IT’S LATE WHEN I make it back up to the white room. After picking my jaw up off the floor when Niko disappeared, I resumed studying the book Alexander gave me, forcing my mind to focus on something—anything—else but the prophecy.
Someone in this house would betray me, or die. Both outcomes felt equally morbid. Of course, my mind went straight to Alex since he was the newcomer in the group and I barely knew him. But my heart…my heart couldn’t accept that my blood—my father—would ever go against me. And the thought of him dying? After just getting him back? I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
Then there was Niko, my friend, my companion. Things had gotten weird between us lately. Not a bad weird necessarily, but ever since I felt his mind that day at the Broadmoor when he opened to me, I felt an odd draw to him. Like we had connected on a cellular level, much like I had done with Dorian. I knew how he felt about me; I knew he would never betray me. Plus why would he share these secrets with me only to stab me in the back?
Still, the fact remained that Niko was Dark, and he admitted to not truly knowing if he wanted his race to join with the Light. He was the less reformed of the group, the less accepting. Maybe his distaste for the Light would override his loyalty to me.
When it came to Dorian, I knew within the very marrow of my bones that he loved me, and he would do anything to protect me. I didn’t have to guess; his heart spoke for him. The link between us was growing stronger every day, and soon I wouldn’t be able to distinguish his feelings from mine. And while it was worrisome—and pretty damn invasive—it really came in handy during times like this when I was faced with so much doubt.
No, Dorian would never willingly betray me, but I knew he would die for me. And that scenario was the scariest of them all.
Our room is empty, and a few dozen flickering candles are the only sign that Dorian has been here recently. I hadn’t seen him all day and was beginning to worry. However, I was grateful that he had given me space to study and think. His mere presence was a distraction, especially when all I really wanted to study was the way his mouth fit over mine. Or the taste of his tongue when he playfully slid it over the seam of my lips. Or the sound he made in the back of his throat when he finally pushed inside me after teasing me to the point of pain.
God, I live for that touch. I die for his kiss. I worship every sigh and groan that rumbles inside his hard chest. Just the sound of his pleasure is enough to make me come.
I shake my head and blink rapidly, realizing that my lustful daydreaming has led me to the bathroom. I’m completely naked, standing before the large vanity mirror and my hand is between my legs, my fingers slipping over my sensitive folds. I gasp, embarrassment painting my face. What is wrong with me? Has ascending made me into some kinda nympho?
I hurriedly jump into the shower, eager to douse my raging hormones with some cold water. I have to get a handle on myself. What kind of savior could I be when I was turning into a bona fide peen fiend?
Unfortunately, the shower does nothing to dissuade my pressing issue, but I am cold enough to keep the fluffy white towel tightly wrapped around my naked body. I scurry from the en suite bathroom to the bedroom in search of my warm pajamas, when my body is plucked from the ground and my back goes crashing into the wall, hard enough that it rattles the colorful canvas pictures on the walls. I’m stunned, confused, disoriented… but all of that is strangled from my throat when I realize exactly what’s happening to me.
I dangle several feet from the ground, my thighs resting on Dorian’s shoulders as his hands cup my ass. He’s holding me up, his face buried at my apex, breathing raggedly as he opens my legs wider. His mouth doesn’t touch me just yet, but I can feel his cool breath, can hear him inhale the scent of my exposed sex. A deep growl erupts from his chest and he nuzzles my flesh with his nose, breathing the most potent part of me. I’m embarrassed, but so fucking turned on. I don’t know if I should beg him to stop or beg him for more.
I grab a handful of his hair and push him away, only to pull him right back again. “Dorian,” I gasp. “What the hell are you—?”
My last words are broken into a moan as I feel his tongue replace his nose. No, not just his tongue. His entire mouth. He’s licking me, sucking me, eating me like a starving man. Like he’s never tasted anything so sweet in his centuries of existence. He groans loud enough to vibrate my sex, sending shockwaves from my clit to my nipples. And he doesn’t stop. He moans like I’m the one sucking him. Like I’m the one painting a masterpiece with my tongue. He’s ravenous, dangerously so. For a second, I fear that he may actually take a bite out of me, and the prospect of carnage only excites me further.
