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“Hi,” I whisper.
Systorak blinks. He must have gone to sleep on the floor in an effort to give me space to rest from my upsetting interaction. This only makes me want him next to me even more.
“Hi,” he whispers back.
I am still wearing a light shirt and shorts under the covers, but it all feels like heavy fleece on my pulsating skin. I smirk at him, hoping he can see my longing in the black.
“Why don’t you come over here?” I murmur, sultry and yearning.
He blinks again, then hesitates. I begin to maneuver my clothing underneath the covers, my nipples hard as icicles, my dampening crotch painting a picture that requires no words.
“Are you sure?”
His voice was soft like velvet, coming across the landscape of the bed like a cool wind on a humid summer’s day. I shuffled my clothing off until I was utterly naked under the blankets, my exposed shoulders catching his drift and sending washes of goosebumps through every atom.
“I am very sure,” I respond, my own voice sounding sexy to my ears. “I want you next to me, Systorak.”
He didn’t need any more encouragement, and he lifted his big, heavy body off the floor and planted himself next to me. My eyes have already sharpened in the dark like prey sitting in shadows, evading its hunter.
Except, I want the opposite of evasion. I want an invasion.
He stays sitting up, leaning on one of his arms, looking down at me with a blank expression on his beastly face. It remains strange to me yet alluring in its novelty and mystery. The way he is looking at mine suggests the feeling is mutual.
Before either of us can speak, I slip a hand out from under the covers, exposing a bare arm to the cool air of the tower. I cup his cheek, and I am delighted to feel that it’s warm.
“What are we doing here, Lana?”
His voice is curious yet hesitant. It is apparent that I have to take this by the reins and lead him into me without any form of dithering.
I move my thumb over his lips, as lovely and inviting as flower petals, while feeling the top of the sheet pressing against the top of my breasts. His body is beside me, pressing against me. The touch teasing me through the fabric is maddening.
My lips part, and the words flow out of me like smoke, a dusky tone befitting my lust-filled desires. “I want you to fuck me. Please and thank you.”
The tiny pinprick of pupils in his bright eyes dilate, widening into a firestorm of surprise and delight.
Before he has a chance to speak again, I whip the sheet off my body. I sigh, almost a relief in itself, arching my back in response to the chilly air and the flame of his eyes.
“Lana …” he sighed, his eyes moving up and down my frame like scatters of stars.
My lust is nearly bursting from my bones as I take him by the neck, needing my body to be ravaged by him, covered by his own, and played with by those fingers. He moves his head down to my mouth, and our lips finally collide with an audible, amorous moan.
I find they are just as soft as they felt on the pad of my thumb as I push against him with growing force and untethered hunger. I appreciate his resistance, but that makes me even more feral for his touch.
His tongue enters my mouth first, animistic in its speed and appetite, swirling and intermittently sucking at my own. It has been so long since I’ve participated in the dance of the carnal. It almost feels like the very first time.
“Lana,” he says again, and the sheer longing within his voice makes me groan from the very pit of my stomach. “Lana, you are so delicious.”
I smile against his mouth, the context of our entanglement and his monstrous nature making the comment all the more amusing. His hands crawl up my sides, brushing slowly, then finally arriving at my aching breasts.
“Oh, Systorak,” I moan as he cups me, thumbs flicking over my hard-as-stone nipples.
As we kiss, the ferociousness increases. I spread my legs so he can fit his entire body between them, the extra pair of hands running up my thighs, resting just outside the spot where I want him most. My body is rolling madly up to his touch, overwhelmed by the various places he is pleasing.
My pussy is soaking, my pelvis pushing impatiently toward his fingers. I know intuitively that he is a master with those digits, like a violinist in a solo.
I feel him smile beneath my lips as he slides his fingers past my folds, then presses two powerful fingers into my center. He slips inside easily like hands inside a glove.
“Fuck, Systorak.” I strain against him, pulling his head to my delicate nape.
