Текст книги "Eyes of devious burgundy"
Автор книги: Lacey Lehotzky
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Текущая страница: 37 (всего у книги 43 страниц)
“Do you want to say goodbye to Rapp or not?”
His question hit me like a punch to the gut. Was Rokath implying that Rapp would die and I’d never get to see him again? He’d been my only friend, only support, besides the dogs, since I left with the army. A snake wrapped itself around my chest and squeezed the air from my lungs. Sweat slicked my palms as I tried to calm my racing heart.
“What are you not telling me, Rokath?”
“This is war, Assyria. I know you’ve lived a sheltered life in Stryi, but it’s time to get your head out of your ass and face the realities of what’s to come. If you want to live with regret, then that is on you. But if you want to say goodbye, now is your chance.”
“Like you’d know anything about regret and loss.”
Icy anger shattered down our bond. “You have no idea, little imposter. Make your decision now because we still have ground to cover today.”
Nails curled into my palm as I stared Rokath down. I did want to say goodbye to Rapp. But I didn’t want this to be the last time I would say that to him. “Fine. Where is he?”
“Below. Waiting for you.”
With a huff, I stomped toward Rokath, giving him a wide berth as I flapped my wings again. He caught my arm before I could fling myself over the edge. “Please be careful.”
I jerked out of his grip and leaped. Fear froze my stomach as I realized just how far away the bottom of the canyon was, and just how unaccustomed I was to using my wings to descend. Flaring them to either side, I tried to slow my fall, half-succeeding. For the millionth time, I cursed myself for not learning my magic better.
Changing the angle slightly, I turned in a lazy circle, falling like a leaf in the autumn wind instead of a ripe fruit in the midsummer. Rapp grinned up at me from the ground as I made my final descent. I landed with a thud, harder than I meant to, and stumbled forward before righting myself. Banishing my wings, I approached the Hadvezér.
We were utterly alone in the bottom of the canyon, I realized. The lack of sound was eerie. Rapp opened his arms and pulled me into an embrace. The gesture was unexpected, and my eyes burned as I returned it. “Rokath can be an asshole when he’s focused. Support him, Assyria, even if you feel like he doesn’t deserve it. There’s more going on beneath the surface.”
I snorted and stepped back. “He doesn’t. And none of you will tell me anything. It’s always, ‘wait for Rokath to tell you.’” Focusing on my anger at my mate was better than focusing on the sorrow that wanted to slash another gouge into my heart.
But I failed, and a sob wracked my chest. Rapp crouched so we were eye level and rested a hand on my shoulder. “We are going to win, Assyria. We are so close. And then, when this is all over, I’ll force Rokath to tell you everything. You two are mated now, and you deserve to know what shaped him to be who he is today. Then, you two can move forward with a clean slate and much more understanding.”
Twin tears tracked down my dusty cheeks as I nodded.
Rapp hugged me again. “I won’t die, Assyria. You won’t have to lose anyone else important to you, okay?”
“I don’t have anyone else,” I choked out, squeezing him tighter. As it stood, I barely felt like I had him for support. I was so utterly alone.
“Take care of yourself too,” he instructed, unwinding us. “You are powerful, smart, brave. Not many would have jumped in to help like you did today.”
A watery laugh escaped me. “You saw that?”
“Rokath did too.”
“Then why didn’t he stop me?” I asked, searching Rapp’s face for answers.
He merely shrugged. “He is changing, whether he wants to believe it or not. Trust that, trust yourself, trust him. The Weaver’s thread is strong, and he will lead us to victory.”
“Glory to the Demons,” I muttered.
That pulled a grin to the Hadvezér’s face. “Glory to the Demons, indeed. Now go before he flies down here and rips my arms off for touching you.”
I laughed again. “He wouldn’t.”
“Oh, but he would.” Rapp stepped back, shadows swirling around his leather-clad forearms. Wings sprouted from his back, and the tendrils snaked around his horse, lifting him into the sky. “May the Reaper’s eye pass over you. I’ll see you soon, Assyria.”
“May your gift never fade,” I choked out.
And then, Rapp flew away, across the canyon to the males under his command. After a moment, I called on my own magic to ferry me to the top one last time. When I landed, Rokath was nowhere to be found, but Blaeze still waited, pulling what little he could off a desert bush. His munching filled my ears as I mounted then steered him toward the wagons rolling away.
