Obsidian Flame (Guardians of Ascension #5)(36)
Author: Caris Roane

With his hands on hers, he folded her to the backyard.

She protested, but he still didn’t care.

He glanced around. It was a private yard except for Diallo’s large house on the massive outcropping of rock. Some of his windows faced this direction. Maybe they’d be seen. Maybe not.

Again, he didn’t care.

The rational part of his mind seemed to be slipping away in quick stages.

He dragged her to the picnic table and flipped her onto her stomach so that she hung off the ground, her bare feet just touching the ground.

“You can’t do this,” she cried.

But he smelled a rush of rose so strong that he threw a quick dome of mist over the yard and released a sudden cry because his wings flew through his wing-locks. Releasing wings was always pleasurable, an intense rush, a release of endorphins, and very sexual. He roared, his chest aimed at the sky. He beat his wings in strong thrusts as he held on to the table. He kept her pinned with the strength of his thighs.

He folded off his kilt.

“Your wings,” she whispered, her voice low and rough. “So beautiful.”

He didn’t say anything. He just rubbed his erection down the slick line of her leather-covered ass.

“Get my pants off.”

He rubbed her back. His wings wafted and because they were so big, a breeze flowed.

“Oh, your scent. It’s grabbing me low. Thorne.” She sounded in agony. Good. About damn time.

She was pressed against the picnic table. He put his hand on her ass and folded off her pants. He stroked her ass, running a finger deep, then he pushed her legs apart. Her hips were already rocking into the table.

“Fuck me,” she whispered. “Oh, God, just f**k me.”

He put his hand on her shoulder and folded off her robe. Her back was a mess. Her wing-locks were swollen and weeping. She wasn’t far away from a mount herself, but he knew of one sure way to keep the wings from releasing.

He leaned over and began to suck. He started at the upper left wing-lock and gorged on the moisture that wept from the aperture. The taste of roses flowed down his throat and kept him stiff.

She cried out over and over beneath his mouth. She moved her hips wildly, trying to get a connection that would give her some relief. But he was pissed that she would even think about going to a male strip club and he knew exactly how to punish her. He kept her orgasm just off shore. In the meantime, his hips rocked and he teased her with his c**k sliding along the insides of her legs.

“Please, Thorne. Please.”

Forget it, sweetheart. Sounds like you’ll be getting your kicks tonight. I don’t think you deserve my cock. What do you think?

She tasted so good. He sucked harder on the next wing-lock. Her back arched. She tried to slide her hand under her hip, to give herself some relief, but like hell he would allow that. He grabbed her wrist and held her tight.

Please, Thorne, I’m begging you.

He released her suddenly and backed away, his wings shimmying with the tension in his body. He held his c**k in his hand and stroked himself, moving to the side to let her see.

She rose up, her eyes widening, her gaze fixed low.

“If you want this, you’re going to have to work for it.”

He forgot how fast she was, though. She had speed like a warrior and before he knew what she was doing, she had slid on the grass on her knees right at his feet. He meant to prevent her from doing anything, but she took him in her mouth and began to suck.

Okay, he was too far gone with need, desire, and a kind of primordial possessive rage. He caught the nape of her neck and helped her suck him.

She knew what she was doing and took him deep, as deep as she could.

Thorne, give it to me. Give me all you’ve got.

He was so close to letting go, but he held back. He moved away from her, holding his cock, thumbing the tip.

She sat on her knees, staring at his groin, panting. Her ni**les were hard buds.

Shit. For a moment, he’d intended to come in her mouth and leave her.

He put out his hand, palm-down. She nodded.

He leaned down and picked her up, a movement that caused his wings to sweep all the way to the ground and for a moment cover her in a tent of feathers.

But this had to be finished between them and because he was who he was, he couldn’t leave in her agony. He carried her back to the picnic table but settled her on her back this time.

I want your blood, he sent.

She said nothing, just arched her neck, and the vein rose without a single swipe of his tongue against her skin. He pushed her legs apart, positioned himself, and drove in. At the same moment, he turned his head, closed in on her throat, and bit deep.

Her body jerked, but a heavy waft of rose flooded his face as he began to suck. He gripped her arms, pinning her, his hips working her low, his mouth sucking hard.

She held still for him, but he could feel the tightness in her well and she’d begun to whimper softly. The lowest part of her began matching his thrusts, tilting into him and creating the familiar rhythm. She was a fist now pulling on him.

He didn’t ask permission this time. He just pressed against her mind, then pushed hard.

She cried out, but he saw her pleasure begin to streak, and as she pulled on him, he could feel the pulses and the ecstasy that had her screaming.

Her blood had created a furnace in his body.

He was ready. Oh, God.

Yes, Thorne, give me all you’ve got.

His balls tightened and even if he’d wanted to hold back, he couldn’t have. He let out a roar as he came, pleasure riding up, straight up as his c**k released into her. She kept up just the right rhythm, as though savoring him, just as she always had.

His wings wafted slowly through the air, back and forth, as his body settled down.

You’re all man, came from her mind, a subdued tone.

Finally he withdrew from her and at the same time retracted his wings.

He didn’t say a word as he headed to the back door.

He couldn’t exactly put a name to what he felt as he reached the doorway to the bathroom and he wasn’t sure he’d actually enjoyed the orgasm.

He put a hand to his chest and closed his eyes—then it hit him. Dammit, he was hurt … to the quick. Did she care so little for him that despite her understanding of the breh-hedden she would even think about going to that goddamn club?

* * *

Marguerite was cold as hell as she lifted off the table. She remained standing for about two seconds then fell to the grass, completely naked. She stretched out. She was wet between her legs and her eyes burned. Some of her frustration had eased, but her guilt had about tripled.