When Aon “blinked” them back to his home, Lydia felt her stomach lurch in motion even as everything else stilled. Before she could recover from the teleportation, he had pressed her up against the wall of the library and leaned his body into hers, pinning her against the surface with the length of his thigh.
“Can you even fathom,” Aon purred, his hand slipping through her hair only to clench it in a fist and pull her head backward, “what I have wished to do to you all damn day?”
Lydia shuddered at his grasp and knew her small whimper from him yanking her head back was anything but a deterrent to him. He was a violent lover, but to his credit, he hadn’t taken it too far. Aon seemed to know precisely how far to go before it would be too much. There was nothing he had done to her that she hadn’t adored.
Aon was possessive. He was needy. He was controlling.
And Lydia loved it.
“I think I would like to taste your lips once more,” he murmured as he reached his hand toward her temple, intending to switch off her vision.
Maybe it was the beer.
Yeah, blame it on the beer.
Lydia caught his hand in hers and stopped him. He tilted his head to her curiously, as if wondering why she interrupted him. She folded his hand against her shoulder and let her own hands wander across him. “Not so fast.”
Now that she had a chance to finally touch him, she let her hands run up his chest, lacing the fingers into his hair at the back of his neck, and pulled him closer. He let out a low, appreciative sound in his throat as he obeyed.
She wanted him. That dark power was as dangerous as it was exciting. There was still a fear of what he was—of what he could do—but it only seemed to add to her desire. His predatory nature fed a fire in her she hadn’t known she owned. He was a shark in the ocean, a tiger in the jungle, awe-inspiring and deadly.
His prosthetic metal hand dug its claws into her hip. He was already trying to reclaim control and make her squirm underneath his grasp.
Lydia had other plans. She gave up the exploration of him by gripping his wrist and pulling it away from her. She pointed with her other hand to his odd, asymmetrical wing-back chair by the fire. “Sit.”
Oh, man. She was gambling big time.
“Pardon me?” Aon hissed as he withdrew an inch in surprise.
It had been a command. An order. Lydia had just issued Aon a mandate. He straightened his shoulders in haughty indignation at her ballsy move.
“You heard me,” Lydia repeated and pointed at his chair again like she might at a dog. “Sit.”
Aon laughed. For a moment, she wondered if he was going to stick his clawed fingers into her ribs like he did in her dream. But his laughter calmed, and he shook his head. Aon withdrew from her like the prowl of a jungle cat and walked to his chair, dramatically slumping into it. He held out his arms as if to say, “now what?”
Lydia followed him and felt her conviction waver for just a moment. Oh, hell, what the fuck was she doing? This wasn’t some guy from the bar; this wasn’t some second date. She bit back her trepidation and her questionable self-assuredness. You started it. You finish it.
Putting a hand on the back of the chair beside his head, she shifted to straddle his legs. Lydia sat down on his lap, kneeling over him. She leaned into his neck, and he tilted his head away, letting her kiss his throat—slowly, lingering—wanting to taste him. Wanting to memorize how he moved. He moaned as she did, and he shifted underneath her impatiently. How she wished it were his lips. How she wished she could kiss him and still see what she was doing. And she’d need to see to do what she planned.
His hand ran up her back slowly, starting at her waist, slipping underneath her shirt.
Well, now was time to take her gamble. Roll the dice and see what happened. Lydia broke the kiss, grinning against him, and took his hand in hers and captured the other without a fuss from him. She placed his hands on the arms of his wing-back chair. “No touching. You touch, I stop.”
Aon froze and sat there silently, locked tight. Seemingly unsure—even for him—of what to do.
Lydia suddenly knew nobody had ever done this to him, nobody had ever tried to turn the tables. He was always in control. Always the master of the situation. Always the commander of what transpired around him.
She was playing with fire.
But when she released his hands, Aon didn’t move them. He merely shifted his grip on the arms of the chair and sat perfectly still. Rigid and locked solid like a statue. He was tense, uncertain, as if he were wary about what she might do.
What on Earth did he think she was up to, that he was so wound up? “Oh, relax,” she said with a breathy chuckle and kissed his throat once more. She couldn’t kiss his face, so that would have to do. “What the hell do you think I could even do to you, anyway?”
The beer was definitely to blame.
“I do not know what you are plotting, my darling, but I warn you to tread lightly,” he said, even as he turned his head further to make more room for her.
Lydia grinned and leaned in and kissed his jawline slowly, letting herself trace touches of her lips meticulously up along the curved line up toward his ear. “Don’t you trust me?” Lydia lingered on the edge of his mask.
