Chapter 278: Get on me, Morgana. Please

She cried out.

It was different this way, with her riding him and his mouth on her at the same time. Every roll of her hips pushed her breast further into his mouth, and every pull of his lips sent a jolt straight to her clit. She wound her fingers into his hair and held on. She could hear herself, a steady stream of broken moans, and she could hear him, low and satisfied, a hum of pleasure vibrating against her skin.

He sucked harder and she whimpered.

He licked a long, slow, hot line across her nipple and took it between his teeth and tugged, gently, and her whole body jerked. His other hand moved between them. His thumb found her clit, slick and swollen, and pressed.

"Draeven..."

"I know." His mouth released her for a moment. His voice was hoarse against her breast. "I know. Let me. Just keep moving."

She did.

She rode him with a growing frenzy, her hips snapping down, his cock driving so deep inside her that every stroke jolted through her whole body. His thumb circled her clit in slow firm circles. His mouth was on her breast, hot and wet. The pressure inside her was climbing, tightening, a coil wound further and further, and she felt it coming and could not stop it.

"I’m going to....."

"Yes."

"I can’t.....it’s...."

"Let go. I’ve got you."

She came apart.

It hit her in a long, shuddering wave that started at her core and spread outward to her fingertips. She cried out, her whole body bowing, and felt her pussy clench around him in hard, rolling pulses. His mouth stayed on her. His thumb kept working. He held her through every second of it, his arm tight around her waist, and murmured into her skin.

"That’s it. Beautiful. Just like that."

He didn’t move his hips. He stayed perfectly still, buried inside her, letting her ride it out. When the last tremor faded and she collapsed forward against him, boneless, with her face in his neck, she felt his heart pounding against her breast and his cock still hard inside her.

"You didn’t," she mumbled.

"I will."

"But you...."

"I’m not finished." His hand stroked slowly down her spine. "Rest a moment."

She laughed weakly.

"You’re insane."

"I’m patient." She felt his smile against her temple. "I told you."

He didn’t let her rest for long.

He lifted her off him with great care, and she hissed at the emptiness. He rose from the bed, and she watched him go, naked and magnificent in the lamplight, his dick jutting hard and wet. He crossed the room to the big wooden chair beside the desk, and turned it, and sat.

He held out his hand.

"Come here."

She sat up. Her legs were shaky. She got to the edge of the bed and stood, and walked to him barefoot across the cool stone. He took her hands. He drew her down, and she understood, and swung one knee over his thighs, then the other, until she was straddling him in the chair, facing him.

His cock pressed up against her, hot and hard.

"This is your favorite," she said.

"I have not yet discovered my favorite." His hands slid up her back. "I’m still deciding."

"What’s this one for?"

"Access."

His mouth came down on her breast again.

She gasped and her head fell back. From this angle, with her knees on either side of his hips and her back arched, her chest was right in front of him, and he made the most of it. He kissed the swell of one breast and licked a path to the nipple and sucked, long and hard, while his hand kneaded the other. She felt his cock twitch between her legs.

"You really love this," she managed.

"I do." He lifted his head briefly. His eyes were glazed. "I have thought about your breasts every hour of every day for two weeks. I could do this until the sun comes up."

"You said that already."

"I’m saying it again."

His mouth was on her again before she could answer.

She gripped his shoulders and rocked against him, and the head of his cock slid through her wet folds and caught on her clit. They both groaned. She did it again, and again, slowly, grinding down against the length of him, until he was slick with her and shaking beneath her.

"Get on me," he said roughly. "Morgana. Please."

She reached down.

She took him in her hand, and lifted her hips, and sank slowly onto him. It was a different stretch in this position, deeper somehow, and she felt it in her stomach. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he gripped her hips, and for a moment they held still, eyes locked.

"Move," he said.

She did.

She rode him in the chair, with her hands tangled in his hair and his mouth worshipping her breasts, and the world narrowed to the creak of the wood and the slap of skin and the sound of his breath. His hands guided her. He lifted her, lowered her, set a rhythm and then took it away, his hips rising to meet her until she was gasping at every stroke.

Behind her, something clattered to the floor.

She barely noticed. The desk was at her back, and her elbow had knocked the lamp, and papers slid in a rustling avalanche, and neither of them stopped.

"Don’t stop," she sobbed.

"I’m not going to."

His eyes had changed again.

She felt it before she saw it. The heat in the room had climbed, and when she opened her eyes and looked down at him, the gold had gone molten, and the slits of his pupils were narrow and sharp. Along his jaw, faint and silver-gold, a line of scales shimmered. His hands on her hips had darkened at the knuckles, and the nails were longer than they should have been, a little sharp.

He looked like a king. He looked like a dragon.

He looked like hers.

"Draeven."

"I’m here." His voice was rough and dark, a second voice under his own, deep and old. "I’m here."

"You’re...."

"I know." His grip tightened. "Don’t be afraid."

"I’m not." She cupped his face. "You’re beautiful."