout curtain with a cute flick and I pretend to look out blearily at them as if I’ve just woken up.

Ihavejust woken up, but it was rudely…after it had been somewhat cosy and soft. Xander has that sort of dangerous masculine scent that drives me to do wild things—letting him think I was Francesca notwithstanding.

Heather lets me out and I hurl myself into the bathroom, jumping in the shower and rubbing myself with the soap she silently hands me. It’s halfway through my aggressive scrubbing that I realise its scent-neutralising soap.

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