I glanced over my shoulder at the opposite side of the canyon, a near mirror image to what spread out before me. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the mountains in the distance, where the wall that divided the two realms was barely visible. As night fell over us, fires sprung up along its length, tiny in comparison to the one blazing in my chest.
By the time we finally stopped moving, I couldn’t even look at Rokath as I burst into our quarters, and I immediately stripped and crawled into the bed, curling in on myself with my back to him as I tried not to fall apart again.
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Sleep never came to me the night before a big battle, though on this occasion, the looming fight with the Angels wasn’t what consumed my every thought. It was leaving this fiery, stubborn female behind while I swung my blade.
Once again, she hated me. I couldn’t figure out why. After the news of her groundskeeper’s death, her anger had ignited again. Barb after barb she threw in my direction, and no matter how hard I tried to comfort her—something entirely out of my strengths—it was never enough. So I gave up.
It was better this way, though. She wasn’t attached to me, and I didn’t owe her anything, despite the bond’s insistence that I fuck her one more time, hear her scream my name as she shattered around my cock. I hadn’t touched her since the waterfall, and the bond was displeased with that fact.
Most mates couldn’t stop fucking when their bond was fresh, driven to a frenzy with one another despite the instant connection with a total stranger. Assyria and I, on the other hand, had been together a whopping three times. She didn’t realize how much I craved her, how many hours I spent awake at night watching her sleep. After what happened to her, I’d never force myself upon her. She needed to come to me, and I was fine with that.
Still wanted to find Vagach’s body and reanimate him so I could at least rip him to shreds for hurting Assyria, even if he was already dead. Even though she’d killed him by accident, I was still proud that she’d done it. These rules we’d implemented for society were horseshit, but they served a purpose. I was glad Assyria ended up in my hands and no one else’s.
The thrill of her challenge was intoxicating, more than the scale I enjoyed when I wasn’t leading the army.
At least now, I could admit to myself that my desire for her was outside of the bounds of our bond. She was beautiful, yes, but she was more than that. She was the fire in my blood, the sharp-thorned roses tattooed across my body. She was the embodiment of perfection, of everything I’d never let myself dream about having. Somewhere along the way, she’d worked herself between my ribs and planted her seed in my heart, bringing it back to life.
I hated it. Everything was so much easier when I felt nothing.
Glancing at the clock, I found dawn an hour away. Sighing, I rubbed the heels of my palms into my eyes. Then, I slipped from the bed and donned my clothes as quickly and quietly as possible. Assyria remained asleep, and as I didn’t want to wake her, I scratched out a note.
I am trusting you to remain in the tent while we fight the Angels. If all goes well, I will return later in the day and we will move the camp forward. If it doesn’t go well, be prepared to grab Blaeze and flee on a moment’s notice.
Stick poised over the parchment, I fought the urge to write more, to write what I truly wanted to say.
I am sorry for being an asshole all this time. I didn’t mean it. I can’t stay away from you and it frightens me. I don’t like being vulnerable. It is easier to be alone than to deal with my feelings. But I didn’t scratch out a single one of them. If I died out there, she’d get to move on with her life, thinking I hated her, and she’d have an easier time for it.
I tucked it beneath the clock on the bedside table.
Grem and Zeec popped up from their prone positions as I tiptoed toward a chest at the foot of the bed. Crouching down, I pulled out their protective harnesses, then eased the lid shut. They needed no instruction to follow me once they saw what I held.
The air was cold against my face, and the scent of burning wood filtered into my nostrils as I strode toward the front of camp. Sentries waited there, having spent the night scanning the horizon for movement. We’d made a diagonal cut away from the canyon in hopes of both closing the distance and warding off any potential sneak attacks since the Angels had retreated. I’d prefer to catch them while they backtracked, forcing them to move faster.
“Morning, Halálhívó,” one of the Százados greeted me. Then, he proffered a scroll. “From Hadvezér Trol.”
I snatched and unfurled it immediately. Apparently, the Angels had seen his mounted force arriving and all but abandoned their position. The majority at the rear had disappeared up the canyon, no doubt closing in on where it lifted once again to level with the rest of the Paks Desert. The strips on either side were uninhabitable, so I had to assume they were either going to risk their forces or dig in around Lutsk. I hoped, given Rapp and I’s positions, that it was the former.
“Send a missive telling him to keep pushing forward and we will meet him closer to Lutsk,” I instructed the Százados.
