Chapter 105: Thorne Learns a New Trick

She held him there. Both hands in his hair now, pressing him against her, and her toes were curling he could feel it, the way her whole body tightened, her back arching off the cot, her hips rolling against his face. She was close again. He could feel it building, the tension coiling in her belly, and he pushed harder, faster, his jaw aching and he didn’t care.

She screamed. Not a moan but a scream, raw and ragged, and her body convulsed around his tongue, clenching and releasing in spasms that he felt against his mouth, his chin, his whole face wet with her.

And on the other side of the door past the thin wall, through the inches of cheap composite and rust she could hear it, could hear him. Edrik.

A grunt, muffled but unmistakable. The sound of a man trying to keep himself together and failing. His breathing was uneven, harsh, coming through the wall in ragged bursts that Dove could hear when Thorne gave her just enough space to breathe. She heard the shift of weight, the creak of a floorboard, and another sound lower, more guttural that told her everything about what Edrik was doing on the other side of that wall while Thorne’s tongue was still inside her.

It sent something electric through her. The pleasure crested higher, sharper, because she knew. She knew Edrik could hear them. Could hear Thorne’s mouth on her, could hear her moans, could hear the wet, obscene sounds of his tongue and her body and the way she was falling apart.

She came again. Harder this time. And Thorne didn’t stop.

This time the flood comes hard, and she feels it tear loose from somewhere deep, a hot rush that breaks over his tongue and keeps coming, soaking his chin, his jaw, dripping down to the thin mattress beneath her.

Dove hears him groan against her, feels the vibration of it, and then his mouth is everywhere, lapping, catching every drop like he can’t stand to waste a single one of her.

She is still trembling when he moves. Thorne’s hands are on her hips, firm, and he turns her flips her like she weighs nothing — until she’s on her hands and knees, face pressed into the pillow, ass lifted toward him. The position leaves her exposed in a way that makes her face burn even hotter than her core already is.

Her tail flicks, instinctive, trying to curl protectively around herself, but his hand catches it. Strokes along the length of it once, slow, and she feels that touch somewhere she didn’t expect a low pulse that rolls straight down her spine and settles between her legs.

Then he tugs.

A soft gasp claws out of her throat before she can stop it, muffled into the pillow, and she feels her hips roll back toward him on their own, seeking.

Behind her, she hears him go still for half a second. "Oh?" His voice is rough, low, laced with something delighted and hungry at once. "That’s new."

He tugs again, gentler this time, testing, and she whines into the pillow, her fingers curling into the thin sheet beneath her.

"Noted," he murmurs, and there’s a dark amusement threaded through the word, the kind that makes her stomach tighten in anticipation of what he’s going to do with that information.

She hears the shift of fabric, the sound of him freeing himself, and then she feels it the blunt, thick press of him against her entrance, hot and heavy, dragging through how wet she already is.

"Just relax for me," he says, voice gone soft now, almost gentle, a contrast to the way his hand is still wrapped around the base of her tail. "I’ll make it feel good."

She exhales shakily into the pillow and nods, though she doesn’t know if he can see it.

He pushes in.

The stretch of him is immediate, overwhelming he is big, thick in a way that makes her breath catch somewhere in her throat, and for a second there’s a flare of resistance, her body fighting to adjust to him.

"Hah — ah — ah — ah," he breathes above her, and she can hear the strain in it, the way his voice catches like he’s barely holding onto himself. "Fwaaahh. It’s so tight at the start, but — but — but it’s so soft."

He eases in another inch, and she feels her body give around him, slick and clenching, and the stretch starts to bloom into something else something hot and full and perfect. Her mouth drops open against the pillow, and the first moan slips free before she can catch it.

"That’s it," he murmurs, and she feels the tug on her tail again, gentle, rhythmic now, timed with the slow drag of his hips as he sinks deeper into her.

"That’s it, Dove. Relax. Let me in."

She feels every inch of him as he seats himself fully, feels the blunt head of him kiss something deep inside her that makes her vision blur white at the edges, and she presses her face harder into the pillow to keep from screaming.

He doesn’t move right away. He stays there, buried to the hilt, his hand still curled around the base of her tail, his other hand splayed flat against the small of her back, and she can feel him breathing hard, ragged, like he’s fighting some internal battle just to stay still.

"You feel-ahh" His voice breaks off. He exhales, long and shuddering. "You feel like you were made for me."

Then he starts to move.

The first stroke is slow, deliberate, him pulling back until just the tip of him remains inside her, and then pushing forward again in one long, unhurried glide that makes her toes curl against the mattress. She moans into the pillow, muffled, and he does it again. And again. Building a rhythm that is deep and thorough, each thrust dragging against every oversensitive nerve still humming from her last orgasm.

"Yes!" she gasps, lifting her face just enough to breathe the word into the air before pressing it back down. "Yes-yes!"

He tugs her tail in time with his thrusts now, a steady pull that sends sparks up her spine every time, and she feels her whole body start to shake with the combined sensation the stretch of him, the drag of him against her inner walls, the tug at the base of her tail that lights up nerves she didn’t know could feel like that.