Page 9 of Feathers From the Sky

“Everything alright?” she asks, and I chuckle as I let my eyes roll down her body in front of me.

“More than alright,” I reply, and Clarke comes into view, stomping down the stairs behind Gwyn.

“Keep going. I just want to get some shots of her ass,” they say as they round the bottom of the staircase, walking to a ladder in the center of a lounge area.

A whiff of that sweet blood has me focusing on Gwyn again, her full cheeks burning.

“I’ve never been this naked on a first date,” she says.

“Somehow I don’t believe that,” I respond, and then I slide one of my hands down from her hip to cup her ass. “This okay?” I ask, and she laughs.

“First you insinuate I fuck on the first date, but then you ask for permission to touch my ass? I don’t know how to feel about this.” She squeaks as I squeeze her ass cheek and my other hand roams up her back.

“I’ll admit, it might be wishful thinking on my part.”

She takes a moment to realize what I’m saying, and then she tightens her thighs around me. She sits up straighter and pulls me closer. When she tosses her head back and wraps a hand around my neck, pulling my face down into her ample cleavage, I am surprised for only a second before I press my lips to soft skin, veins visible over the swell of her breast. It takes effort to not break the skin, to taste the heady elixir just below the surface, and I press a sloppy kiss there instead. It isn’t the worst alternative. I know she’s feeling turned on—I can scent it on her. Blood is rushing to her clit; the combination of the mouthwatering scent of her blood and her arousal makes it hard to focus.

I jump when Clarke gives me another order, something about taking off my pants, not even realizing they’ve returned.

“He doesn’t have to carry me,” Gwyn objects, and I realize what Clarke had said. “I’m heavy.”

I tighten my jaw and lift a brow as I unbutton my pants. “I’ll manage,” I say. “Do I look like I’ve ever found anything too heavy in my life?”

“Well, no,” she says, eyeing my arms. She meets my gaze with honeyed wariness. I kick off my shoes and pants in a swift motion, and I step between her thighs again, pressing against her with my erection, impossible to ignore without my pants. She gasps and grabs my biceps, but it doesn’t deter her. “How much can you bench press?”

“If you’re asking if I could bench press you, Gwyn, the answer is yes. I can.”

“Okay, but would you do it while making one of those faces? I don’t want a man to pick me up while his face turns red and—”

I cut her off as I pick her up beneath her thighs, and she throws her arms around my neck. Those soft tits press against my exposed chest, and I rumble my appreciation as my dick twitches a rhythm against that heated triangle of fabric between us.

“Does it seem like I’m straining?” I ask, comfortably wrapping my arms beneath her ass.

“No,” she breathes, leaning back to look at me. “Not from carrying me, anyway,” she says as she bites her lip and gently tilts her hips.

I chuckle as I turn, walking toward the lounger Clarke waits beside, and I lower Gwyn, supporting her back until I hover over her.

She stares up at me, and I see her need. But I can’t give her what she wants yet, this situation requiring thoughtful manipulation. Something I’ve never bothered with before, and I know it’s because of this need I have to fuck her senseless. I have formed some sort of sick dependency on the woman. If she’s here, still a part of a mystery, I can focus on that and nothing else. Not Remy’s death. Not my father’s conniving plots. She’s a luscious distraction.

“Sit down in the center, Roman. Gwyn, I want you to slide down to the ground. I’ll have you lean against his legs.”

I straighten as Gwyn pushes up from where she lays and gently maneuver around her, adjusting my dick before I sit. There’s little I can do to properly hide it in these tight boxer-briefs. Gwyn slides down to the ground, and her rounded shoulder butts up against my knee. She leans her head against it as I squirm.

“Relax, Roman. I can edit your boner out if you want me to.”

I tilt my head back and laugh. “I imagine in shoots like this, they’re not uncommon.”

“Nope,” Clarke replies, and Gwyn chuckles.

Clarke takes photos all while Gwyn’s arm wraps gently around my leg, tracing her fingertips over my leg hair. It’s rare that I feel something like goosebumps, now that I’ve been through my Ascension, but she draws them out of me. My skin pebbles, and I shiver.

“Aww, someone is cold,” Gwyn says, and she pulls on my goddamn leg hairs. My hand darts out of its own accord, fisting her hair and tilting her head back to look at me.

“Careful,” I warn, leaning over her, and her eyes roll as she closes them. She makes a faint humming sound, and it shoots straight to my cock. I realize two things in this instant. The first being I’ve only ever heard her come silently, quiet whimpers breaking the stillness of her bedroom on late nights. The second? I need to hear those sounds in person.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, mischief lifting the corners of her lips, her closed eyes making her look like a satisfied cat. “You don’t scare me.” And the line is just a bit too confident to not be something she’s said before.

“I should,” I reply. She has no fucking idea what she’s gotten into. Her eyelids flutter open, and her pupils are dark, blown wide.

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