She moans around my length, the vibration traveling through my shaft and settling in my groin. The sound is one of reluctant pleasure, and it feeds the fire consuming me.
I can’t move my hands to touch her, to guide her, to fist in her hair. I can only watch, feeling everything. The slick, tight heat of her mouth…the scrape of her nails against my inner thighs…the increasing confidence of her bobs, her throat opening to take me deeper until I feel the head nudge the back of her mouth. She gags, pulls back, coughs, and then goes right back down, determined to take me.
“That’s good,” the witch purrs from the corner, and I want to roast her alive. This moment is between Irena and me—a twisted, forced intimacy that has become something else entirely. “Make him come. Drink him down. Let me see his seed on your tongue,” the witch commands.
Irena’s eyes flick up to mine, and in their silver-green depths, I see a challenge—I see defiance.
You see? I can do this. I can master even this, she seems to be saying.
She increases her pace, sucking harder, her hand pumping what she can’t take into her mouth. The combined sensations are too much. The coil of tension in my gut winds tighter and tighter, a spring compressed to its breaking point.
“Irena…” I warn, and my voice has a raw edge to it. “I’m going to fucking come!”
She doesn’t stop. If anything, she redoubles her efforts, her gaze locked on mine, demanding my surrender as surely as I am demanding hers.
The climax hits me like a Drake’s tail to the chest. It’s violent and uncontrollable—a roaring wave of release that has nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the woman on her knees before me.
With a shout that echoes in the small hut, I come—jet after hot jet spilling into her waiting mouth.
Irena’s eyes go wide in surprise at how much I’m giving her, but she holds firm, swallowing convulsively, her throat working around me. Some escapes, tracing a white line down her chin—a stark brand of shame and possession.
“Gods, baby, that’s right,” I groan, unable to help myself. “Swallow me down. Fuck.”
She keeps sucking, milking me through the last, shuddering spasms, until I am spent, sensitive, and utterly hollowed out. It’s almost like she’s trying to get every last drop.
Fuck, it feels amazing.
Finally, she pulls off with a soft, wet sound, sitting back on her heels. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, her breathing ragged, her eyes huge and unreadable. The scent of her desire is stronger than ever, mixed now with the salty tang of my release.
For a long moment, there is silence, broken only by our harsh breathing. Then the witch begins to clap—a slow, mocking applause.
“Bravo, dearie! A most… educational performance. For both of you, I’d wager.” She leers at us. “A promise is a promise. You may go.”
The invisible bands holding me vanish. The sudden return of control is almost as shocking as the loss and for a moment, I almost fall over.
I surge to my feet instead, hastily tucking myself away and lacing my trousers, my movements stiff. I look down at Irena, still kneeling on the floor, looking both used and unbearably beautiful.
Wordlessly, I offer her my hand. She stares at it for a heartbeat that seems to last an eternity, then places her scratched, delicate fingers in my calloused palm. I pull her to her feet, and we don’t look back as the witch’s laughter follows us out the door and into the suddenly welcoming gloom of the forest. The air between us crackles, charged with a new, dangerous understanding.
We were forced to do what we did in the witch’s hut…but we both enjoyed it.
37
IRENA
I can’t believe I did that—can’t believe I sucked him and swallowed his seed like a common street whore.
I tell myself I felt nothing but shame as I sucked him…but if that’s true, why is my body so sensitive now? Why are my nipples so tender and why does the forbidden place between my thighs feel so hot and wet?
I try to forget what happened—what I did—but my mind insists on replaying it in detail over and over. The memory is a brand, seared into the back of my eyelids. Every time I blink, I see it.
I see the worn wood of the floorboards, gritty against my knees. I see the rough weave of his trousers, the way the fabric strained over the hard, thick outline of him. My fingers remember the clumsy fumble with the leather laces, the shocking heat that radiated from him even through the fabric. And then… freeing him.
Goddess…the sight of him, springing free, fully erect and immense. I’d stroked him in the bath when I was cleaning him, but I wasn’t so close to him then. When I opened his trousers, I had him right in my face—long and thick—hot as a bar of freshly forged iron and the head flushed a dark purple.
The sight was intimidating…primal. It shouldn’t have been beautiful, but some traitorous part of me thought it was. A piece of raw, male power, and it was my task to master it.
My face flames again, alone in the dim cave we’ve taken shelter in. Valen is across the space, tending to a small fire he lit with his own breath, his back to me. The orange glow outlines the powerful breadth of his shoulders, and just the sight sends another pulse of heat straight through me.
