Chapter 217: Lynx, Eleanor and her Squad

Eleanor suite... Lynx’s assigned room, but the girl on the bed had claimed it as her own the moment she’d been laid there.

The fireplace in the corner still burned low, casting amber across sheets the color of cream and a ceiling that seemed to disappear into shadow. The windows were open a crack.

The night air of the Void capital drifted in, cool against skin already running hot.

Eleanor Haleborn lay on her side, still fully dressed, one arm tucked under her head. Her long purple hair spilled across the pillow like poured wine. She had been waiting. She had not expected to wait long.

She opened her eyes when she felt his presence with Nadia.

"Took you long enough," she murmured.

Lynx stood at the foot of the bed. Iris, Layla, Rhea, and Nadia had fanned out behind him, but none of them moved to the sheets yet.

They watched. They would see what happened to a Queen when a god decided to take her.

Lynx shrugged off his shirt. The lamplight caught the carved lines of his chest, the faint golden glow trapped under his skin, the way his shoulders rolled like something built for war and repurposed for this.

His silver sigil on his forehead pulsed once, soft, patient, and every girl in the room felt her own golden sigil answer with a small, private throb.

He crawled onto the bed.

Not fast. Not hungry. Slow, the way a man moves when he already knows he’s going to get what he wants and wants to taste the getting.

He took Eleanor’s ankle first. Pulled her flat onto her back. Her breath caught, just a small one, a Queen’s breath, dignified, and he heard it and smiled.

"Relax," Lynx said.

"I am relaxed."

"You’re lying."

He unhooked the clasp at her shoulder. The dress was deep violet silk, expensive, cut to flatter every inch of her hourglass frame.

He peeled it down one strap, then the other, and Eleanor lifted her hips without being asked so he could slide it off entirely.

Underneath... black lace that barely qualified as clothing, a bra that held her generous bust like an afterthought, and panties that were already dark at the center.

Lynx looked at her. Long. Unhurried. His heterochromatic eyes, one blue, one silver, both ringed with gold, traveled from her collarbones to her waist to the wet spot between her thighs, and Eleanor felt herself flush under the weight of it.

"You’ve been wet since the incident," he said quietly.

"Don’t flatter yourself."

"I’m not." He hooked a finger under the waistband of her panties and dragged them down her legs, slow enough that the lace scraped her inner thighs.

"I can smell you, Eleanor. You’ve been dripping since I showed those void guards and Kimberly who is boss."

Her jaw tightened. She didn’t deny it.

He lowered his mouth to her stomach first. Kissed the soft skin just above her navel. Then lower.

Then lower still, until his breath was hot against her cunt and her thighs had already begun to tremble against his shoulders.

"Lynx..."

"Shh."

He licked her. One long, flat stroke from her entrance to her clit, and Eleanor’s back arched off the bed like she’d been struck by lightning.

Her hands flew to his hair. Her hips bucked against his mouth before she could stop them.

He didn’t stop. He ate her like he had nowhere else to be.

His tongue circled her clit, slow, then faster, then slow again, and his fingers slid into her at the same time, two of them, curling up against the spot that made her thighs snap shut around his head.

He pushed them apart with his free hand. Kept going. Her moans filled the room, low and ragged and nothing like a Queen’s.

"Oh~ ohhh~, fuck..."

Behind them, Layla’s breath had gone shallow. Iris had a hand pressed to her own chest, feeling her sigil pulse in time with Eleanor’s rising cries.

Rhea watched with her arms crossed and her teeth in her lip. Nadia had stopped pretending not to stare.

Lynx pulled his mouth away just long enough to say, "Come for me, Eleanor. Let them hear it."

Then his tongue was back on her clit and his fingers were fucking her in short, brutal strokes, and Eleanor came with a sound that started in her chest and tore its way out of her throat.

Her thighs clamped around his ears. Her cunt clenched hard around his fingers. Lynx didn’t stop. He worked her through it, tongue soft now, fingers still buried, until she was gasping and twitching and trying to push his head away.

He lifted his face. His mouth was wet. He was smiling.

"That’s one."

"One—?"

He crawled up her body and kissed her. She tasted herself on his tongue. Her hands found his shoulders, then his back, then the waistband of his pants, and she tugged at them with a desperation that would have embarrassed her an hour ago and didn’t now.

He helped her. Kicked them off. His cock sprang free, thick, long, already slick at the tip, and glowing. Pre cum bleeding off the shaft like heat off a forge.