“Yes, sir,” he said, offering me a closed-fisted salute.
“Anything else?” I prodded.
“No, sir. No movement on the horizon, though our forward scout has not yet returned. We expect him imminently,” he reported.
“Find me when he does.”
A breeze whispered over the flat desert, piercing the narrow slots between the pieces of my black metal armor. Grem and Zeec trotted dutifully alongside me until I found a bench. Sitting on it, I put one of the harnesses to the side, then called Grem over. The thick leather wrapped around his neck, secured by a tie, then over his back, protecting his spine. On his belly, more ties waited to fasten more flexible fabric that moved when he breathed. It wasn’t as protective as metal armor but it saved them from bumps and scrapes that would have otherwise wounded them.
They may have been docile around Assyria, but the two were bloodthirsty on the battlefield, trained to fight, chase, and bite the Angels alongside us. Really, I should utilize more hounds, but the dogs took time and skill to train, as did their handlers.
By the time I finished securing Zeec’s armor, the Százados found me, another male in tow. “Halálhívó,” he said by way of greeting. The second male saluted.
“Yes?”
Clearing his throat, the second stepped forward. “Angels made camp approximately ninety minutes north of here, Halálhívó. With the earth being so flat, I didn’t dare get closer, but I estimated a force of thirty thousand, with more beyond but out of sight.”
A wicked thrill licked my bones at the promise of an all out slaughter. I wasn’t a fool to believe that the force was anything but an exploratory one. But if we could overwhelm them, that would be a major dent in their forces. The reason I sent for as many conscripts as I did was to at least double their numbers.
Bodies won wars. Powerful magic came second.
And right then, we had the numbers.
“Wake our forces and tell them it’s time to move. We need to strike while we still have an advantage,” I ordered the two.
“Yes, sir,” they replied, then hurried off to do as I bid.
I chose to rouse the three Parancsok I brought with me myself, and within half an hour the bulk of our forces were ready to march. The first hints of dawn had crested the horizon, which meant we’d arrive just as the day broke at the Angel’s encampment. Facing them head on would be no challenge, especially if they didn’t expect us to move until later in the day.
Sleepless red eyes stared back at me as I rode down the line of males, some on the precipice of their first battle, others hardened against the anticipation that preceded it. As I turned my stallion around and urged him forward, the males followed, and I tried my damndest not to twist in my saddle and search for the black tent at the rear of the camp where Assyria still slept.
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If I thought the boredom of my existence in the war camp was bad, the anxiety of being nearly alone in it while the soldiers were away fighting was excruciating. When I’d awoken and found Rokath’s note, I’d hurriedly dressed and tiptoed out of the tent, finding only a few males still about, some tending to things that needed mending, others caring for the injured. Otherwise, the vast network I’d come to call home was eerily empty. And eerily quiet.
My thoughts, however, were loud enough to fill the void.
When our bond first snapped into place, I never thought I’d pace over a threadbare rug, fretting for his life. What the fuck was wrong with me? I shouldn’t be worrying over him. I worried for Rapp, too, assuming that he faced a similar battle across the distant canyon.
My gut twisted in knots. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t drink, for the fear that pulsed through my veins.
I didn’t even have Grem and Zeec to keep me company. Digging through the various bags and chests in our tent, I found a ball the two of them liked to chase and threw it against the wooden table for something, anything, to distract from the breath that wouldn’t move in my chest.
When that didn’t do the trick, I plaited my hair and stepped outside again. Looking around, I found no one, so I took off at a sprint, racing down the line of tents before skidding to a stop and backtracking. It didn’t take long for me to become thoroughly winded from the exercise, so I switched into the routine Izgath and Uzadaan had shown me, taking care to properly engage my shoulder so I didn’t injure it again.
Over and over I repeated the exercises until I didn’t feel like I was going to crawl out of my skin anymore, and my breathlessness forced air into my lungs. The sun beat down overhead, only serving to make me sweat more. A few wayward tendrils of hair clung to my face, and I shoved them back, hands coming away wet.
With a sigh, I returned to the tent and stripped out of my sweaty clothes, then used the basin and some cloths to wipe myself clean. It was the best I could do for now, though at this point I was used to it.
While I cooled off, I lay in the bed and stared at the ceiling, worries slithering back into my mind like a snake through shifting grains of sand. Again, I found the ball and fidgeted with it, trying to soothe the nervousness I couldn’t shake.