My body jerks and shudders as the first drops of my release fall on his lips. Dorian laps up every bit, catching each drop on his tongue as he moans his delight. We shift, and with my eyes closed in an orgasm-induced haze, I feel like I’m falling. When I try to catch myself, I find that we’re on the bed. Dorian is under me, and I’m straddling his face. He reaches up to rip the towel from me completely before grasping my heavy breasts and guiding my body into a slow, grinding rhythm.
Holy. Shit. He wants me to ride his face.
I find that my body is no longer my own. My hands grip the headboard involuntarily. My hips begin to rock back and forth, causing unbelievable friction against Dorian’s lips and tongue. Even the feel of his stubbled chin grazing my sensitive, wet sex makes me buck and whine. Yet I can’t stop. I can’t keep from doing it again and again, moving faster, grinding down harder. His fingers pinch my nipples, the sting bringing on a new layer of sensation, and I cry out. I mean to beg him to stop, but it comes out as a garbled plea for more. I don’t know if it’s Dorian controlling me, or the Dark within taking the reins, but as I scream his name and fuck his face, I know that without a doubt, this is what I want.
I’m coming again, trembling uncontrollably as I brace myself against the headboard. Then there’s another shift, and Dorian is no longer under me. He’s behind me, guiding my hips to him and spreading my legs, exposing a stream of wetness running down my thighs. He doesn’t say a word, and he doesn’t have to. Not when his body speaks to me with every single tongue in every single language.
The tip of him presses at my entrance so maddeningly slow that I try to push back against him. He won’t let me. He just continues to torture me one inch at a time, refusing to fill me like I beg him to. It’s like he doesn’t even hear me crying for more—like he’s in no hurry at all to put me out of my misery. I may already be dizzy with two, toe-curling orgasms, but I need him inside me. I need him to make me so full that there’s no room for anything else.
He pulls out suddenly, and rubs himself against my puckered hole. I jerk, but he holds me still, continuing to rub his length against my seam. Then he’s back inside me, back to the tight, warmth that yearns for him.
“Dorian,” I moan, grateful to have him where he belongs. “More, please. I need you deeper.”
He doesn’t speak, but he concedes, slamming into me with so much force that I nearly collide with the headboard. He pulls out to the tip and impales me again. And again. And again. Until we flow into a savage rhythm that punishes my body and lays waste to all my sensibilities. He grips my hair, wrapping it around his hand so I can’t get away. When I feel slight pressure at my backside again, I know why.
There’s a prick of pain as his finger penetrates the tight bundle of nerves. Thankfully, he’s slowed his strokes to a lazy roll of his hips so my body can adjust to the forbidden intrusion.
“What are you doing?” I gasp.
He answers my question with a sharp pull of my hair, sending tiny stabs of pain all over my scalp. It lasts just a second before all I can feel is his finger again, and his thick length moving in and out of me slowly.
I moan. No. I whimper. No. I sob.
I don’t know what to feel. It’s different, not exactly comfortable, but it feels…it feels…good. Two parts of me—one all wetness and inviting warmth, the other pain and devious delight—syncing together to create one pulsing mass of white-hot pleasure. It expands, it contracts. It morphs and transforms into something greater than sensation. Greater than me. Something so out of control and boundless that I can no longer contain it. It’s growing, pushing me to submit, stripping me raw as it coils once more before it begins to burst entirely.
I quiver, my arms unable to support my weight, and Dorian wraps me in his arms without breaking his stride. We’re moving together now, pushing and pulling against each other. Chasing the end of all ends. He’s pulsing wildly inside me. Even his finger trembles with the promise of climax. He groans as I reach between my legs and cup him gently, feeling him tense and throb inside the palm of my hand. That’s his undoing. And his undoing spawns mine.
Together we fall apart in a melee of cries and moans, exhausting so much energy from our bodies that every candle in the room is extinguished. We writhe in the dark, lying on our sides, kissing each other with so much desperation that tears fill my eyes and roll down my face. It’s so much…so much that I can’t even comprehend this feeling. I just know that I never want it to end. I’d rather die in this moment than let it go.
Dorian kisses my hair before pulling my body as close as possible and tucking me under his arm. He still doesn’t speak, but I still feel the words in his touch, even if he doesn’t want me to. I cry silent tears as we both drift off to sleep, holding onto this peace. Holding onto him like it would be our last time.