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She arched and squirmed in my lap, causing her to grind against my erection.
I am tired of waiting.
I released her breast and reached between us, undoing my pants with an easy flick of my fingers. She fell against me when I raised my hips to work the fabric down enough to free myself, and I loved how small she felt against me, how she fit perfectly into my lap.
I allowed myself the pleasure of stroking my cock once, the moment of denial heightening my expectations. I’d taken her already, but I doubted I’d ever grow tired of this or her.
“Do you want me?” I asked.
She furrowed her brows as if my words made no sense.
I used a grip on her waist to hold her still, to rub the head of my cock against her without entering her. I kept what she wanted from her. “I need to know you want me,” I whispered.
The confusion on her face drifted away, a sweetness replacing it as she understood. Her reading me so easily, her knowing my scars without me having to say them out loud humbled me, even more so because she gave a damn about them.
She protected those wounds as if they were her own.
That openness made me go on, let me utter the words I would have never admitted only a few months before. “I can force compliance, can turn anyone into my puppet, but I don’t want that with you. I need you to want me, to choose me because you want to, not because I force you to.”
Her expression softened into one so loving, it hurt. She sat up straight enough to draw her hands from me so she could sign.“I want you,”she told me, the words so simple.
She wanted me. She knew about me, what I was, what I could do, and she still accepted me.
It was more than I deserved and certainly more than I’d ever thought I’d find.
After answering me, she slid her hands over my shoulders and I regretted not stripping down entirely. Then again, this was only my first round. I’d make sure to feel her small hands all over me the next time.
For now, I rewarded her honesty by pulling down on her waist and sinking my cock into the tight grasp of her wet cunt. And just like before, it was more than I could have even wished for.
Coldness and an endless hunger had always filled me. The wendigo’s ravenous appetite had always kept me frozen. Somehow, Hera warmed it. She warmedme.
She reached into that emptiness I had and took up space there. She filled it so I didn’t feel hollow, and I didn’t know such a thing was even possible.
Probably because I’d spent so damned long hiding the real me from Jasmine, keeping the truth from her. I hadn’t wanted to face the fear in her eyes, hadn’t wanted to risk her turning away from me.
Hera had never accepted that subterfuge from me. She hadn’t been content to get the nice, edited version of me, the one I showed to most people. Instead, she’d wanted the truth.
Then she’d been strong enough to not turn away when she came face-to-face with it.
She moved her lips, and I easily read her silent words, her gentle reassurance. “I love you. I want you. I’m not going anywhere.”
I let myself believe every one of those promises as I used my grasp on her waist to make her rise, then sink back down, taking me deeper. The sight of her above me melted any resolve I might have had to resist her. With her position, she hidnothingfrom me.
I could see how my cock plunged deep inside her, the way her pussy stretched around my length, the glistening left behind on my length from her wetness. She was perfect, and each movement she made, each little shuddering gasp from her only proved it again.
A glance around reminded me we weren’t alone. Knox sat back, a satisfied smirk on his lips telling me that his incubus enjoyed the show. Brax had his hand around his cock, stroking himself slowly as if edging himself to the sight of me sinking deep into Hera. Wade sat on the floor, his legs crossed, his lips parted as though he struggled to draw enough air. Deacon sat on one of the couches pressed against the wall, his purple eyes bright and the tension inside him showing how closely he held himself.
Then again, Deacon struck me as a rather jealous man. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t a shade, so he hadn’t learned to be grateful for what he could have. Instead, he wanted something all to himself.
The thought made my lips lift on one side, a challenge in my eyes that I offered to him.
And Deacon took me up on it, since he wasn’t the type to back down.
He approached with sure steps, removing his shirt as he went. His body showed signs of a rough life, scars dotting his skin. Then again, that was what made him who he was, I guess. He’d lived enough to know what he wanted and how hard he’d press to get it.
He slid his fingers into Hera’s hair and used the grip to turn her face toward him. He didn’t wait, didn’t ask, didn’t let her realize who it was. Instead, he kissed her roughly, as though he could devour her with that touch and wipe away everything from her mind except his lips.
I used that chance to pull her down more roughly, to draw her attention back to me, to remind them both they weren’t alone.
