Page 105 of Academy of the Wicked: Year Three

She likes it rough.

She likes it when I lose control.

I can see it in the way her eyes glaze, in the way she starts to babble nonsense, in the way she clings to me, desperate to be ruined.

I give her what she wants.

I bounce her up and down on my cock, using the full length, making sure she feels every inch, every vein, every pulse of magic. The sounds she makes are obscene—moans and gasps and the occasional sob, my name punctuating every syllable.

“Mortimer—please—harder?—”

She doesn’t have to beg.

I’m on the brink already, fighting to keep from coming before she does, but the way she’s squeezing me, the way she’s looking at me, it’s almost impossible to hold out.

“Almost there,” I grit, voice more animal than human.

She wraps her arms around my neck, pulls herself up, and kisses me, hard, biting my lip until it bleeds. The taste of blood pushes her over the edge—her eyes snap open, pupils blown wide, and she comes, body locking down on me, a wild, electric clench that tears the orgasm out of me whether I want to surrender or not.

I roar.

There’s no other word for it.

The dragon in me breaks free, the sound echoing through the library, bouncing off the floating shelves, making the entire maze tremble with its force.

I come, and come, and come, filling her so completely I half expect to see it spill out around my cock. The sensation is endless, bottomless, like I’ve been storing it up for a hundred years just for this moment.

She collapses against me, boneless, shuddering with aftershocks, and I hold her, arms wrapped tight, afraid that if I let go I’ll float off into the void.

For a while, there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing, the slow, heavy drag of air through lungs that are fighting to remember how to function.

Eventually, she lifts her head, eyes glazed but triumphant.

“Best. Fucking. Finale. Ever,” she manages.

I laugh, not because it’s funny, but because it’s true. In all my long years, I’ve never felt anything like this—not just the sex, but the sense of…completion. Of finding the right adversary.

The right partner.

“Careful,” I warn, voice soft now, the old professor leaking back in. “You may have just set the curve for the entire Academy.”

She laughs, then winces, shifting on my lap.

We’re still joined, still impossibly full, but neither of us is eager to separate just yet.

“Is this going to…change things?” she asks, suddenly shy.

I brush her hair back from her face, then lean in to kiss her cheek, her jaw, the hollow of her throat.

“Yes,” I admit. “But only for the better.”

We sit there, entwined, for a long time.

Eventually, Gwen shifts off my lap, groaning as she does, and collapses on her back on the desk. I join her, lying side by side, hands touching, eyes on the impossible ceiling.

“We should probably go find the others,” she says, but makes no move to get up.

I nod.