Page 31 of Goldrage (The Chrysophilist Trilogy #3)

He tugs me towards the bed, and I try one last time to protest. “You need rest,” I whisper. My fingers brush the scar under his shirt. “I don’t want to hurt?—”

“You won’t,” he interrupts, already pulling me down until I straddle his lap. The mattress groans under our weight. “If you really want to help me heal, my love, you’ll sit on my face and let me taste you until I forget I’m a prisoner.”

I freeze, shocked by the bluntness, the rawness of it. Heat floods my cheeks, my throat. “Adrian,” I hiss, and maybe it’s a warning, or maybe I’m the one begging now.

He leans back, dragging me with him, and I realize I’m trembling more from want than nerves. He lies on his back, hair fanning across the sheets. His hands are on my thighs, then my hips, drawing me up and up until I’m kneeling with my knees planted on either side of his head.

His breath feathers through my thin sleep shorts. “Take them off,” he says, and when I hesitate, his grip tightens. “Now.”

I glance at the clock; time is counting down.

Quickly, I hook my thumbs in the waistband, dragging my shorts and underwear down in one shaky motion. Cold air tingles across my skin, but his gaze devours me and makes me feel more naked than I’ve ever been. He licks his lips, slow and deliberate, like he’s about to feast.

“Come here,” he says, and I can’t say no. I shift forward, thighs trembling, and lower myself until his nose is pressed just beneath my clit, his mouth right at my entrance.

The first touch is charged. His tongue flicks into me greedily, his nose nudging my most sensitive spot like he wants to inhale me.

“Fuck,” I moan, already losing control.

He doesn’t give me time to adjust, just devours me.

His tongue plunges, circles, fucks me with relentless intent.

Every time I rock forward, his nose presses hard against my clit, sending shockwaves through my pelvis up my spine.

He groans into me, like this is his last meal and he doesn’t want to leave a scrap behind.

I glance at the clock. Five minutes left.

“Adrian,” I pant, “we don’t have time?—”

He snaps his eyes up, locking onto mine, and growls. The vibration hits my core, heightening every throb of pleasure. He digs his fingers into my thighs, spreading me wider. The silk of his hair tickles my inner legs, his mouth working with a need so deep it almost frightens me.

He wants to erase every moment we’ve lost and replace it with this one: me, helpless and trembling over him, my knees threatening to give, my breath ragged and uneven.

Adrian’s focus has never been more ferocious. He eats like a starving animal, and I surrender to the storm, hips rolling against his face, grinding down because—hell—he leaves me no other choice. With each stroke of his tongue, each desperate suck, I unravel more.

Four minutes left .

My body is arching, nerves misfiring as his mouth brings me right to the edge, over and over, but never lets me fall. He’s playing with me, drinking in every whimper and gasp like wine.

Such a dangerous game when we could be discovered.

“Adrian,” I gasp, “let me come, please, please?—”

He answers with a moan that vibrates through my pelvis. His hands snake up, one palm steadying my lower back, the other moving to stroke my stomach. His thumb brushes just below my navel—right where a baby might grow, if I were telling the truth—and something inside me fractures.

He tongues me harder now, relentless, and I break apart for him.

My orgasm detonates through my pelvis, white-hot and violent, tearing a scream from my throat that I bite down on to keep from alerting the entire estate.

My knees buckle, and I collapse over him, trembling, barely conscious of Adrian’s arms holding me in place as he keeps licking, gentle now, savoring every aftershock.

When the world comes back into focus, he’s still beneath me, breathless and grinning, his lips slick and red. I slide off and collapse on the bed. For a moment, we just breathe together, hearts pounding, bodies tangled.

“That was—” I start, but words fail. I bury my face in his neck, hiding my smile.

“It was. But we should get you dressed,” he says. “Two minutes before the cameras are live.”

I sit up, panic and satisfaction caught in my throat. “Shit, right. ”

He helps me find my shorts, his hands lingering as he pulls them back over my hips. He kisses my knee, my thigh, the insides of both until I have to fight not to drag him down again. But I catch sight of the digital clock.

One minute.

I stand, ready to bolt.

He pulls me in for one last kiss, then says, “Never doubt my love for you. It’s absolute.”

Tears sting my eyes, but I nod and pull away. I run for the door, not looking back because I know I’m out of time.

My legs barely hold me. I’m slick and aching and raw, but I bolt down the corridor anyway, fueled by adrenaline and the memory of Adrian’s mouth on me. I keep my head down, praying no one appears and sees me wild-eyed and radiant in post-orgasmic ruin.

The library is closer than my room, so I duck inside with seconds to spare.

My pulse is pounding in my ears as I drop into one of the velvet armchairs by the lifeless fireplace.

I click on a lamp and grab a random book off the end table—something old and brittle and unread, its cover flecked with gold. I try to steady my breath.

I pretend to read as a camera lens pans, clicks, records the image of a Harrow captive lost in thought.

My mouth still tingles from Adrian’s kiss.

We’ll be out of here. Soon.

Together.