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His laugh is muffled as he buries his face in my tits, his extra free hands unbuckling his pants to bring out his magnificent cock. I gasp once more as he squishes both my breasts together and sucks at both nipples at the same time.
“Oh!” I groan.
An extra pair of hands makes sex an extra-enticing event, to say the least. As Systorak sucks on me, I feel him lift me with his other hands, my bare ass placed gently on the cool stone. He then spreads my legs without hesitation and finishes removing his cock from its constraints.
I see it again, briefly, long, thick, and veiny, before he slides it inside my sleek wonder.
He fills me perfectly, and I immediately turn feral.
“Oh yes, Systorak. Fuck me!” I call out, my voice guttural and animalistic.
He whimpers as he sucks on my breasts and begins to thrust faster than the first time, but without any attempt to hide his size. He grabs hold of my hips as he fucks me in the dead of the night with potentially hundreds of other demons waiting around the corner to come upon us.
The idea makes me feel deranged with rapture, but I don’t care. My fingers dig into the back of the demon’s skull while the clapping, carnal sounds of our collisions fill the air, my panting approaching a crescendo spaced between the skin-smacking deliciousness.
“YES! YES! YES!”
Electricity soars through my nipples like a current down to my pussy where his cock slams deep into me, cycling up and down as my second climax glides through me. My cries are more unrelenting, less inhibited as I smile up at the big, black sky, in perpetual awe that such an interaction has been waiting for me in the cosmos.
And that I have missed him without ever knowing him.
He plunges into me like a jackhammer for a few more seconds before he releases himself, fangs sinking into the mounds of my tits, and I pull him tightly into me as he shudders. For a few moments, we are one with sensation, hedonists without guilt, one giant heave of spellbinding pleasure.
“Oh, Lana …” he breathes after removing his teeth from my flesh.
“Mmm,” I moan, running my hands over his shoulders and back. “I love it when you say my name like that.”
He kisses the spot where he bit, the sting mixed with the tender wetness, a feeling I never want to forget.
FIFTEEN
SYSTORAK
Making love to Lana on this terrace has been the most sensational experience of my entire existence. Hearing her moans of pleasure, her whimpering as she releases everything that’s weighed her down and pulverized her heart into the night sky, is like a soothing song. I have never dared to dream of such music, of such enjoyment, beyond that of obtaining a higher-class status and finally proving the judgmental bastards around me wrong.
All of that longing for a social position is gone. It has all been replaced by an insatiable craving for Lana, her laugh, her touch, her mouth, her essence, and her presence. I want to help her thrive and forget everything in the past that ever made her ache in an agonizing way. I only want her to ache for me, for pleasure, and for indulgence.
We hold each other for what seems like an eternity, but it is, of course, never enough. Her warm skin slowly grows chilly as the solemn night air caresses her flesh, and I pull up what remains of her flattering dress.
“You don’t have to do that,” she says, running the tips of her fingers along my back. “I love how your chest feels on my breasts ….”
I grunt instinctively, the lilt in her tone flirty and sensual, but I am suddenly aware of what I had just done and the imminent danger I have placed both of us in.
Not able to help myself, I smile and press my mouth against hers. She sighs in a sultry way as she raises her hands to my face, caressing my cheeks in a tender, intimate moment.
I remove myself from her before things begin to heat up again, and she licks her lips, breath heaving once more in anticipation of another round.
“We should get back to the tower,” I whisper, bringing a hand to her chin. “I would love to make love to you again, but somewhere safer and more comfortable.”
Something resembling concern flashes through her soft hazel eyes, but she is too lost in post-coital bliss to analyze it. She nods quietly, and I help her hop off the side of the stone terrace.
“How are we going to get back?” she mutters, voice still lost in the haze of satisfaction.
I take Lana by the hand once she finishes adjusting her dress, a beautiful flush of red blooming in her cheeks, smiling as we move toward the transparent door.
“We’ll slip out close to where we came in. Don’t worry, I got you.”
She is silent as we leave the grand ball, but the expression on her face tells me that it is from pleasant, post-sex fatigue. I feel the same way, mostly, despite my growing concern that my impulsivity is possibly putting not only me but the lovely Lana at risk too.