“I do not surrender control. And certainly not in such matters.” Aon’s voice was husky and dark from her kisses. Even through his threat, he squirmed underneath her. Yet again, his responsiveness surprised her. When she dug her teeth into his neck just barely, he arched his back and let out a moan.
Lydia let herself linger at each spot she tormented as she wandered up his neck and let Aon feel the warmth of her breath and the heat of her tongue. Slowly, she made her way to his ear, captured the lobe in her mouth, and bit down. Not gently, either.
Aon hissed breath in through his teeth, clenched his flesh-and-blood fist and pounded it into the arm of the chair. The breath left him in a deep growl. She could hear the claws of his metal prosthetic digging into the wood armrest of the chair, digging trenches in surface. He was a taut bowstring beneath her, needing to move, yanking against his proverbial leash. “You little succubus…”
Lydia started unbuttoning his vest and then undid his tie. Forcing herself to take her time, she continued with his black silk shirt. She forced herself to let it linger. Her hands were now at his waistline, and she undid the last button and pulled the fabric apart. He had not worn an undershirt, and for that, she was immensely grateful.
Letting both her hands roam up over his chest, she marveled at how he felt. Hard like marble, yet it gave way under her fingers. He twitched at her touch, as though he were not expecting it. As though he were not used to it. The marks on his chest were beautiful and haunting in their geometric gatherings and lines. She had seen them in the hot spring that night, but she hadn’t really been able to appreciate them.
He had the power of a god, but…he was here. Now. With her.
As her hands wandered, tracing the lines, soaking in what he felt like, he continued to shift and twitch at her touch. “Don’t you let people touch you?”
“Rarely, if ever. Few offer—even fewer are allowed.”
Lydia leaned her head in close, letting her tongue run along the line of his ear, before nipping at his skin and whispering once more. “Selfish man, trying to deny me this.” Lydia began nipping at his jawline, just under the edge of his mask, her hands slipping along his sides. “Both times so far, it hasn’t been fair. You haven’t let me really touch you. Really enjoy you.”
A low growl escaped Aon again, a sound thick with need and frustration. His hands left the armrests and reached for her. She pulled back and grinned at him mischievously. She ticked a finger in front of his face.
“Ah-ah,” she scolded. He returned his hands to the armrests, but it seemed like it took every ounce of his willpower to do so. This was a game—a game he was willingly entertaining—but he was already straining at the end of his leash. “I’m going to take my sweet time with you. It’s my turn.”
Lydia let the finger she had taunted him with run along his chest, tracing the lines of black ink. Leaning down, she replaced her finger with her tongue. “One of these days, I think I’d like to lick every line of ink you own.”
For a moment, Aon cracked. With a snarl, he went to grab at her hips to pull her down harder against the proof of her efforts. Lydia snickered and stood and slid off his lap before he could. She moved to stand in front of him. “The rules are so simple,” she teased over his comments about their poker game.
Aon gripped the arms of the chair hard enough that the wood creaked. But he did not snap. He didn’t break his control or their game. With a long, frustrated sigh, he leaned his head back once more. “Very well,” he growled, sounding almost furiously angry, but his chest was rising and falling too heavily to truly mask his desire. It gave her the gall to continue.
This time, she undressed because she wanted to, and she took her time. Lydia wanted Aon to watch as if she didn’t care. It was a task to keep her hands from shaking. When she was finally completely nude, she slipped back on top of his lap, straddling him as she had before.
What a beautiful creature was beneath her. Lydia stroked his hair back from his face, combing her fingers through the black tendrils as she tilted his head back against the wing-back chair.
“Oh, yes, judging by that sultry expression of yours, you have only just now discovered your attraction to me,” he complained through a heavy breath. “Clearly, I am some lascivious beast for wooing you in such a toward and unkind fashion.”
Lydia laughed and rested her head against his shoulder briefly. It was a sarcastic and bitter statement, but he really was only speaking the truth. “Shut up and let me do my thing.”
“And what is your ‘thing,’ exactly?”
She put a finger over the spot on his mask under which his lips would be. “You talk too much.” When he obediently remained silent, she let her lips find his ear again to whisper to him. “So shut up and find out.”
Lydia slid her body closer to his and let him feel the press of her breasts against his lithe and muscular chest. Aon moaned low in his throat, and she felt him split his legs apart. He was spreading his knees to pull her body closer to his. It was cheating—bending the spirit of the rules, but not breaking them. He shifted his hips toward the edge of the chair to try and gain more exposure to her.
When she reached the point where his neck met his collarbone, she grinned wickedly against him. She let a hand slide down to palm his arousal through his clothing and at the same time, bit down against his throat. She was going to do her damndest to leave a mark.
