Chapter 277: Look At You. gods! Look At You. Riding Me Like...

Morgana started to laugh.

She couldn’t help it. It rose up from her belly, helpless, delighted. She pressed her forehead to his shoulder and shook with it, and he stared at her in baffled dismay.

"What?"

"You’re apologizing."

"Yes."

"For making me come."

"For being...."

"Draeven." She lifted her head. Her face was wet from laughing, and her hair was a wreck, and she was still full of him, still held up against a door by the First King of the realm. "Again."

His mouth fell open.

"I’m not done," she said. "Are you?"

The gold in his eyes flared.

"No," he said slowly. "No. I am not."

"Good." She tightened her legs around him and felt him twitch inside her, already starting to harden again. "Then take me to bed."

***

He carried her there still joined.

It was a deliberate cruelty. Every step jostled him inside her, and every shift made her gasp, and by the time he reached the bed her fingers were digging into his shoulders and she was biting her lip to keep from begging. He lowered her onto the mattress, and slid out of her slowly, and she whimpered at the loss.

"Shh," he said. "Wait."

He stripped off his shirt.

She had seen him without it once, in the dark on the ridge, from a distance, as a shape. She had not seen this. He was lean and broad and hard-muscled, built like a warrior, and his skin was marked by a pattern of old scars, thin white lines across his chest and ribs. Along his forearms, faint and gold in the lamplight, something shimmered. A hint of pattern. A sheen.

Scales.

He saw her looking.

"Does it frighten you?"

"No." She reached out and ran her fingertips along his arm, and the shimmer rippled beneath her touch like water. "It’s beautiful."

He shut his eyes briefly.

"You say that so easily."

"It’s true." She tugged his hand. "Come here."

He lay down beside her. He turned onto his back, pulling her with him, and settled her across his hips. She sat there, astride him, naked and flushed and a little dazed, with his cock already stiff again against her belly.

"This time," Draeven said, "you set the pace."

She stared down at him.

"I mean it." His hands lay open on the sheets, palms up, as though he wanted her to see he wasn’t touching. "I took you against a door because I lost my head. That was for me. This...." His gaze held hers. "This is for you. Whatever you want. As fast as you want. As slow. You tell me, or you show me, and I’ll follow."

Her throat went tight.

No one had ever given her that. Not once.

She put her hands on his chest.

His heart was hammering beneath her palm. She felt it, strong and fast and as unsteady as her own, and the sight of him lying there, giving himself up to her, made something warm and wild unfurl in her stomach.

She shifted her hips.

Her pussy was wet and sore and sensitive, slick with his come and her own arousal, and when she slid along the length of his cock she heard him suck in a breath. She did it again. She rocked back and forth, letting the head of his dick catch against her clit, and she felt his whole body tense under her.

"Morgana."

"Is this all right?"

"It is...." His voice cracked. "It is more than all right."

She grinned.

It was a new feeling, power. It tasted a little like wine. She lifted herself, reached down, and took him in her hand. He was hot and heavy and hard as iron, and he jerked at her touch, a low sound ripping from his chest. She held him steady and lowered herself onto him.

They both groaned.

She took him slowly, an inch at a time, feeling every inch of the stretch, until she was seated fully on his hips with his cock buried deep inside her. It was a different angle. It reached somewhere new. She braced her hands on his chest and let her head fall back, breathing hard.

"Oh," she said. "Oh, that’s..."

"Are you hurt?"

"No. No, it’s...." She opened her eyes and looked down at him. "You’re so deep."

"I know." His jaw was clenched. His hands were fisted in the sheets. "I can feel it. Gods. I can feel everything."

She began to move.

She rolled her hips in a slow circle, grinding down, and a bolt of pleasure went through her so sharp that she gasped. She did it again. She rose a little and came back down, and the sensation was like nothing she had known, a fullness that was almost too much, a pressure that reached right to the center of her.

Draeven made a rough, wrecked sound.

"You’re beautiful," he said, as she picked up her rhythm. "Look at you. Gods, look at you. Riding me like...."

"Like what?"

"Like you were made for it."

Her face went hot, and she rode him harder.

He watched her. His eyes followed the sway of her breasts with every thrust, and she saw his gaze go hungry and dark. His fingers flexed in the sheets, as though fighting something. A drop of sweat slid down the side of his throat.

"You can touch me," she said.

"I said you set the pace."

"I’m setting it. Touch me."

His hands left the sheets.

They came up and closed over her breasts, and he groaned, a deep tortured sound, as though he had been starved. His palms were burning. He cupped her, lifted her, and thumbed her nipples until she moaned.

"I want my mouth on you," he said.

"Then take it."

He sat up.

It was a sudden, fluid movement, and it brought him chest to chest with her, still buried inside her, his arm hooking around her waist to hold her steady. She gasped as the angle changed. His face was right there, level with her breasts, and before she could catch her breath his mouth closed over her nipple.