Page 73 of Nocturn

“Cassiel,” I snapped. He’s being much too careful!

He groaned and began a steady, deep thrusting rhythm, removing me from this realm and onto a cloud of utter pleasure.

I met every thrust with fervor in a dance of wills. Mine to take every inch of him, and him, retreating each time. A shake began in my legs, and I whimpered, my sex clamping as I reached another climax.

His pace slowed. While I still pulsed around him, I pushed my palms into the bed and shoved. My channel stretched, the throb of my orgasm soothing the ache as I took his knot.

“Saints,” he hissed. The blissful stretch only lasted moments before he pulled his length from my squeezing channel. Warm release sprayed across my bottom.

I had only a moment of being stretched, and I wanted more.

He reached under my belly and clasped my sex, fingers pressing into the bundle of nerves with just the right pressure. I would not have been able to stop the climax.

My hearing became obsolete as I rode the wave of pleasure. Nothing could ever touch how fully he claimed me. How complete being in his arms made me feel. I could lie here with him . . .

The orgasm passed, and I went limp, my cheek smashing against the fur.

Lord Draven worked his shaft inside me, arm tucking me tighter to his chest.

I lay on the fur bedding, trembling. My legs refused to listen to my head. I could not twitch a muscle with how limp everything felt.

The experience, the pinnacles that wracked my frame, woke something in me.

An uncontrollable urge for more.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Ride

“Iam hurrying,” I mumbled, yanking on the fresh bloomers Eliza brought me. “Why must I rush? Where is Lord Draven?”

Still sluggish from the short bath I took after Eliza had woken me from a dead sleep, I squeezed my eyes tightly together and opened them again, fighting to focus my vision. All because I had been awake a lot of the night. Dawnlight shone through the wall-to-wall panes of Lord Draven’s chamber.

I reached for the dress on the couch in the shade of a burlap sack. Simple, and a dress one would see on a servant, specifically a redblood servant. The fabric scratched against my arms as I pulled it on. Eliza strode behind me to tighten the sashes, winding the ties around toward the front to tie it below my breasts.

This eve, her frock, made of the same material as mine, had no sleeves, and my gaze went to the inside of her elbow. A small dot . . . an old scar.

They were incredibly familiar.

“You have visited Al.”

Her eyes swung up to mine in surprise. A flush crept over her cheeks. He had taken blood from her as well, but why?

She tied the sash too tight until it hindered my breathing. I exhaled harshly. In my time with Al, it had become increasingly clear he was always testing something or other.

It also brought to the forefront why she was here. I had wondered if there was such distaste for redbloods, why she was kept here with her wraithling.

It was because she served a purpose too.

As we all did.

“The Warlord is waiting for you outside the Citadel.” Her lips pinched at the corners with evident disapproval.

I slid my slippers on and padded out of the bedroom, my damp hair swaying over my shoulders as I descended all sets of stairs until I reached the foyer. I slowed near the exit, a slim light spilling through the cracked door. No one had escorted me here. I turned in a full circle, searching for anyone that had followed, but there was no one.

The only time I was ever without an escort was when I was in the feeder wing.

“You.”