Page 34 of Realms of Swords and Storms
My fingers slid into her heat, and a shudder wracked her frame. She was so wet, so ready. Her head fell back, her lips parting on a silent gasp as I pushed one finger inside her, then two. She was impossibly tight, gripping me, and the possessive, primal part of my soul roared in triumph.
“Jalend,” she breathed.
My thumb found the hard pearl of flesh hidden in her curls. I pressed down, circling, and her eyes flew open, wide with a pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain.
“Please,” she begged, her hips bucking against my hand, chasing the feeling. “Don’t—”
I silenced her with my mouth, swallowing her pleas as I moved my fingers faster, my thumb relentless.
I felt the brush of her fingers, felt my own clothing loosen and her hand reach inside to wrap around my cock. Such beautiful agony. The shock of her touch, warm and hesitant then suddenly firm around me, sent a tremor through my entire body. A harsh groan ripped from my throat, my hips bucking into her palm. All thought, all pretence of control, vaporized.
The world narrowed to the feel of her hand on me, her heat around my fingers, the ragged sounds tearing from her lips.
“Jalend,” she sobbed, my name a shattered prayer. Her hips bucked, a frantic, desperate rhythm against my hand. I drove my fingers deeper, faster, chasing the tremors that racked her body.
Sirrax’s growl deepened, vibrating through the stone floor, a territorial roar that echoed the primal claim I was making on his rider. A thin wisp of smoke, smelling of scorched earth, curled from its nostrils. The beast knew. It was watching her be completely unmade, and the possessive fury radiating from it was a palpable force, but it was distant noise. The only thing that mattered was the feeling of Livia breaking apart in myhands. Her back arched violently, her body going rigid. A raw, piercing cry was torn from her throat as she convulsed around my fingers, wave after wave of her release washing over me, hot and slick.
“Look at me,” I commanded, my voice hoarse. Her eyes, glazed and wild, snapped to mine. I watched her shatter, watched the pleasure crest and break over her. Her grip on my cock tightened almost painfully. My forehead rested against hers, my own breathing harsh in the sudden, echoing silence of the stable. I was rock hard in her hand, my own release clawing at the edges of my control, as she regained control and began to stroke me again.
Her touch was both exquisite torture and a promise. Every slide of her hand sent a jolt of raw pleasure through me, pushing me closer to an edge I hadn’t known I was so desperate to fall from. My hips moved of their own accord, a single, sharp thrust into her palm. A harsh sound, half-growl, half-groan, tore from my chest. Her eyes, still dark and unfocused from her own release, fluttered back to mine, a dawning awareness in their depths. She saw the state she’d reduced me to, and a flicker of something new—power—crossed her face.
Every instinct screamed to take her right there, against the splintered wood, to drive into her and claim her completely. But even through the haze of lust, a sliver of sanity remained. I didn’t want to push her too fast, not when I still wasn’t sure if she felt for me the way I did for her. Instead, I pulled her close, my mouth landing on hers, taking her in a kiss that was a claiming.
My own release tore through me, hot and swift, my body arching as a guttural groan was ripped from my throat. I spilled myself into her hand, pulsing against her grip as the world dissolved into pure, white-hot sensation.
For a long moment, we just stayed there, panting against each other, slick with sweat and release. Livia’s head was still thrownback against the wood, her eyes closed, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her climax. My forehead rested against her temple, my own breathing ragged.
The spell was broken by a sudden, sharp crack and a wave of intense heat. We sprang apart. Sirrax had lunged forward, its massive jaws snapping shut inches from where my head had been, the stone of the stall wall shattering under the force. The dragon’s golden eyes burned with incandescent fury, a low, menacing growl rumbling in its chest like an earthquake.
“Gods,” Livia breathed, scrambling to pull her tunic back into place, her face pale with shock.
The reality of our recklessness crashed down on me. Anyone could have walked in. We were dishevelled, our clothes in disarray, the air thick with the scent of sex and the dragon’s rage. I quickly straightened my own tunic, my hands shaking slightly.
I met her eyes. The raw hunger was gone, replaced by something wilder and more terrifying: dawning comprehension. This wasn’t a stolen moment. It was a choice, a line crossed that we could never uncross.
“Livia,” I started, but she just shook her head, her gaze darting from me to the furious dragon and back again. She didn’t need to say a word. We both knew everything had just changed.
9
Ikept my gaze fixed on Professor Marken as he lectured on aerial defence tactics, deliberately avoiding looking to my right where Jalend sat. Every nerve in my body was aware of his presence—the slight sound of his breathing, the faint scent of the soap he used, the warmth that seemed to radiate from him. It had been less than a day since our encounter in the stables, and my body still hummed with the memory of his touch.
"The key to defending against multiple opponents while airborne," Professor Marken continued, his voice cutting through my distraction, "is understanding the relationship between drag and manoeuvrability. Miss Cantius, perhaps you'd care to elaborate?"
I straightened in my seat, caught off guard. "Sir?"
A few students snickered. Professor Marken's eyebrow arched. "Were we boring you, Miss Cantius? Or is there something particularly fascinating about the wall behind my head?"
Heat rose to my cheeks. "No, sir. I apologize."
"Then perhaps you can tell us the primary disadvantage of a dive-and-roll evasion when facing multiple opponents."
I cleared my throat, scrambling to recall the reading from the previous night. "The primary disadvantage is momentary blindness during the roll phase. You lose sight of your opponents for at least three seconds, which is enough time for them to reposition and coordinate an attack from your exposed flank."
Professor Marken nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Correct. And how might one mitigate this vulnerability?"
"Timing the roll to coincide with passing behind an obstacle," I answered more confidently. "It forces your pursuers to split their attention between tracking you and avoiding the obstacle."
"Very good," he said, turning back to the large diagram he'd sketched on the slate board. "As Miss Cantius has pointed out..."