The glow on his cock was brighter than the rest of his body, brighter than his skin, brighter than the sigil on his forehead. It pulsed with his heartbeat.

Eleanor stared at it.

"That’s not normal," she whispered.

"Neither am I."

He positioned himself between her thighs. The head of his cock pressed against her entrance, hot, impossibly hot, and she could feel the glow of it against her cunt like a second heartbeat.

"Look at me," Lynx said.

She looked at him. Then he pushed in. So slow. He split her open an inch at a time, and Eleanor’s mouth fell open, and no sound came out, and her nails dug into his back hard enough to leave marks.

He was thick. Thicker than she’d imagined it to be inside her, and she’d imagined it more than once since the arcade.

Her cunt stretched around him, gripping him, and every inch he sank into her made her sigil pulse brighter.

"Fuck," she breathed. "Fuck, Lynx.."

"I know."

He bottomed out. Held there. Let her feel the full weight of him, the glow of his cock lighting her from the inside, the way his hips fit against hers like they’d been measured for it.

Then he started to move.

Slow and deep. Every stroke dragged along her walls like he was memorizing the shape of her. His forehead dropped to hers. His breath was hot on her mouth.

The silver sigil on his brow pressed close enough to hers that the two lights, gold and silver, bled into each other, and Eleanor felt something crack open in her chest that had nothing to do with sex.

"You feel..." He stopped. Swallowed. "You feel like you were made for this."

"Don’t..."

"Don’t what?"

"Don’t say things like that while you’re inside me."

He laughed, low and rough, and thrust harder. Her back arched. Her tits bounced with every stroke, still trapped in the black lace bra, and Lynx reached up and tore it off her with one hand.

Her breasts spilled free, full, heavy, tipped with dark nipples already hard, and he took one in his mouth and sucked while he fucked her.

Eleanor moaned. Loud. Unashamed. Her hips met his, matching his rhythm, and the wet sound of him sliding in and out of her filled the room like a second heartbeat.

"Harder," she said.

"Say please."

"Please..."

He gave it to her. Harder. Faster. The headboard started to hit the wall. Eleanor’s hands fisted in the sheets. Her legs wrapped around his waist and locked.

Every thrust punched a sound out of her, and every sound made his cock glow brighter, and every pulse of that glow made her cunt clench harder around him.

"Oh god~ oh fuckff~ Lynx..."

"Again," he growled. "Come again."

She did. Her second orgasm hit her mid thrust and rolled through her whole body like a wave.

Her cunt milked him, gripped him, and Lynx groaned against her throat and kept fucking her through it.

When she came down, he pulled out.

Eleanor made a small, broken sound of protest. He ignored it. He flipped her onto her stomach, strong hands on her hips, no effort at all, and dragged her up onto her knees.

Her ass was in the air. Her face was in the pillow. Her purple hair was a mess across her shoulders.

Behind her, Layla whispered something to Iris that Eleanor couldn’t hear. It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered except the head of his cock pressing against her again, and then sliding in, and then the deep, brutal angle that made her see white.

"Fuck—" she sobbed into the pillow.

"That’s it." His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise. "Take it."

He fucked her from behind. Hard. The slap of skin on skin echoed off the walls. Every thrust drove her forward and he dragged her back by the hips, over and over, and Eleanor’s third orgasm built low and fast and crashed through her before she could warn him.

He didn’t slow down.

Fourth. Fifth. Her sigil was blazing now, gold light spilling off her forehead in soft waves, and every time Lynx’s silver sigil pulsed the two lights seemed to reach for each other.

Her cunt was slick and swollen and so full of him she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.

"Lynx—Lynx, I can’t—"

"You can."

"I can’t—"

"You can." He leaned over her back, chest to her spine, mouth at her ear. "You’re going to come for me ten more times tonight, Eleanor. And then you’re going to sleep, and when you wake up, you’re going to remember every single one."

She came again. Sixth. Seventh. He pulled her upright onto her knees, back against his chest, and fucked up into her while one hand found her clit and the other closed around her throat, not squeezing, just holding.

She came twice more like that, her head thrown back against his shoulder, her mouth open, her voice shot to pieces.

He laid her back down. Missionary again, but slower now, tender, almost, like the hard part was done and he wanted to feel her. He kissed her while he moved inside her.

Her hands cupped his face. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused and her lips were swollen and she looked at him like he was the only thing left in the world.

"Tenth," he murmured.

She came with a sob.