The noise that came out of Aon was amazing. It was the most fantastic thing she’d ever heard, and she wanted to hear another one. It was half a roar and half a moan—a hitched, broken sounding thing that ended in a low, angry growl. He tried to form words, but seemed unable to do so, settling instead to shift underneath her and dig his fingers harder into the arms of the chair.
She began stroking him through his clothing slowly—rubbing her thumb along the full of his length, but still taking her time. It was painfully apparent that what she was doing was having an impact on him. She began to suck on the skin of his neck through her teeth, in time with her slow, firm touches on his body.
The growl had now broken back off into a moan, and he was writhing beneath her again, unable to sit still against what she was doing. When she finally broke her clasp on his neck, she licked the result of her work. There was a mark. Good! Finally, he’d have something to show for it, instead of just her and her myriad of scratches and bruises. At least for about two seconds before it would start to heal, anyway. “Turnabout is fair play,” she said against him—letting him feel her breath against the damp spot on his neck she had just spent so much attention toward torturing.
He couldn’t respond except to make a breathy, angry growl at her. But he didn’t break his grasp upon the chair’s arms or shatter their game. He would not be beaten. Although his breath was coming in heavier pulls, and she knew he was straining at the edge of his control.
She let herself begin to trail kisses down his chest. As she began to slip down off of his lap and instead between his knees, he let out a low moan in his throat as he realized her destination. The man was eager, moving his legs apart to make room for her. Smirking, she knelt on the floor, and only when her lips reached his navel, did she let her hand release her ministrations on his captured arousal.
Looking up at him, he was a thing of beauty. His dark hair was falling along the sides of his metal mask in black silk tendrils. It stood in a sharp contrast to his pale chest with its cryptic and occult markings. She watched as they rose and fell in quick succession as his breath was heavy and needy.
He was gorgeous. A dark god. Her dark god. And she was never so sure of what she wanted to do than looking at him like this.
She worked the clasp of his buckle and carefully freed himself from his confines. He let out a breath of relief as the aired touch his skin. She tried not to feel nervous at what she saw—she knew what she was doing, but…fuck. This was the first time she had actually seen him—each other time, he had taken her sight.
Too far to stop now, she scolded herself. She ran her hand along him now with no fabric between them. He was hot in her hand, burning and throbbing. He moaned and tilted his head back against the chair, shifting himself closer into her touch, trying to rut himself against her hand in a desperate need to feel her touch him. Still, his hands never left where she had placed them on the back of the chair. He was both at once her willful “prisoner” and the object of worship. He looked like some great demon, sitting there like that. And at least for tonight, he was hers. It was that thought that drove her forward.
She was dead-set on sending him to the brink of losing his control. And if he thought she was going to let him off easy—after everything he’d done—he had another think coming. She leaned her head in, and instead of kissing his throbbing length, she let her tongue swirl a slow circle against his lower abdomen, below his navel, before digging her teeth into his skin and biting him. At the same time, she pressed the fingers of her other hand into his thigh, finding the taut muscles there.
He tightened and nearly spasmed against her—arching his back and trying desperately not to press his hips up against her. The broken, hitching growl was astonishing and just as good as the last one. He threw his head back in a deep moan. “Ah, yes, my sweet—” he said through a tight throat. “Nngh! Oh, you temptress…do not dare stop. I have destroyed entire cities for far less.”
Snickering at his melodrama, she decided to give him just a little of what he wanted. She let her hand gently grasp his length. She marveled for a moment at just how far she had pushed him, before letting her tongue run up along him slowly. Starting at the very base, and letting it languorously travel up to the tip.
The moan that left him was all the encouragement she needed. She let her tongue swirl around him slowly once, twice, before wandering back down. The pattern repeated, never picking up the pace. Not yet. She rested her hand against the valley where his upper thigh met the rest of his body and felt the muscles tense and relax slowly as she let herself explore him—taste him—learn every part of him and where he felt what.
Her slow exploration of him served a few purposes. She was driving him crazy, she knew, with the way the muscles in his leg were twitching. The small, urgent sounds he was making each time her tongue reached his tip and swirled around it, lingering for a moment at the parts she learned were sensitive. She was learning what he liked and how he was wired. Also, to be crass…she needed him wet for what she planned to do.
She took him into her mouth after what she hoped had felt like an eternity and the noise that he made confirmed it. She let her eyes glide shut. It was better with that sense turned off. She gently held his base, as she pushed him into her mouth slowly and withdrew, letting her tongue roll around him before repeating. She took her sweet time, gently sucking on him every time she pushed him into her mouth. He moaned loudly each time she did that and she knew he was expecting her to go no further than that. Hah.
