“You want a fuck?” she murmurs. “Is that it?”
Moving my hand, bringing hers with it, I make her rub me through the fabric of my pants. I’m still testing her in a way. I want to see what it will take to make her use her more-than-human strength to push me away.
The trouble is, I think she is testing me as well. She squeezes my cock with a seductive smile. It sends a jolt of pure, undiluted want through me. My control, a fortress of ice built over centuries, cracks.
Her eyes are locked on mine, challenging, a predator sizing up a larger one. She is not afraid. She is curious.
I release her hand. The choice is now hers. To pull away, or to press her advantage.
Her breath is shallow as she makes her choice. She flicks open the button and lowers the zipper. My cock springs free, and she lowers her gaze to take in the sheer size of me. Her hand wraps around it, and she tugs gently as she rubs her thumb over the tip.
It’s been so fucking long since anyone touched me this way, since I allowed anyone to touch me at all, I nearly unload all over her hand. Her eyes flash when she sees mine darken with lust.
She licks her lips again and increases the pressure of her hand-job, sliding her fingers over the ridges of my cock, exploring me with an intensity that makes me twitch in her hand. A groan escapes my lips, low and guttural, a sound I haven’t made in centuries. Her amber eyes glitter with triumph. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me, dismantling my composure with every slick slide of her hand.
This is her power. This raw, defiant sensuality that she wields with the same deadly perfection she would her blade.
My control shatters. Just as the pressure builds to an unbearable peak, my hand shoots out, clamping around her wrist. I stop her movement, my fingers digging into her skin.
“Is this your plan?” I rasp, my voice rough with a lust so profound it scares me. “To see if you can undo a god with a flick of your wrist?”
Her lips curve into a slow, wicked smile. She doesn’t try to pull away. “Is it working?”
The audacity of her steals the air from my lungs. “Yes,” I admit, just to see what she will do.
She doesn’t disappoint me. She releases me and sits back with a slow smile.
“That’s a dangerous game to play with someone who can compel you to fuck me with that pretty little mouth,” I murmur.
She freezes for a split second as I remind her exactly who she is messing with. “Try it,” she says. “It’ll be the best blowie you’ve ever fucking had.”
My hand snaps out and cups the back of her head, pushing her towards my cock. Her lips touch the tip of my dick, her eyes going wide as she realises she pushed me too far.
But then, without any force from me, she opens her mouth and takes me in. She would rather submit of her own free will then be forced into anything.
Noted.
Her mouth is a searing brand of heat and friction. My thoughts splinter. For the first time in centuries, I am reduced to pure sensation. This isn’t the reluctant submission of a compelled mortal; this is a declaration of war fought with a wet tongue and defiant eyes. She is methodical, skilled, turning an act of surrender into one of dominance. She is trying to break me, to unravel me with her mouth, and she is succeeding.
I wrap her ponytail around my fist and pull roughly, forcing her to meet my gaze. Her eyes, wide and dark with her arousal, still hold that infuriating spark of defiance. She knows exactly what she is doing to me.
“Is this a test, Nyssa?” I rasp, the words torn from my throat as I thrust my hips forward, burying myself to the back of her throat.
She gags, but she doesn’t stop. She takes it, all of it. This is no longer about healing her or asserting my authority. This is a raw, desperate claim. I am dangerously close to losing all control. I’m going to come in her mouth, and I don’t think she will be pleased about it.
Chapter 14
Nyssa
My eyes water, a purely biological reaction to having a god’s cock shoved down my throat. His hand is a vice in my hair, anchoring me to him as his hips begin to buck. This was a gamble. A stupid, reckless gamble, and I think I’m winning. I can feel the tremors running through him, the absolute demolition of his centuries-old control. He’s losing it, and it’s a heady, dangerous feeling.
He groans, a raw sound that has nothing to do with command and everything to do with pure, animal need. His grip tightens, not cruelly, but desperately, as if he’s holding on for dear life.
Slowly, I pull back, my lips slick, and meet his shocked, silver gaze. His perfect composure is a wreck. His chest is heaving, and the arrogance has been wiped clean from his face, replaced by something raw and unguarded.
I release him with a deliberate slowness that is pure insolence, leaving him slick and hard and furiously unsatisfied. I rise from my position on the sofa as I meet histhunderous gaze. The silver in his eyes is churning, a storm of raw lust and fury.
“You’re right,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady. “That was a dangerous game.” I give him a slow, deliberate smirk that costs me every ounce of control I have left. “But it looks like I won.”