Midway through the afternoon, a male I recognized as one of the healers poked his head into our tent. “Apologies, Halálhívó’s chosen, but we need to move.”
The ball I had been tossing aimlessly between my hands dropped to my lap. “Move? Why?” Rokath’s note flashed through my mind. Had they lost? Were we supposed to flee? I would know if something had happened to him through our bond, right?
Before I could reach down it to check on him, the healer responded, “We need to advance with the battalions, otherwise they won’t have food and healing supplies readily available.”
My brows crashed together. “So, they won?”
“Aye, they did.” The healer couldn’t smother the grin that split his face. “The Reaper’s eye was elsewhere this day.”
“Indeed. The Weaver’s thread too is strong. Glory to the Demons,” I replied automatically, mind still spinning. All day, I sat here, worrying to the point that my fingernails were utterly destroyed. Somehow, I couldn’t convince myself to believe that Rokath would walk back into our tent like he promised in his note.
“If you don’t mind, we’d like to pack up now,” the healer told me, stirring me from my thoughts.
“Oh, yes, right,” I said, jumping from the bed and grabbing the satchels that held mine and Rokath’s clothes, taking extra care of the worn, fraying leather of Rokath’s bag. One day, he’d tell me exactly what happened that caused him to keep it.
The healer tied back the flaps, and a gust of hot desert air blustered through the space as he and two others entered, making quick work of dismantling everything.
Squinting against the brightness, I approached a wagon just outside the tent and secured them at the front where they were easily accessible. At the last moment, I remembered the scarf and dug it out, draping it with expert precision after so many days under the sun.
Blaeze was tied to the side of it, already saddled and ready for me to ride. I stepped out of the way to let the males fill the wagon and noticed most of the rest of camp had been deconstructed already. “Why not return here?” I asked the one who had been in my tent.
“The Halálhívó wants to press their advantage. Apparently they took the Angels by quite a surprise, both from the Halálhívó’s push and Hadvezér Rapp’s,” he told me, hefting the wooden flap at the rear and then securing the pins in place so nothing would slide out. He slapped the side of it, sending an echo toward the front.
“If you’re ready, Halálhívó’s chosen,” he said, gesturing to a still-hitched Blaeze.
“Yes, thank you,” I said, going to my horse and taking his reins. The male strode around to the front and joined another in the driver’s seat.
Still feeling adrift, I dug my foot into the stirrup and mounted him. They trundled forward, and I followed alongside, unsure how to act without Rokath running interference between me and everyone else.
He must have been intensely focused on the task at hand if he allowed me to go without an entire guard toward a battlefield. I was hesitant to reach down our bond and search his mind, not only because my feelings about him were such a tangled mess, but also because I didn’t want to distract him by appearing in his mind.
If he was winning, and handily, then I wanted him to continue to do so. The sooner this was all over, the sooner I would know that Rokath, Rapp, and every Demon in the realm wouldn’t perish.
Still, the rear was the better place to be, so I stayed there, riding silently along the healers, until we approached a stretch of torn, bloodsoaked earth. The scent of death assaulted me immediately, and I coughed, gagged, and forced myself to breathe through my mouth. One of the healers dug out thick red cloths and passed them around. They each wrapped one over their nose and mouths.
“You get used to it eventually, once you’re around it enough,” the one called out to me, though his words were slightly muffled.
Taking his cue, I rewound the scarf so it also covered my mine
“It’s worse in the summer when it’s hot. Attracts more flies and everything rots faster,” he continued like this was a normal conversation.
My stomach churned, and I kept my gaze firmly forward. But then, the first pile of bodies appeared just ahead, and bile rose in my throat.
This was nothing like I’d experienced with the plague.
The moment someone died of the sickness, they were carted away and burned. Besides that, it was winter, and the smell wasn’t so foul.
Here, despite the openness, the stretch clung to everything, filling my nostrils through the scarf. True to his word, flies buzzed over the tangled pile of limbs. White hair was soaked with blood, blue eyes were glassy and lifeless. Jaws forever frozen in silent screams.
The sight was horrifying.
I ripped the scarf away, bent over and retched. The wagon halted, and the male hopped down, rushing to my side. Once I finished, gasping for air, he offered me a waterskin. “Thanks,” I said, lifting it to my lips with shaky hands. I swished the cool liquid in my mouth and spit it away from him. I dared not lift my gaze and see what else was strewn across the battlefield.