She took in a breath, held it, and pressed Aon down into her throat. She pressed him all the way to the hilt until there was nothing left, and her nose touched his body.
He let out a loud cry—a deep sound of pleasure and agony both, and it ended in a growl and a moan that inspired her to hold him there as long as she could. He was pounding his fist into the arm of the chair, and she heard the wood of the other arm give way underneath his sharp metal talons. Several times he tried to form words, but each time they were taken away in a mindless sound of sheer pleasure.
Aon filled her—cut off her air—pushed the limits of what she could take. It was heaven. She tried to count seconds before she had to retreat, before she couldn’t control the muscles in her throat and her air supply was running low. Lydia pulled back off of him and let him leave her mouth as she gasped for air. Her head was spinning. God…she loved it. She didn’t know what about it turned her on so damn much, but it was undeniable. Lydia loved doing that, nearly as much as it sounded like he loved having it done.
He was half sprawled in his chair, body scooted toward her, his head rolled back and to the side. This time she watched as let herself run her tongue up his length again and placed a kiss at the underside of the tip of him. Teasing him. Pointedly making him respond to her before she did it again.
That got his attention. He lifted his head to turn it down toward her. “If you do not continue, I swear by the Ancients themselves, I will find a way to make you.” His voice was a deep, hideously dangerous growl as he threatened her even as he begged her. There was a desperate kind of fury in him. She saw his hands clench the chair, as if that alone was keeping him from breaking her game.
It was both a ridiculous threat and entirely sincere at exactly the same time. She snickered and let him watch her pull him into her mouth once more, let her swirl her tongue around him, and release him. He hissed air in through his teeth as she did. “You’re so overdramatic,” she scolded breathlessly.
He snarled at her again. “If you think I am above strapping you down and forcing my way down your throat, you—”
She cut off his words in another broken, hitching sound as she did as he asked. She tucked her hair behind her ear as she tilted her head to allow herself a better angle. She pressed him back down into her slowly, the feeling him pushing into her making her moan against him.
Oh, how she loved doing this. She began to repeat her pattern of pulling him out of her until just the tip of him filled her mouth, catching her air, and then sliding him back down into her. He was a challenge. The girth of him threatened to upend her plans several times. But this felt amazing. She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t help moan against him each time he slid into her—each time she felt him fill her throat.
She held him pressed into her at his depth as long as she could before withdrawing and repeating. Finally, after several minutes of this, she couldn’t take much more. It was time for a change of tactics. She needed to breathe more than this was letting her and her head was spinning a little too much for comfort.
When she began to pull herself off of him, it was as though Aon knew her plans and she felt his hand suddenly at the back of her head. He grabbed roughly by her hair and yanked her head back. Lydia gasped—both for air, as she was already short of breath and in pain as he finally, clearly, had enough.
Well…enough of her teasing, anyway.
Her game was over. But it was clear he intended to start his own. The thumb of his other hand traced her parted lower lip. “Oh, my darling, sweet little creature…” he purred to her, as he leaned over to loom closer to her. “You should not have shown me your talent. For I will most certainly now find the need to abuse it!”
And with that, he yanked her head down and rammed himself down her throat. She let out a “hnk” and a moan at the same time, as she felt him grasp her head and take the reins away from her. He pushed his hips up as she reached the end of him and pressed himself hard down into her throat. As if by sheer pressure, he could find himself further in. He let out a long, deep moan, and began to pull her back on him, only to press her back down. “You think I would allow you to stop? Do you think I am done with you so soon? I cannot remember anything feeling quite so astounding, and you think to take it from me now?”
Her hands were pressed against his thighs, trying to control some of the momenta, but it was pointless. Each time he reached the bottom of his stroke, he lifted his hips up to meet her, questioning her control of the muscles in her throat. She couldn’t waste the air to make a sound, but he could. And it was clear just how very much he was enjoying this. He groaned and gasped with every movement, praising her even as he taunted her.
“Give in, my beautiful creature. Surrender. Do not fight me. You cannot win.”
He was right. She could barely catch her breath, let alone muster the strength to fight back. She held on to his thighs as best she could as he continued to piston himself roughly deep into her throat and back. As she stopped resisting, he let out a loud moan and if it were even somehow possible, she would have sworn he forced himself deeper. “Ngh!” He gasped, his voice raspy. “Yes, just like that. Good girl…”
While his motions were faster than she had allowed, he gave her a bare moment in between actions to catch what air she could. She could scream or fight. She could at worst, bite down. But like the rest of what she’d discovered with him, she realized…she was enjoying this. He continued to forcefully pump her onto him, fast enough that it was dizzying. How long it went on, she didn’t know. She lost track as he kept her at the edge of not enough air. He was moaning, coaxing her along, offering her praise as he filled what she had clearly left him wanting.
