Page 40 of A Heist for Filthy Rivals (Mythic Holidays #3)

She spreads her legs wide, each foot braced against the opposite rows of cabinets.

Her fingers probe between her thighs, finding each plump lip and stretching them apart.

They’re glossy with her arousal, and so are her inner thighs.

She’s so wet she’s dripping as she lies there, holding herself open for me.

Never before have I been able to get hard this quickly after an orgasm, but the blood is definitely surging to my cock again.

Maybe it’s the air of Faerie. Their magic is connected to sex, after all.

It makes sense that it could influence human physiology too, especially in a place as magically charged as this fortress.

Whatever the reason, I’m getting another hard-on. But I don’t plan to indulge myself again until she has come at least once.

I take the silver spoon from behind my back, and Devilry’s eyes widen.

I can practically see her gauging the length and width of its handle and figuring out how I’m planning to use it.

She starts to close her legs, but I stop her with an abrupt, “No. If you move, I’m tying you in place. Trust me, like I trust you.”

She glares at me like the naughty girl she is, but she remains spread out, open to my touch. As I kneel between her legs, I notice the eager quiver of her pussy and the tightness of her nipples. She’s flushed, her pupils dilated to wide, dark circles.

Lightly I touch the end of the smooth silver handle to her clit.

“Oh,” she says in the tiniest voice, and she trembles.

I keep the rounded end of the handle there for a moment to let it warm against her flesh. Then I slide it down through her slippery center and glide it back and forth at her entrance, lubricating it well.

“Relax, love.” I touch her thigh, and she yields, her muscles loosening. As she succumbs, I slide the silver object into her body. She gasps with soft pleasure.

Carefully I pulse the silver length in and out of her, admiring the contrast of its shiny wet surface with the pink suction of her pussy.

“I wish you could see how pretty your cunt looks right now,” I tell her. “How does it feel?”

“Like magic,” she whispers.

“Good.” I keep thrusting into her, holding the improvised toy with my left hand while my right fingers find her clit. I squeeze the little bit of flesh with my thumb and forefinger, and she whimpers.

“Hush, sweetheart,” I croon, massaging the tender nub with my fingertips. I watch her expression, adjusting the angle of my touch now and then, switching between rapid little rubs and rhythmic petting to keep her titillated.

“Right there,” she pants at last. “Oh, just like that. Yes, yes, Ravager, Ravager!” She’s nearly screaming, and then her cunt begins convulsing around the silver handle.

I press two fingers over her clit while I watch her pussy flutter through those pretty little spasms. Nothing has ever given me as much delight as watching her come.

I slide the silver object out of her opening and drape myself over her body, sucking on those trembling little tits with my mouth. Her fingers dig against my scalp, raking hard, curling convulsively into my hair. She’s still panting beneath me, legs spread wide as she comes down from the orgasm.

“You perfect fucking beauty.” I kiss her collarbone, then her mouth. My cock, freshly hard, rubs along her clit, and she whines at the contact.

“Inside me,” she whispers. “I need more, Ravager. Harder.”

I kiss her again, her eager breath bursting into my mouth.

Then I rise and pick her up. She’s no small woman—she’s a goddess, lithe and long, and I thank the stars for a profession that requires me to stay active and strong so it’s easy for me to lift her and set her lovely bottom on the surface of the lower cabinets, with her back against the shelves.

I grip her thighs, wrapping those beautiful legs around my hips.

She’s already one step ahead of me, reaching into the heat between us, guiding my cock inside her.

“Don’t be gentle,” she says. “Fuck me like we’re fighting to the death.”

“You’re injured,” I object, but she snarls, “Please,” through gritted teeth, her eyes burning like molten silver, and I can’t deny her.

I grab her wrists and pin them together right above her head, ramming them against the shelves so hard she gasps. Holding them there, I kiss her brutally, nipping at the sore place on her lip with my teeth until it bleeds, and her coppery salt coats my tongue.

At first I think I’ve gone too far, but when I pull back, she’s smiling, her lips wet with blood, her eyes alight with mad fire.

I growl and shove my cock into her so hard the shelves shake.

Again I thrust, and thrust, staring into her eyes while she stares into mine.

I crush her mouth with another remorseless kiss, while she digs her fingernails into my back and my waist.

“Deeper,” she gasps out, reckless tears in her voice. “Make it hurt.”

I ram her against the shelves over and over, a jolting rhythm that must be hurting her spine—but her eyes roll up and drift closed, and I feel her come again.

“Mine,” she says brokenly, clawing me closer even as she’s coming hard on my cock. “You’re mine.”

“Fuck yes.” I kiss her mouth, her cheek, her neck. “And you’re mine.”

She tenses slightly, and then her arms, her legs, and her cunt all relax around me—not desperate, but clinging with soft confirmation. “I’m yours.”

At those words, I come inside her, shoulders heaving, cock throbbing.

All the tension rushes out of my body, as if she sucked all the uncertainty and suspicion and fear right out of me.

As if the magic between us is enough to create a reality where we are both safe, a future in which we are both loved.

I draw her away from the shelves and pick her up again, keeping myself sheathed inside her. I walk to the kitchen and set her down by the sink. When my cock slips out of her, cum spills onto the counter, so I have her spread herself open again so I can clean every part of her.

“You love pussy, don’t you?” she asks, watching me as I work. “Most men like the idea of it, or the feel of it, but you really love looking at it, tasting it—everything about it.”

“Yes, I do. But the obsession has reached its peak with you. Just look at you. You have the most perfect cunt I’ve ever seen.”

“Depends on your point of view,” she says. “There are lots of different types of perfect cunts.”

“Yours is my favorite.”

“How lovely for you. Can I get down now?”

“Rude woman. Fine, go ahead.” I smack her thigh lightly, and she giggles. The merriment seems to startle her, and her face falls immediately, as if she has remembered some terrible burden that she forgot while we were fucking.

“Right,” I say slowly. “We need to get dressed so we can blow the place up.”

Soberly she nods, picking up her clothes. “Any ideas?”

“I think I might know a way to do it. But we’re going to need some pots, jars, and buckets, along with all the rope we can find.”