Dreams of the Necromancer (Memento Mori 2)

She chuckled and slowly dragged her tongue along him, wetting him where she had struggled to fit him into her. “Who said I had any intention of stopping? I just told you I was going to take my time.”

The noise he made was one of both dismay and pleasure. One that changed to pure ecstasy as she took him back into her mouth, inching him deeper. It took some getting used to—mastering when to breathe, when to hold her breath, and when to focus on just letting her body accommodate something of his size going where it had no business being.

Despite his insistence, he was handling it just fine, even if he was acting like a rabid animal ready to shatter the chain on his cage. He was watching her again, his body tense as he drank in the details of what she must look like as she worked him into her throat and back out in slow, deliberate movements.

“So beautiful…by the gods. I never dreamed—I never dared hope…but look at you. For so long, for centuries, I’ve—ah—I’ve wanted this. Wanted you. I never could have believed you would be the one to—to—” He had to stop as he bucked his hips up into her, unexpectedly pressing himself the last inch to the hilt inside her. He growled loudly, his hand tangling in her hair.

It was beyond bliss. It felt like nothing she had ever experienced before. To have him there, filling her so perfectly. She knew he was taking it easy on her for both their benefits, and for once she was grateful. She didn’t know if she could handle him rampaging inside her like he had the night prior in this situation.

Not yet, anyway.

Maybe with a little more practice.

Yeah. I could go for some more practice.

Suddenly and without warning, he pulled her head from him, leaving her gasping as she struggled to fill her lungs.

“No,” he growled. “Not like this. Not tonight.” Darkness washed over him like a cloud, his expression turning wicked. Her stomach dropped as if it had been thrown from a cliff. “Get up. Strip. Now.” It was a command, harsh and unwavering.

And all at once, her power was gone, and he had taken the reins. And it was her turn to shiver as a thrill once more ran through her. She had lost the power, but…she was all right with that. Because now she wanted to surrender to him. She wanted to feel what he could do to her.

Standing beside the sofa, she obeyed. She started with her top and her bra, and then went to her pants and underwear. When she grabbed the tie she had stolen from him to pull it off over her head, he stopped her.

“Ah-ah. Leave that on.” He moved to stand beside her, and she was once more taken by surprise at how gracefully he could move. Like a great wild cat, stalking its prey. And she was on the menu. “I have plans for it.” He put his hands on her shoulders and whirled her around until her back was to his chest.

Squeaking in surprise, she could barely register what happened. Nor could she quite process the movement in real time as he pushed her forward. She fell onto her knees on the sofa, grabbing the back of it to keep from eating the upholstery. He pulled her knees apart with one hand, the other going to her core. She could feel him at her back, looming over her, strong and inescapable.

Growling into her ear, he laughed. “Seems you were enjoying torturing me.” He pressed a finger inside her roughly, then two. “I never knew you were so wanton. So depraved.”

“I’m—”

He grabbed the tie around her neck and pulled it behind her until he held the ends like a leash over her back. When he pulled on it, she had to arch her back. The rest of her protest escaped her in a breathy moan of bliss.

“Oh?” He hummed and kissed her shoulder. “Trust me, my princess, I’m not complaining. Far from it. I learned many tricks while serving in the sultan’s palace…oh, the things I can do with rope and silk. We will have many years of discovering the pleasure of the flesh, if you wish it. But tonight…tonight I think I’m still feeling a bit feral.”

His fingers left her, and she felt him nudge her thighs wider with his as he lined himself up behind her. He pressed one hand to the sofa, the other still holding the tie around her throat. It was just enough to trigger some kind of demented pleasure without cutting off too much of her air or causing her pain. He knew what he was doing.

When he hovered his lips by her ear, she heard him whisper. “If I hurt you, you tell me to stop. If you don’t like it, you tell me to stop. If you—”

“Shut up, Gideon.” She turned her head, meeting his lust-darkened eyes with what must be her own look of pure need. “Do your worst.”

“Careful what you wish for.” He smirked. It was vicious and devilish. It told her just how stupid her challenge was.

Good.

That had been the point.

He straightened once more, his hand gripping her hip, and without any other preamble, he thrust himself into her to the hilt in one full stroke. The impact and the shock of it sent her reeling forward, nearly collapsing onto the back of the sofa. She would have fallen if not for the tie around her throat.

All thought left her in that one blinding moment as her pleasure crested, and she wasn’t sure if it ever came back down again. He was like a machine behind her, relentless and unwavering. She didn’t know when she begged him for mercy—for a break from the pleasure—for him to slow down, to ease off, to do anything but hold her hips in his grasp and piston in her like a force of nature.

But never once did she tell him to stop.

All her protests were met with quiet laughter or growls, and they all went unheeded.

Good.

There was power in this too. In being the willing victim. In surrender. In being his ragdoll as he manhandled her, taking from her everything that he wanted. There was power in it, and there was so much ecstasy she wondered if her mind might shatter from it.