Page 119 of The Deer and the Dragon
Thump, thump, thump.
Jessabelle’s voice was light, barely carrying above the music’s pleasurable, pounding vibrations. She continued to argue into the receiver as she said, “The power is unparalleled, I know that. But what if she doesn’t want—”
I wanted her to get off the phone and join us. It would be incredible, and I would be at the center. I wanted him inside me. I wanted her against me. I wanted the silk and velvet and slick, wet pleasure of cock and cunt side by side as I indulged. My toes curled against my need as the music continued to swell. It was so loud now I couldn’t hear anything. I couldn’t hear Yasin, or Jessabelle, or the world. Even the thoughts in my head were stifled and silenced against the thumping music that resonated through my body, my skin, my heart, my mind. It kept time with the throb between my legs.
It was like MDMA. It was like being a teenager. It was a craving in a world with no shame, no consequences, no judgment.
I closed my eyes as Yasin’s lips pressed against my bare shoulder. They dragged slowly against my collarbone. I reached both hands above my head to tilt my head backwardover the standing table. I felt like an erotic ballerina as I spun through the galaxy of want and pleasure and lust.
“Understood,” Jessabelle said quickly. She was at my side in a second. She’d barely peeled Yasin off me and asked him to return to his room before I pressed into her. Her soft body, her curves, her cascading hair, her extravagant scent…one of my hands slipped up the back of her neck into her hair. “Merit.” She said my name as a correction, but I barely heard her.
She didn’t fight me as I used my free hand to pull her against me. I wanted to taste her throat. I wanted her skin beneath my lips, her salt under my tongue, her flavors inside me. Even her light chuckle felt good against my mouth as my tongue worked kiss over kiss, creeping up her neck onto her jaw.
Over my shoulder I heard a male voice. “She’s been drugged?”
“The client’s been thoroughly primed” came Astarte’s reply. I didn’t remember doors opening, had no recollection of others entering the room. I hummed with the need for connection, struggling to discern words above the noise. I could hear it, but I didn’t care enough to make sense of it as she said, “This is what she wants. It’s a gift greater than she could have ever anticipated if you’re the sire. Trust me, it’s a mutually beneficial deal for all parties. She’s ready, if you are.”
A tiny gasp escaped me as a distant part of me tried to pry myself off Jessabelle toward the voice. I felt a cool hand on my bare shoulder and my eyes opened, filling with diamonds and stars and bright, white light. I practically moaned his name, but he put his hand against my face, stopping my lips with his thumb. I popped his thumb into my mouth and sucked on the succulent flavors of fern and gin. I released Jessabelle entirely, her existence dissipating like vapor in the wind as I turned toward Caliban.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I grabbed his free hand and slid it over me. His fingers flexed against me, and the sound that came out of me was truly primal.
“I assume this fit is suitable?” asked Astarte. I knew she was asking me, but I didn’t care. Of course this fit was suitable. This was the one thing I wanted more than anything in the world. I wanted to feel his teeth through my skin, his fingers in my flesh, the throbbing pulse of his cock as he filled me. I grabbed for him and whimpered in disappointment that he was still clothed. His black shirt was an unwelcome barrier. His pants stood between me and the thing I wanted more than anything.
“Merit, I need to hear it from you,” Astarte said firmly.
“Everything is perfect,” I purred, and I meant it.
“Please.” She remained cool. “Can you give me a—”
“Yes.” I practically begged the word.
She could stay here and enjoy the show of her life as we made true, deep, perfect love. Jessabelle would be so lucky to stay against the wall and watch from the corner. I could be in front of kings and queens and emperors and gods and bishops and pastors and coliseums of pious women clutching their pearls; they’d be little more than noise. The electric, earth-changing, palpable chemistry that was about to pound through me was all I cared about.
Caliban was here. He’d come for me. Nothing else had ever mattered.
I glided through time and space as I moved off my tiptoes. I knew logically it was a small distance between standing and resting my ass firmly on the table, but I jumped backward onto the nearest surface. Caliban seemed to realize my intention before I was halfway off the ground and helped me onto the waist-high table, both of his hands on my hips. I groaned against the sensation and ran my fingers through his hair, balling my fists in the arctic fox strands. I was barely aware of how the table teetered against my disregard for the laws of physics, hardly noticing how Caliban had steadied both me and the table. The bass of the music piping into the room buzzed through me, filling every cell, every heartbeat, every breath. I arched again as I used my legs to draw him to me. I tore at the robe until it opened in the front, draping over my shoulders while exposing me to him.
I tried to say his name again, but the first hardcof his name barely escaped my throat before he grabbed my hair and pulled, hard. I yelped in a sound mixed between pleasure and pain as his name was lost to the smoky air around me.
I wanted all of it and more.
I wanted him to pull my hair. To slap me. To bend me over. To grab and grope and bite. I wanted leather and whips and straps. I wanted pain to heighten the pleasure. I wanted his mouth on my throat, his fingers clawing at me, his dick to throb inside of me as he kept time to the loud music—so loud, so wholly filling, so incredible, so sensational.
Astarte offered him a glass of water, but he said, “Trust me, I don’t need it.”
She seemed satisfied with the answer as he lowered his mouth to make contact with my throat. I wanted to cry out for him, ready to beg, to plead, to pray. I tried again to gasp his name, but he slipped two fingers into the back of my throat until I gagged on them. My eyes rolled into the back of my head as I slipped my tongue between each of the fingers,sliding off the counter. I grabbed his hand to keep it secured to my mouth as I continued sucking, drinking in the flavor of ferns and red tree trunks and moss-soft earth after the rain. I rotated until I was bent over the table, holding his fingers against my mouth with a vice-like grip.
If I hadn’t been bent over the table, I wouldn’t have seen the screen blink to life.
Anath had hit the intercom to showcase the anarchy occurring in the lobby. I released Caliban’s fingers and abandoned the table to lean backward into him. I looped both hands behind me, one running through his silvery locks, the other grabbing at his hips while the disruptive color of the lobby cut through my haze.
I recognized…something.
I struggled to discern the life happening beyond the present bubble.
Anath was yelling. She said she’d tried to kill him. Kill him? That couldn’t be right. It didn’t matter. It was so far away, so unimportant.
