Page 101 of The Cerulean Sister
He pushes forward, pressing the scorching heat to my entrance, and then shuttles himself in all at once.
I gasp at the slight pinch, holding onto him until my muscles relax and remember the feel of him inside my channel.
He groans deeply at his first withdrawal. "Ferren, I've missed . . .” He drives in again. "You . . . missed you so much."
His forehead rests on mine like he fought his way from the birthlands for only this, for the feel of himself sheathed by my body.
But then he whispers, "Tether us," and starts a steady stroking rhythm, letting me know he needs more too.
His mind faintly reaches out, the desperation of it almost prickly behind my eyes. It's still too far, still out of reach, my gifts so completely drained for weeks they trickle back at a frustrating pace.
He pushes himself inside me to the hilt, but it's still not enough. I pull the skirts of my dress up farther, leaning to one side and then the other until my bare ass feels the cold wood table under it.
99 lifts me by the hips, his massive hands digging into the soft flesh, his gloved fingertips then curving into my ass on either side. I plant my palms behind me on the table, allowing him to raise me off it. My core clenches around him, then floods with slick finally.
He can feel the new sensation and plunges into me without any resistance, my body inviting his, remembering how good he feels.
A steady but relentless pounding shakes the table, toppling candles and food trays around us.
His wild thrusts roll into me while his forearms pull me closer to his pelvis, meeting in an impossibly deep sensation. Each of my gasps are met with a deep, guttural sound in his throat.
I get lost in the intoxicating view of his movements, the dozens of lit candle wicks reflected in his visor, his unwavering grip on my hips, and the sight of the brief flash of skin on his pelvis right before he thrusts vigorously into me again.
It's almost ritualistic, the energy in the room radiating from a single source where our bodies join. His helmet tilts down so he can watch periodically but always comes back up and affixes itself on me again, his eyes watching my expression when he plunges inside my core each time.
I can't hold myself up any longer, my arms weak and almost prickly from holding the position. As I adjust, my palm skims a warm liquid and know immediately what it is.
Shocked, I bring it forward, looking at the red blood on my hand, then to 99.
He does not stop, even slightly picks up speed, slapping into the soft layer on the inside of my thighs.
"Anyone who touches you," he growls. "That is . . . what happens . . . to anyone . . . who touches you."
It shouldn't have the effect that it does on me, but now my body responds to his declaration. His feral possessiveness reminding me I am safe because nothing else matters to him.
I lock my eyes on his visor and wipe the blood across the fabric gathered on my stomach, unintentionally marking myself with the aftermath of 99's rage.
The walls of my channel clench around his cock as warm, languid tension spreads across my abdomen.
I lower onto my elbows, glancing over my shoulder briefly to make sure the way is clear.
99 stutters his thrusting and leans forward, pausing with himself still deeply sheathed.
I wince as he reaches behind me and scatters dishes and cutlery to the ground without a word. Then, with a press so forceful I can feel it down to my core, he pushes over Lord Hollis's chair.
The body falls to the ground in a thump. It should make me want to stop, but he looks so powerful, so deadly, I clench around his cock, my eyes fluttering shut.
"Lie back."
I obey, spreading on the now empty table.
99 scoots us down, likely away from whatever mess is still left over. He hooks my legs around his waist, the grip of his armor against my sweaty skin ensuring I stay where he wants.
His large form comes down over me, a single hand bracing himself above my head, the other stroking across my cheek, down my jaw, brushing against my lips and moving down the valley of my chest and ripping the neckline of my dress.
He kneads my exposed breast, watching the other bounce from his ministrations, then switching to favor the other and back again.
"I want your lips, 99. I miss your tongue, the way you suck and bite at me." I say it aloud even though I know he won’t remove his helmet in the Estate. The visual of what he has done before and will do again with his helmet removed is enough for us right now, even if he growls and pinches my nipple like he is considering it.
