Page 12 of The Surrender

Do not lie to yourself, poor, sweet Kyan. You cannot handle this lady just as you could not handle the last. She will bring you ruin as Erya did.

Ironic, I snarl at my demon. Weren't you the one telling me to forget the bitch?

You know me, Ky. I am strange as darkness and wily as the winds, mad as blazes and black as sin. I am the storm of your soul. Not even you know me, Lord of Air.

Shoving him down to the deepest pit of my mind, I focus on Quinny, on that tapping of her fingers, how her resolve does not waver. In fact, she straightens, steeling her spine and pushing her lower lip out in a near-pleading pout.

A deep groan works itself in the dragon’s throat, and he gruffly responds, “Fuck it all.”

It may be my Court, but Drago is still the oldest and the alpha. So, I heave a sigh and surrender to his lead when he practically charges to me and closes the distance between us to grip the back of my head. However forced, he presses his mouth to mine, crushing my lips with his.

It’s not the first time we’ve kissed, but our mouths are still uncomfortable with one another. Drago’s are far too forceful and dominant compared to Merikh’s. I am more accustomed and partial to the vampire’s dark countenance and sadomasochism. Those, I may temper and appease with my control and the calming eye of my storm. Drago is too fiery for my wind. I prefer Merikh’s icy touch any day.

At least Drago kisses me briefly without tasting me. And as soon as he’s done, he drops his hands to his sides and asks, “Are you happy now, little Tessie?”

Her beam is as bright and fresh as a holy breath of heaven. Fuck, it sends a raw surge of lust to my loins, but Drago crosses the distance to her first. A possessive snarl works itself in my throat, but I cage it and allow the dragon to have his moment with her. Nor does she care when he grips her by the waist, swings her into his arms, and covers her sweet mouth with his bloodied and soiled one.

Quintessa is a wonder.

Wonder fades. Wonder dries. Wonder charades. Wonder lies.

“Shut the fuck up,” I mutter under my breath, thankful for Drago’s hungering, masculine growls when he shoves Quinny up against the nearest wall, grinding against her.

Rolling my eyes, I make my way to my seat. Merikh, Mayce, and I are used to our hotheaded alpha. Now that his curse is broken and his restoration complete, we can hardly blame him for his addiction.

The servants file in with trays of steaming spirit soup, a delicacy from the Realm of Angels. Another irony of Kronos’s. He believes granting us samples of home is another torture method. In some ways, it is. Especially for Merikh, which is why he returns to his Waste Court so rarely. For me, it is a taste of hope. Hope I’ve believed in more than the rest. Hope that soars in my chest where it was no more than a limping flutter until Quinny broke Drago’s curse.

Hope lies!

I ignore the voice as the first course is placed before me. After ten thousand years, the servants of all our courts know us intimately. A few spy a little longer on Drago as he grips the side of Quinny’s tunic—my tunic—and rolls it down her shoulders, so he may feast upon her throat and upper chest. Her breathy giggles turn to heavy, winded breaths the lower he goes, triggering the heated lust in me. It grows as her legs clench around his waist.

A giggle or two leaves the mouths of the female servants as the dragon acts more like a beast in heat, dry humping our queen. She rocks her hips against his bulging length, moaning her want for him just as much. While Mayce and Drago prefer the art and thrill of exhibitionism and voyeurism most, it’s not as usual for the practice to occur in my Court. Even more unusual for it to occur in the dining hall.

I don’t put a stop to it...yet.

To my left, Mayce simply shakes his head with a simper. Merikh, on the other hand, is strangely silent, stoic, and observant but relaxed. Not his usual broody and dark self as I’m accustomed, though his eyes monitor the unfolding scene. Suspicion prickles within me. And when he finally flicks his eyes to mine, and I discover them gleaming, the demon inside me rears up in a storm of rage.

We must punish her for this, Kyan. We must punish them both!

Shoving out of my seat, I almost upend the chair and march toward the wall where Drago has tugged the tunic to bunch up at Quinny’s waist and expose her plump tits. I smell the liquid arousal flooding her pussy from how he sucks at her breast, swirling his tongue around the erect, pink bud.

Anger fuels my desire, and the moment she moans and turns her glazed eyes upon mine, I slap her other breast. Gently at first and on the side. I narrow my eyes, enjoying how it bounces and jiggles. When she licks her lips and thrusts her hips again, I slap her tit harder, grazing the nipple and causing her to throw her head back and part her lips from the sting.

When she arches her back, I grip the breast hard, pinching the nipple, and lean in to whisper in her ear, “You like that, you dirty girl? You think you can fuck my mate and I wouldn’t know?”

All the blood drains from Quinny’s cheeks. But her eyes are heavy-lidded with desire. With a low growl and the muscles in my wings cinching tight, I squeeze her breast harder. Before Drago can object, I take her by her underarms, my thumbs biting into them as I steal her away, then rip her jeans with the belt down to her ankles. Quinny’s eyes go wide, and her dainty hands try to cover her pretty pussy. Wings splaying out wide, so only Drago next to me may see her nudity, I hem Quinny in, forbidding her any escape.

“Take her mouth, Drago,” I command him, gratified when he doesn’t argue, and the eager shimmer in the dragon’s eyes shows his agreement.

Quinny gasps as I descend to my knees, undo my belt, and unleash my already throbbing hard cock. I don’t prepare her. Nor do I play with her cute little nubbin. I just plow hard into her, turned on even more by her opening her mouth and moaning around my brother’s fat, ridged cock as he thrusts into her mouth.

“That’s right, Quinny dear. You’ll take him all down, won’t you? Because you’re our good, little dirty whore. Can’t resist a good fucking. Not even on your first day in my Court.”

“Mmm...” she moans, and whatever words she wants to speak are futile. Her shameful tears are enough. But her lust shimmers beyond the shame.

I ram her hard against the wall, not caring how rough I am. Drago syncs his thrusts with mine, shoving deeper and deeper until he’s in her throat while fisting her hair and tipping her head back against the wall. Fuck, the sight of her hands scrambling and struggling against his thighs as he uses her is almost enough for me to blow my load right now. But I want her to feel how much we’ve used her all throughout dinner. By the time we’re done here, she will know who the Lord of Storms is.

10

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