My jaw tightens. Anger burns hot in my chest, cutting through the cold.
I grip the steering wheel harder than I need to.
Then I pull back onto the road and head toward the community center—carrying that anger with me, letting it turn into something useful: motivation.
Because my people don’t get to be alone. Not on my watch.
Dawn is onlya few hours away when I finally push through the bedroom door. My head’s still thick with the smell of old paper and the jagged edges of everything I read in those brittle books in the library. The house feels heavy–no,Ifeel heavy carrying the weight of the old ways, like I released a toxin into the air, and now I’m struggling to breathe.
Ares is waiting the second I step inside. He doesn’t bark, just rises from his spot by the foot of the bed, ears pricked, tail giving one slow sweep. His dark eyes track me as I shut the door behind me, the soft click of the latch louder than it should be in the quiet. He pads over, nudges my palm once with his wet nose, quick approval, then drops back to the rug like he’s decided I’m allowed to stay.
The room is dim, with only the faint blue glow from the moonlight sneaking through the curtains. Arianette’s bed is empty, quilt pulled up to the pillow, like she never made it there. I look for the shape of her in the dark and find her curled against Damon on his bed. He’s got one forearm slung low and possessive around her waist, fingers splayed over the soft dip of her stomach. Her back is pressed to his chest, legs tangled with his, her breathing slow and even.
Her hair is tucked away in the silk bonnet, wispy hairs curling out under the edge. Her shirt is thin and has ridden up in her sleep. The hem sits just under the curve of her breasts, leaving the bottom swell of them bare. Warm skin, the faintest shadow where her ribs give way to softness. My throat goes tight.
I cross the room without thinking, boots silent on the carpet. Ares watches me, but doesn’t move. When I stop beside the bed, I’m towering over her, close enough to smell the faint coconut of her shampoo and the warmer, muskier scent that’s all Damon underneath it.
He fucked her tonight, laying claim to her like he said he would. The Baroness is the golden prize for dealing with the death and rot,the rituals and commands. He’ll take her every chance he gets, and I’m envious of how easy it is for him.
Her lashes are long, dark fans against her cheeks. Lips parted just enough that I can see the wet pink inside. I reach down and drag the pad of my thumb across her bottom lip. Soft. Warm. She doesn’t stir, just sighs–a tiny sound that hits me low in the gut.
My hand keeps moving. I catch the hem of her shirt between two fingers and drag it higher until the fabric bunches under her arms and both breasts are exposed to the cool air. Tight brown nipples pebble instantly around the metal bars. Small, perfect, begging to be tugged between teeth. My cock kicks hard against the zipper of my jeans, thick and aching. I palm myself through the denim first, a rough squeeze, then shove my hand down the front of my jeans. I wrap my fist around the length and stroke down, tip to base, letting the precum slick the way. My breathing turns shallow. Every pass of my hand makes my hips twitch forward, desperate to fuck into something warm.
Arianette shifts, just a little. Her head tips back against DK’s bare shoulder. Her throat arches, and one nipple brushes the inside of my wrist where my hand’s braced on the mattress for balance. The contact jolts through me. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep quiet and stroke faster, thumb smearing over the head on every upstroke.
She’s so fucking pretty like this–lips shiny from where I touched them, tits bare and rising with every breath. Her hips are canted just enough that I can see the shadow between her thighs under the sheet. I want to crawl over her, pin her down, wake her with my teeth on those nipples until she’s whimpering and grinding against my body.
Unzipping my pants, I take out my length, letting it bob between my legs.
I lean down, careful not to jostle the mattress too hard, and take her jaw between my fingers. Gentle at first, thumb pressing into the soft hollow under her chin, then firmer–enough to part her lips. They open easily, pliant even in sleep. I shift my hips forward, fist still wrapped around the base of my cock, and guide the head past herlips, and Christ. She’s so goddamn warm. The flat of her tongue brushes me instinctively as I slide in, inch by careful inch, until I’m seated halfway and her mouth is stretched around me.
A soft, startled gasp flutters around my length. Her lashes flutter. Eyes blink open–hazy, unfocused at first, then clearing as she registers me above her, Damon still curled at her back, his arm locked around her waist like he’ll never let go.
She makes a small, sleepy sound. Not protest. Just surprise.
Damon stirs behind her. I feel the shift in the mattress, hear the low rumble in his chest before he speaks. “Shh, Doll Baby,” he murmurs against her ear, voice thick with sleep and something darker. “Be a good girl. Let Hunt take what he needs. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
Her eyes flick to his face for half a second, then back to me. She nods the tiniest bit, the motion making her lips drag along my shaft. I groan low in my throat.
Damon moves then. I hear the rustle of sheets, feel the subtle rock of her body as he adjusts behind her. His hand slides down her hip, hooks under her thigh, lifts it just enough. A moment later, her whole frame jolts forward onto my cock–deeper–because he’s pushing inside her from behind. Slow at first, then steady. I can tell the exact second he bottoms out; her throat flutters around me, a choked little whimper vibrating straight down my spine.
He starts fucking her in shallow thrusts, matching the slow roll of my hips. Every time he drives in, her mouth slides further down my length. Every time he pulls back, she follows, sucking harder like she’s trying to keep me. It’s filthy–a perfect rhythm. Her tongue flattens along the underside, dragging up that sensitive ridge on every pass, sloppy and eager now that she’s awake enough to want it.
Her breathing comes in hot, ragged bursts against my skin whenever Damon punches deep. Eyes glazed, pupils blown wide, lashes wet at the corners. She looks wrecked already, and we’ve barely started.
I thread my fingers into her hair, not pulling, just holding–anchoring her while I rock into her mouth. Damon’s hand appearsover her hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thigh to keep her spread for him. His other arm stays banded around her ribs, possessive even now.
She starts to tremble between us. Small at first, then building. Her moans are muffled around my cock. Damon’s thrusts get harder, more intense, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the quiet room.
I feel her start to come first.
Her whole body locks up, thighs shaking, back arching into Damon’s chest. His hand moves, palming her tit, pulling and plucking at the bar. She moans, the sound–fuck–tips me over. I shove deeper, once, twice, and then I’m spilling down her throat in thick, hot pulses. She swallows reflexively, throat working, greedy even through her own orgasm.
Damon follows right after. His hips snap forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt. A low, guttural curse rips out of him as he comes inside her, grinding in circles like he’s trying to push every drop deeper. His fingers clamp around her breast, squeezing. She whimpers again, softer this time.
We stay locked like that for a long beat–her between us, filled from both ends, trembling through the aftershocks. Then Damon exhales hard, presses a lazy kiss to the back of her neck, and eases out. She makes a small, disappointed sound when he slips free. I pull out of her mouth last, careful, thumb wiping the wet corner of her lip.
It may be the most gentle I’ve been with her.
