Chapter 106: Be Ready By Midday

"I’m going to conquer this body," he growls above her, his voice gone dark and rough, every word punctuated by the sharp snap of his hips. "I’m going to make this pussy mine. Shape it around me until it only knows how to take my cock."

The words should embarrass her some distant part of her brain registers that they’re filthy, that she should be flustered by them — but instead they only make the ache between her legs pulse harder, make her clench down around him involuntarily, and she hears him groan at the feel of it.

"Fuck-ngh-ah Dove!"

He picks up the pace. His thrusts grow longer, harder, the sound of skin against skin filling the small room, wet and obscene, and she feels the slap of his balls against her clit with every drive forward, a sharp little jolt of pleasure that layers over the deep, full ache of him stretching her.

"Yes, yes, yes," she chants into the pillow, barely words anymore, just sound, just need. Her hands fist in the sheet, knuckles white, her back arching to meet him, to take him deeper.

"That’s it," he pants. "Take it. Take all of it."

Thorne drives into her harder, faster, the rhythm turning ragged, less controlled, and she can hear his breathing fracture above her, can hear the low growl building in his chest with every stroke.

Through the thin wall, she can still hear Edrik. The sound of him is louder now, more desperate, his breath coming in short, strangled bursts that match the obscene rhythm Thorne has set inside her. She knows he can hear everything the slap of skin, her muffled moans, the filthy words Thorne keeps murmuring and something about that knowledge coils tight and hot in her belly, makes her clench around Thorne even harder.

"You like that he can hear you," Thorne says, voice dropping low, almost a purr even through the roughness of his thrusts. It isn’t a question. His hand tightens around the base of her tail, another firm tug, and she keens into the pillow. "You like knowing he’s out there listening to me fuck you like this."

She can’t answer. She can barely breathe. All she can do is nod against the pillow and let the pleasure take her where it wants to go.

He shifts the angle, hand pressing her shoulders down further into the mattress while keeping her hips raised, and the new angle has him hitting somewhere even deeper, somewhere that makes her vision whiten out at the edges. She screams into the pillow, the sound swallowed by fabric, her whole body shuddering.

"Right there?" he asks, voice rough with satisfaction, and he does it again the same angle, the same brutal, perfect depth and she sobs out a broken yes against the pillow.

He fucks her like that, long and hard and relentless, his hips snapping forward with bruising force, his hand never letting go of her tail, tugging it in time with every thrust until the two sensations blur together into one continuous, overwhelming wave. She feels her second orgasm no, third, she’s lost count — building low in her belly, tight and hot, winding tighter with every stroke.

"Thorne!" Her voice is wrecked, barely more than a whisper torn out between moans. "I’m — I’m close —"

"I know," he growls. "I can feel it. You’re squeezing me so tight, Dove, fuck — you’re trying to milk me dry already."

He reaches around, his hand sliding beneath her to find her clit, already swollen and sensitive, and the moment his fingers make contact she comes undone.

Her whole body locks up, a silent scream caught somewhere in her throat before it breaks free into the pillow, and she feels herself clench around him in waves, feels the slick rush of her release coating him, dripping down her thighs.

He doesn’t stop. If anything, her orgasm seems to spur him on, his thrusts growing erratic, deeper, chasing his own release now with a kind of single-minded intensity that has her whimpering through the oversensitivity, her body still shaking from the aftershocks.

"Fuck-i-ah Dove — I’m —" His voice breaks apart entirely, control slipping, and his hips stutter, losing rhythm, driving into her hard and deep one final time.

Dove feels him come feels the throb of him deep inside her, the way his whole body goes rigid above her, a low groan tearing out of his throat that he doesn’t bother to muffle.

He fills her, hot and pulsing, and she clenches around him through it, milking every last drop from him with the same instinctive need her body seems to have decided on without her permission.

For a long moment, neither of them moves. The only sound in the room is their ragged breathing, and beyond the wall, silence — the kind of silence that feels heavier than anything that came before it, like Edrik has gone still, caught in the aftermath of whatever he’d been doing to himself while listening.

Thorne eases out of her slowly, and she feels the loss of him like a physical ache, her body still fluttering, oversensitive, unable to fully settle. He guides her down onto her side, and for a moment he just looks at her she can feel the weight of his gaze even before she lifts her face from the pillow to meet it.

His expression is something she hasn’t seen from him before. Not the careful blankness he usually wears, not the dry humor. Something softer. Something almost reverent, like he’s still trying to catch up with what just happened between them.

"The tail thing," he says finally, breaking the quiet, and there’s a ghost of a smirk pulling at his mouth even as his chest still heaves. "I’m definitely remembering that."

She lets out a breathless laugh, pressing her face back into the pillow to hide the heat crawling up her cheeks. "Shut up."

He pulls her against him instead, his arm curling around her waist, and she feels the warmth of his body at her back, the steady thud of his heartbeat beginning to slow. Through the wall, she still doesn’t hear anything from Edrik no footsteps, no shifting, nothing. Just silence, thick and total, and somewhere in the haze of her exhaustion, she finds herself wondering exactly how red his face is right now.

Later, Dove was settling beneath the blanket when a knock came at the front shutters. Edrik answered it, then called through their door without opening it.

"The organizer’s here. Water’s rising on the lower approach. He wants the carts ready after breakfast, not midday."

Dove looked at the half-packed clothes beside the bed, then at Thorne’s hand still resting over hers. So much for sleeping in. Somewhere outside, water was already covering the road they needed to use.