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I hiss at the odd feeling as he maneuvers it around until he’s satisfied. Once he’s done, he pulls out his phone.
“I’ll be the only one asking the questions.” Of course that’s his term. Drystan is all about control, and he can only be in control if he’s the only one asking. He has a wall built around him. I can almost see it sometimes. It’s harsh and glows like brimstone. Weylen and Asher have similar walls, but they’re not as harshly constructed.
Magic.
I’ve always seen the people around me bathed in different colors. Some colors are weak, others, like Drystan’s, are bright. I was seven when I went to my father about what I could see. One of my guards, Brutus, whose shades were normally a range of mustard yellow to orange, had turned all black. I was worried.
For the wrong reason.
My seven-year-old mind thought maybe he was sick. When I told my father what I’d seen, he had Brutus shot. I later learned that he’d been paid to kill me. I never learned why. After the incident, my father hired a psychologist, who diagnosed me with synesthesia. A rare disability in which senses are crossed. Hear music but see shapes. That kind of thing. But now I wonder if that’s true at all.
“Where’s your head at, little lamb?”
Not wanting to lie, knowing that his impeccable hearing will pick up on my heartbeat, but also not wanting him to know about my brother, I settle for a half-truth.
“It’s all a bit overwhelming.”
He tips his head to the side, eyes narrowing.
“Why?”
I raise my eyebrows as if to say, you serious? Drystan chuckles. The deep baritone sound causes butterflies to erupt in my chest. It’s carefree and playful. His fingers tap on his phone, and I start, my hips coming off the desk as a dull vibration hits my clit.
Holy shit.
“I’ll let that one slide.” He smirks, turning up the vibrations.
Oh… The coil in my lower belly tightens as tingles of pleasure zip through me. He watches me, his eyes alight with desire as I let the sensations running from my core roll through me like waves against a rocky shore. It builds and builds, and I wait in anticipation for the same crest of rapture to fall over me like it did with Weylen.
Except it never comes.
A whimper falls from my parted lips when the vibrations abruptly cease. There’s a dark glint in Drystan’s gaze when I shoot him a glare that could no doubt melt the skin from his bones if I wanted it hard enough. Alas, he’s still standing before me, ever so handsome, with a smug look on his stupidly perfect face.
“What do you know about your mother’s family?” The question throws me a bit. No one has ever asked about the maternal side of my family. My father never spoke of them, refusing to give me any information about my mother’s relatives. He told me they were “unnoteworthy” and that they had abandoned my mother when she chose to marry him.
They didn’t even come to her funeral, apparently.
“Not much,” I tell him honestly. “I’ve never met them. All I know is that they disowned my mother when she married my father. All I know is a name. Delia. But I’m not sure how she is related to my mother.”
Drystan nods his head slightly and hums. Another tap on his phone, and my body shoots back toward ecstasy. I moan like a wanton whore when he leans in and sucks one pert nipple into his mouth through the lace. He licks and laves at it, his teeth kissing the sensitive bud until it’s hard enough to cut glass. He releases it with a pop, blowing cold air over it that has my cunt clenching, yearning for more.
“Drystan…” I beg him as the coil inside me tightens to capacity once again. “Please…”
“You can beg all you want, little lamb,” he gloats as he stills the vibrations again. A groan surges up my throat, and I curse him vehemently in my head. “But I’m the one in charge here.”
Chapter 18
Drystan
There’s something inside me that almost feels alive. My gaze roams hungrily over the little sacrificial lamb laid out on my desk like a sweet offering to the gods. With sharp eyes, I take in every detail, from the way her chest moves in shallow breaths to the sheen of sweat forming over her ivory skin.
I can hear the rhythmic beat of the veins pulsing in her neck, calling to me like a siren’s song. She’s an offering I will gladly devour.
One hand plays with my phone, easing her back into her pleasure, while my other hand slowly pushes her knees apart, my eyes on the slick flesh of her pussy. Thalia resists slightly, her muscles tensing, before she relents. Her arousal permeates the air, sweetened by the scent of her fear. An intoxicating combination to a predator like me.
She leans back, baring her neck to me as she moans wantonly. Her pert breasts are pushed forward, and it takes everything I have not to tear the lace from her body and bare them. Her jaw clenches as I inch her closer and closer to release. The muscles in her stomach tighten, and her legs begin to quiver, but I won’t let her come just yet.
Not until I’m ready.
