Page 145 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
He clamps down, spearing sharp needles into me. I cry out, squirm, need.
“Don’t squirm,” he growls against my flesh and glides his shaft along my wet seam, teasing me. But it makes me writhe and need more. Another growl, another warning not to squirm. I can’t help it. One little wiggle, and he loses himself. He thrusts in hard, filling me so deep, stretching me so deliciously that I release a hoarse cry and claw at the blankets. Every instinct in me sighs at the same time it seizes. This is what I need. This is what I’ve been fighting all these years. Waiting.
I’m only sad Fox missed this first, too. The thought of him being here, taking turns . . . I groan and push back.
“I—fuck.” Bodin rolls his hips, savoring the feel of me. “Told you.” Fingers flex on my hips. “Not to squirm.”
“You did,” I pant. Wiggle some more. Tease. Grin when his breath hitches.
He fists my hair and rips my head back to kiss me.
“Your cunt takes me so good,” he rasps deeply, breathing against my lips. “But I like your mouth more. I’m fucking that next.”
He breaks away and snarls as he renews his efforts, pounding into me from behind. I am a hot, sweaty, prickling ball of pleasure, fire, and contentment. I am his to do with what he wills. And it feels so good. So right. I moan into the sheets. Maybe I wiggle some more, but he pulls out and slams in so hard that I climax with a sharp, sudden electrical burst—wave after wave of bliss shoots through me.
“Fuck, you’re gripping me,” he gasps at my back. “So tight. So?—”
He seats himself, utters obscenities as he comes, and then stays there fitted to me from behind. I can’t see him but hear him trying to catch his ragged breaths. Then he pulls out. Pins me there. I feel his release leaking down my thigh.
“This belongs inside you here,” he mutters, sliding it back into my pussy. He swipes more cum and brings his fingers to my mouth. “Or in here.” I moan at his taste, remembering the last time he spilled into me there.
He pulls back and pauses. I feel the heat of his gaze on my behind as he uses his thumbs to spread my cheeks. I almost giggle, vulnerable, awkward. But then his fingers slide up my thigh, catching more dripping release and guiding it into my tight, back entrance. “Or here,” he adds gruffly, almost to himself, rimming my anus. My body reacts eagerly, hot and prickly at the new pleasure. On instinct, I push back. His fingertip slips past the first tight ring, and I moan. The sensation is different. Not unpleasant. It’s another empty place eager to be filled. Especially now, I remember Styx’s promise to me.
Biting my lip, I brace for another feverish contraction of need. When it comes, I groan. Bodin keeps his finger there, spits to add more lubricant, slides his other hand around my front, and works my clit until I climax again, clenching around him a gasping, pleading mess. He curses, utters something inaudible, nips my buttocks, and then falls onto the bed beside me.
I didn’t realize I’d collapsed long ago. Facing each other, I have nowhere to look but the snare of his deep brown, long-lashed, and wholly sated eyes. He leans in to whisper hotly against my lips, “You have destroyed me.”
“Better not have,” I pant, another wave of need building. The helpless look I give him falls upon hooded eyes.
“Again?”
I nod. “This can last days.”
He growls with triumph, almost to himself. “I’m not done either.”
I find his cock, already getting hard. I stroke him, making little pleading noises to hurry the fuck up.
“You need to be filled, don’t you, Calamity.” It’s a statement, but I nod all the same. “Next time you go through this, there will be more than one of us, understood?”
I nod again, breathless with desire, as he positions himself behind me.
“Good,” he grunts, cock slipping into my channel. He hooks his finger into my mouth and turns my face so he can kiss me, hot and rough. “Because your pleasure comes first, but I want to feel your throat around my cock again. So we’ll need help.”
Part Three
Chapter 59
Willow
Predawn light filters through arched windows in Bodin’s room. The sun’s not up yet, but soon. One or two turns of the hourglass, perhaps. My body still hums with residual heat—its needs woke me. Beside me, Bodin’s bare chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, his smooth, muscular body twisted in rumpled silk sheets.
I prop myself up on an elbow and take in the room. Dark, polished wood panels line the walls, inlaid with intricate filigree that seems to writhe in the dim light. Weapons of various designs hang on the walls—swords, daggers, and things I can’t name—their blades gleaming with a sinister beauty. A whetstone rests on a nearby table, its surface worn smooth from countless blades honed.
The air is thick with the mingled scents of leather, spice, and sex. Our torn clothes lie scattered across the floor. The massive bed has four posters. I never noticed that last night. Its dark wooden frame is carved with arcane symbols. Torn silk hangings drape limply from the canopy, bearing the brunt of our lovemaking. I remember clutching them at some point.
As I turn, another wave of heat ripples through me, igniting a fresh surge of desire. I bite my lip, suppressing a groan. “Well-damn it,” I whisper, “how long will this last?”
I give Bodin a needy look, my gaze tracing the sharp lines of his face, softened in sleep. I resist the urge to run my fingers through his braids. The sight of this brutal warrior, vulnerable and at peace, stirs something profound within me. Shaking my head, I roll away, but his arm snakes around my waist, tugging me back. I feel his muscles contract and flex as he fits his body flush to mine.
