Page 36 of Ravished By the Revenant

“I was—ah—I was made to—oh my god⁠—”

“Close enough.”

He kisses me like he’s starving. He kisses my throat, my jaw, drags his mouth down to my breasts and sucks a nipple between his lips, warm tongue and the cool metal of his piercing working me while his cock keeps up that devastating rhythm, and I come apart for the second time with my voice cracking on his name.

He fucks me through it. Doesn’t slow, doesn’t pause, just growls his approval against my skin and keeps going while I flutter and clench and sob.

“One,” he counts.

“That was two if you count the fingers⁠—”

“Fingers are practice.”

The third orgasm builds before the second one fully ends, my body cheating, stacking them, and by now I’m so wet that every thrust makes a squelching sound that would embarrass me if I had a single brain cell left to spend on shame. The room is full of obscene sounds. Wet flesh, the creak of an ancient bed frame, his ragged breathing, my incoherent noises.

“Listen to that,” he pants, delighted, feral. “Listen to how your body sings for me.”

“Shut—up—” The third orgasm hits me mid-insult.

“Two.”

“Three, you medieval—Aldric⁠—”

He shifts the angle, hooks my knee over the crook of his elbow, and I stop being able to form words at all. The new angle puts his piercings directly on target with every stroke, and my vision starts to sparkle at the edges. I’m dizzy. Wrung out. My thighs won’t stop trembling, my skin is fever-hot, and he shows no signs—none, zero—of ever stopping. Ever. He looks like he could do this until the sun explodes. He might be planning to.

So I decide to fight dirty. When I tip over the edge for the fourth time, I clench around him with everything I have left, trying to drag him over with me.

He swears. He bites his lip. And then he keeps fucking me.

“Clever girl,” Aldric rasps, laughing darkly. “You will not get rid of me so easily. I told you, little intruder, as many as your body can produce.”

“You’re—a machine—an undead—sex machine⁠—”

“Flattery.” He drives deeper. “Come again.”

I do. I don’t have a choice. Four bleeds into five, and five leaves me boneless, floating somewhere above my own body, tethered only by the point where we’re joined and the sound of his voice pouring filth and worship into my ear in equal measure—perfect, alive, mine, mine, mine⁠—

Darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision. I’m actually going to pass out, he’s fucking me unconscious, and my last coherent thought is that I have no regrets whatsoever.

That’s when his rhythm finally breaks.

His thrusts turn erratic, desperate, his growls becoming even wilder, and he slams deep and roars, and heat floods me, pulse after pulse, impossibly much, filling me past full. He keeps moving through it, riding it out, and I feel his cum forced out around him with every stroke, squelching down over my thighs, onto the ruined sheets, obscene and hot.

“Clara.” His voice, from very far away, sounds wrecked and reverent. “Clara, you magnificent⁠—”

The warm dark pulls me under, and I let it take me.

21

ALDRIC

Clara sleeps through the morning. I check on her twice, and both times she has migrated further across the mattress, conquering territory in her dreams. Schmetterling guards the pillow beside her head like a gargoyle with opinions.

By the time she descends the stairs, the sun sits high, and I have lunch waiting in the great hall. Roasted chicken with rosemary. New potatoes. Bread still warm enough to melt the butter. She appears in the archway wearing her own clothes, hair damp at the temples from the washbasin, and she walks like a soldier three days into a forced march.

“Don’t.” She holds up one finger before I open my mouth. “Whatever smug medieval thing you’re about to say, swallow it.”

“I was going to say sit down.” I pull out the chair beside mine. “You slept six more hours.”