“Would you like to ride in the wagon? You’ll be hotter but at least then you won’t have to see it,” he offered, concern etching his face.
I knew what he was thinking—this was why they didn’t have females in the Demon army. But as I faced him, a petite figure with long braided hair caught my attention. The head was turned away from me, and the body was facedown on the earth, but there was no mistaking the Angel female who had fought and died for her realm.
I sucked in a breath and squared my shoulders because I needed to prove to these males that a female could hold a place among them during the war. That we were worthy of more equal treatment than we currently received. “I’m ready to continue,” I pronounced, my voice steady and firm. These males wouldn’t question my presence after today.
Lifting my chin, I rode past the bloated bodies with carrion birds picking at them and toward the roar of battle and clashing metal. Blood rushed in my ears, increasing to a cacophonous crescendo when we rounded a tumble of rocks and spilled onto the field of war. Even more of it slicked the ground from where the wagons had pulled off to one side, with a mile or so distance to the nearest fighters.
My breath fled as I beheld the apocalyptic scene, flashes of light and dark battling among silver and bronze. Shrieks and howls rent the air, slamming into me with so much force I instinctively wanted to flee. But I gritted my teeth and moved forward, trying to stay hidden among the moving wagons.
The stench was even worse here, sweat and metal combining with the dust and assaulting my face as the wind blasted across the flat expanse. It carried with it the sounds of the dying too, piercing that part of me that was acutely aware of the pain of loss.
And there was so much of it.
The Demons had their backs to us, leaving mounds of white-haired bodies in their wake, and very few dark-haired ones. I scanned the fray in search of a helmet with horns of wicked ebony.
It didn’t take long to find my mate. Not when the cries of anguish shifted to ones of horror.
I froze as I beheld the Halálhívó in all his glory.
Rokath stood on his own, a ring of bodies a dozen paces in every direction. Shadows swirled like a dark twister around him as he made a dramatic move to curl his fingers into his palm.
Then he dropped to one knee.
He cocked his arm back.
And he slammed his fist into the ground.
The earth trembled with fear beneath me.
A shockwave of shadow blasted from the circle, ghosting across the ground and wrapping around the dead bodies scattered across the field. Slowly, they perked up, some wielding weapons of silver, others weapons of bronze.
The hairs on the back of my neck rose.
A collective roar sounded from the still-living Demons, and they charged forward with renewed vigor as the dead joined them in fighting the Angels.
“Reaper,” I murmured, heart pounding against my ribcage as I watched the scene unfold. It was unlike anything I had ever seen, could have possibly dreamed of, with Rokath acting like a God in directing the movements of them all.
Pebbles coated my skin, and a chill settled over me, banishing the heat of the sun.
Hundreds, thousands of bodies under his command fell upon the Angels, fighting as furiously as any of the living.
When the Angels hacked at them, however, they did not flinch. Did not rest, did not surrender, and with horror I watched one dead leap onto a living male and rip his throat out with his teeth. Another speared the reanimated corpse from behind, and it turned its fury on the newcomer who barely managed to slice its head from its shoulders.
The male panted, a look of pure anguish on his face as he beheld his fallen comrades. The corpse remained motionless. The Angel who it killed, however, rose again, under the command of Rokath’s power, and launched himself at the still-living one.
All I could do was stare in slack-jawed awe as the tide crashed over the Angels, each fresh corpse only an addition to Rokath’s growing horde. It was a terrifying sight to behold, and yet my body yearned for my mate. His power was intoxicating, and I opened the block I kept firmly over our bond to let it infuse me.
As if he sensed me finally, he tilted his head over his shoulder, and all I could see in the slit in his helmet was one maniacal burgundy eye. Rokath wasn’t just the Halálhívó and the leader of the entire Demon army. No, he was a Weaver of fate himself, with power to bring any God to their knees. And as he returned his attention forward, the Angels did just that, dying faster than they could flee.
Because I knew one thing for certain about Rokath.
He offered no mercy.
The battle was over within minutes, and still, I couldn’t close my mouth. Finally, I understood the fervency of belief in Rokath and Xannirin. The worship. The veneration.
The Giver wouldn’t create a power like his if she and the other Fates didn’t have plans for him to wield it.
My anxiety over his well-being earlier that day seemed like a silly thing now that I had borne witness to his prowess. He didn’t need me to fret that he might die on the battlefield.
In fact, he didn’t need me at all.
