Page 109 of Veiled Flames
At the sound of my name on her lips, my stones explode, and I shoot my seed into her cunny with more force than I ever imagined possible.
Forty-Two
Rosomon
My body is shaking, but Tynan continues to relentlessly hammer his rod inside me, hitting so deep that each strike causes a delicious pain that heightens my pleasure in ways I don’t understand.
This is what I asked him for. What I wanted. I asked him to drive his hatred into me. I asked him for cruelty.
Some of his hardest drives steal my breath, but I love it.
With no time to react to individual thrusts, my body is continuously firing, endlessly stimulated to the point that pleasure and pain are impossible to differentiate and difficult to bear.
But as punishing as his drives have become, they don’t carry the cruelty of what Saxon did to me. While the actual act and its effects may be similar, the motivation behind it is different. Very different. And that changes everything. Transforms it from night to day.
Not only did I ask for this, Tynan isn’treallytrying to punish me. He’s not trying to teach me a lesson. He’s drilling me thus, because it’s what I asked him for, and it’s transported us both to the utmost pinnacles of pleasure.
His hands shift from their tight grip on my hips, but I still can’t move. His forearm presses my bound bosom against the mattress, and his bent knees hold my legs wide apart as the unrelenting stabs of his cock pin my lower body to the pillows and mattress. Then his finger digs under my belly to swipe my nub.
I convulse with blinding pleasure. It’s like Tynan understands exactly what my body needs and precisely when. Like he knows exactly how to deliver everything that I need.
My sexual pinnacle strikes with ferocity. I have no control over any part of my body, nor the sounds I’m making. I try to draw my legs together, but my toes long ago lifted off the floor, and his legs are positioned so widely and firmly I have no power against them. My body squirms and thrashes, and he keeps me pinned with his arm and his ever-stabbing cock.
I call out his name, and he echoes it with my own as his seed joins my juices to ease his path inside me. His thrusts continue, somewhat slower and less rhythmic, but in every second that passes, he continues to deliver exactly what my body most wants and needs.
As my contractions subside, he slumps forward, his solid body landing over mine. Atop me, he pants hard, as if he’s struggling to draw breaths, and if he stays like this much longer, neither of us will be able to breathe.
Mercifully, he rolls to his side, lying next to my limp and shaking body. My head is turned the opposite direction. As much as I want to see him, I’m not sure I have the energy to change my head’s position. He performed all the work, why am I so exhausted?
“Are you well?” His fingers trail up my spine. “Did I hurt you too badly?”
I open my mouth to speak, but discover it’s turned to a desert.
The mattress shifts, and he pulls me into his arms, cradling me across his lap as he sits. Stroking my face, he looks down into my eyes with so much concern it breaks my heart. Saxon was careful with me when he took my maidenhood, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so worried about my welfare. Not ever. Not even Nurse on nights when I was overtaken by fevers.
My hand shakes as I lift it to his cheek, and as I touch him, his chest shudders, and his eyes close.
“I am well,” I croak. “But very thirsty.”
“Yes, of course.” His eyes brighten with joy, like he’s discovered his life’s true purpose.
He sets me down near the headboard, and then quickly fetches the tankard of ale that the servants brought with my uneaten sup. Kneeling next to me on the bed, he presents the ale like an offering to Othrix, and I gulp down at least half of it.
Wiping my lips, I hand it back to him.
“Are you certain your thirst is quenched?” he asks.
I nod, shocked again at how caring he is. How he’s putting my needs above his own.
Tynan tips the ale to his lips, and I watch as his apple of Othrix rises and falls with his swallows.
He offers the ale back to me. “You should finish it.”
Smiling, I take the tankard and drink the last few swallows. Then he quickly sets the vessel down on the bedside table and returns to me, sliding his arm around me as we rest against the headboard.
“May I hold you like this?” he asks. “Is this welcome?”
“It’sverywelcome.” I lean against his firm chest, and he adjusts our positions so that I’m curled against him, his long arms around me and my legs tucked up to the side. I’m still in shock, less from the sex and more about how something so near brutal has turned my feelings toward him more tender. And how undeniably caring he’s being toward me—since he entered the room, if I’m honest. It was me who brought anger into the room.
