On the bed Bryn whimpers, her body contorting as the need begins to come upon her again. It’s not over. As much as I’d love to watch Morgan, Bryn needs relief.
I climb onto the bed.
‘I won’t hurt you,’ I begin, but she’s already spreading her legs wide for me, her eyes begging for my help.
I’m not ready again yet, so I part her thighs wider and begin to lick her instead, my tongue laving and suckling, and thrusting into her. I taste her arousal and my own essence as well. I bring her to her release, two of my fingers fucking her until her cries cease and she quiets again.
Only then do I turn my attention back to Morgan and Locke.
The mage’s face is so bloody and swollen that if I didn’t know it was him, I wouldn’t recognize it. One of his arms is broken, the fingers half crushed.
I’ve missed quite the thrashing while I was seeing to our human.
I wish it didn’t have to be like this, but as I look at Bryn, seeing that fear back in her eyes now that she’s between waves of desire, I’m glad Morgan has beaten him so badly and I hope he doesn’t let the magickal fuck take a healing potion either, not until we leave on the morrow. And only then because his mangled face will draw attention in the street.
Finally, Morgan seems to be finished and his rage sated for now. He lets go of Locke, letting him fall to the floor unconscious with a thump.
He turns to the bed, his eyes roving Bryn’s body. His eyes, hardened with battle lust only moments ago change quickly to a thirst of another kind. His eyes don’t leave Bryn once as he pours water from the jug into a bowl on the table, washing the blood from his hands and spattered face.
When he’s clean, he stalks toward the bed.
‘Move.’
I hesitate. ‘Are you sure you’re?—’
The malicious, violence-filled look he gives me has me doing as he says and Morgan takes my place.
He watches Bryn, not touching her yet, waiting for her, I realize.
When, a little while later, she mewls and her eyes find him, he leans over her, still not touching.
‘What do you want, my little human?’ he asks.
She swallows hard, but says nothing.
‘I’ll not touch you until you beg me,’ he states.
She shifts under him, but he moves away with a dark chuckle.
‘Please,’ she whispers.
‘Please, what?’
‘Please fuck me, master.’
His jaw tightens. ‘Morgan. My name is Morgan. Say it.’
‘Please fuck me, Morgan!’ she cries.
He wastes no time, pulling his breeches open and filling her with one hard thrust that makes her squeal as she’s pushed up the bed. He takes hold of her and pulls her back down toward him, driving into her hard and fast, making her cry out in pleasure and pain.
But she begs him for more, chanting it as she pants.
It’s no time at all before she crests and screams her release, but still Morgan doesn’t stop. He growls at her that he wants to feel her tighten around him again as he brings her legs up and hooks them over his shoulders, fucking her harder and deeper.
The sounds he draws from her make me hard again, but as she comes again and then falls back against the pillows in a faint while Mogan finishes with a bellow and a final thrust, I know that she won’t need us again this night.
I’m glad that it’s over and I don’t relish facing her when she wakes tomorrow, and yet I can’t wait for the next time she wants us.