And yet as that riot of shadow stopped swirling, he faced me again, eyes colliding with mine with the force of a violent thunderstorm. Like lightning had struck between us, I leaped from my horse and he raced toward me, snatching me in his arms and crushing me against him. I yanked the horns atop his head and tossed the skull-shaped helmet to the side, and then his mouth was on mine, furious, hot, passionate.
No, he did not need me. But he desired me. Wanted this. And I did too.
The thought struck me like a thunderclap, stealing my breath even more than the swipe of Rokath’s tongue against my own. The thought frightened me, but I groaned wantonly into his mouth anyway. Wrapping my legs around his armored waist, I barely managed to lock my feet together. In his arms, I was tiny, and after watching him wield his power, I felt so incredibly safe.
Our bond was an opened floodgate, the high of the battle cascading from him into me, heating my blood. My core throbbed with the need of him, and wave after wave of lust swept over us both.
“I need to be inside you,” he growled into my mind.
“Yes,” I pleaded back, not caring that we had an audience or were surrounded by dead and dying bodies.
Rokath broke our kiss, chest heaving, eyes wild. He placed me gingerly on my feet, then whispered in my ear, “Run.”
A thrill shattered through my veins, and I bit my lip and spun on my heel, wasting no time in racing across the ruby ground toward the rumble of rocks.
“Fifty, forty-nine, forty-eight, forty-seven…” Rokath counted down, spiking my heart rate and making me pump my arms faster. A grin split my face as I willingly ran, ecstatic for what would happen when Rokath caught me. Gone was the female Vagach had beat into bitter submission, who gripped the sheets and waited for him to finish. I had bloomed into a fiery female, owning that I too enjoyed this game of chase and the intensity of Rokath’s desire coursing down our bond.
I stuck out a hand and grabbed a jutted stone, using it to propel me around the bend faster, putting more distance between us.
“Ten, nine, eight…”
Sweat dripped from my temples and down my spine, but I wasn’t going to stop running until Rokath grabbed me. I skidded around another bend in the rock, the sounds of battle nearly dying out as I slipped between two large boulders. The slot offered a semblance of privacy and protection, and I glanced around, trying to find another exit or way to scramble up the rocks.
The ground trembled beneath my feet, and I spared a glance over my shoulder, finding Rokath a hundred yards behind me and closing in quickly. A laugh tore free and I raced forward again. But before I got much farther, I felt him reach for me. Spinning, I avoided his grip, then ducked under his outstretched arm and raced in the other direction. What I lacked in size, I compensated with agility.
A rumble filled the slot as he spun and gave chase again. “Can’t fuck me if you can’t catch me, Rokath,” I teased, breathless. When I faced forward again, I skidded to a stop, too late, and landed myself in a tangle of shadows.
A low, sinister laugh that raised the hairs on my arms echoed around me. “Got you, little imposter.”
The debauched grin Rokath wore sent a gush of wetness between my thighs. Piece by piece, he stripped off his armor, maintaining his hold on me the entire time. I wiggled against his magic, but they were like vines around my arms and legs. One smoky tendril offered my neck a gentle caress, causing me to shiver from head to toe. Another tugged at the laces of my tunic and pants, stripping me bare without him having to touch me.
Never before had he displayed such power with me, and the sheer mastery alone was impressive. Let alone the lethal body of the male who wielded it. The culmination of it all made me drip for him. If my thighs had been sticky with sweat before, they were damp for an entirely different reason as he revealed his swollen length, the tip beaded for me.
“Will you get on your knees or do I have to force you there?” he growled, striding forward. His cock bobbed with each step, and I couldn’t help but watch it. The hold over his magic softened enough that I fell to my knees willingly, ready to worship him.
A primal, masculine sound slipped out, and he cupped my cheek, lifting my face so I was forced to look him in the eye. “Good girl.” He thumbed my lip, and without resisting, I opened for him and sucked the tip into my mouth, raking my teeth along the pad. “Open wide,” he commanded, and I dropped my jaw again, although for a very different reason than before.
As he slid along my tongue, a burst of salty musk flooded my senses. He stopped before he hit my throat, then dropped his hand from my face and braced himself against the smooth stone. Eyes like an inferno stared down at me as I worked over his length, remembering how deeply he liked being in my throat before. I gagged around him, struggling to breathe, and he groaned. “Just like that, Assyria. You’re doing so well.”