He bottomed himself out into her once more, pressing hard against her, as if intending to never leave. Her eyes watered as she felt her lungs start to burn, and she squeezed her eyes shut tightly. She tried to pull off of him—tried to pull her head back and struggle.
“Shush…just a little longer. You can do it. I know you can.” He chuckled through a moan, and she felt the hand on the back of her head only press harder. She felt her throat tighten and spasm as her body tried to swallow him in an attempt to clear what was blocking it and find air. “Mmh…yes…yes just like that! Oh, just a little more…Ah!”
She let out a “mmnhf!” against him, and he pulled in a hiss of air through his teeth. She struggled again, and spots began to appear in her vision. He let out a roar as he gripped her head harder. She felt him spasm and thrash underneath her. He was throbbing, pulsing as he spent himself deep down her throat. It was only then that he let out a groan and pulled her head off him at least enough that she could breathe. Only when she was at the brink, did he relent.
As she pulled him out of her mouth to desperately gasp for air, she kept a hand gently wrapped around his pulsing heat. It was a cruel thing to abandon a man in his throws, even if he had nearly just made her black out.
It was beautiful, the way Aon laid back in the aftermath of receding pleasure. His head was rolled back, and his palm was pressed against his masked face. He was desperately gasping for air. His body twitched and spasmed as aftershocks racked him occasionally. He was clearly spent and looked utterly overwrought. That was all she needed to feel the triumph, and as he finally managed to fill his lungs without his breath hitching, she lifted her head from him. Only now was she able to feel like she was getting enough air herself.
She could only squeak as he stood up, lifted her to her feet, and they vanished in a blink. Already dizzy, the world whipped around her in a mad dash as she found herself sprawled out on his lavish silken bed.
She watched as he lazily stripped himself of clothing and fell down onto the bed next to her. His head crooked into her shoulder, and his arm wrapped around her protectively. “Is that what I am paid when I take you out into the world? If so…I shall plot to continue our grand tour immediately.”
Lydia laughed quietly and wrapped her arm around his, hugging him to her. “I did it because I wanted to. That’s all. I’m glad you aren’t mad about the game.”
“I will never be angry over games…they are my greatest diversion. Especially never ones that end like that. But I fear we are not yet finished…”
His flesh and blood hand trailed down her stomach, and she let out a gasp as his hand found her core. It was very clear how much she enjoyed what she had done to him. He let out an approving growl in his throat as he pressed himself closer to her, as his fingers delved inside of her. One at first, followed quickly by a second. “My, my…” he teased. “What a wanton little harlot you turn out to be…”
“Shut—” she couldn’t get out the second word as she cried out, his thumb rubbing against her nub and sending her into her own fit of breathless pleasure. Already worked up from how much she enjoyed what she had done to him, it didn’t take long for his skilled touch to bring her to a frenzy, and her small, mewling cries were helpless as she grasped onto his arm.
She nearly wailed as he slipped a third finger inside of her, and he chuckled at how she thrashed in his hands.
His metal hand was at her back, nails digging into her—the pain accenting the pleasure. Her eyes went wide in fear as she wondered if he was going to tear her open.
“Trust me…” he purred to her, and instinctively she relaxed, sinking into his grasp. It hurt. But he didn’t cut into her or break the skin. It like a bed of nails at her back. “Yes, let go…That’s it. Trust me.” He buried his head in the crook of her neck. Still, he was effortlessly twisting her into a wild pleasure. “Do you? Tell me.”
Did she? Did she trust him?
Oh, God help her…she did.
“Yes,” she gasped.
“Say you are mine. Say you belong to me, and me alone.”
Lydia repeated her breathless “yes” and he shuddered against her, grasping her tighter to him. Aon curled his fingers deep inside of her, and she arched her back in a sharp cry as pleasure washed over her in a crashing wave. Eyes sliding shut, she clung to him, trembling in the wake of his touch. He didn’t relent, driving her through another wave and another as her orgasm shook her to the core.
It was only when she felt like she was going to pass out for a second time, did he finally stop and let the pleasure recede. She was trembling against him, and she could only cling to him desperation.
He turned her so that her back was to his chest. He held her to him, his head resting at the top of hers. “Are you happy?” he whispered to her. His taking her to see the world of Under had all been an in attempt to make her happy. That lit something in her chest and she wasn’t sure what it was.
“Yeah,” she murmured, her eyes still shut. Sleep was coming for her fast—a combination of the beer and what had just happened. She didn’t feel like she could open her eyes for the world at this point.
Fingers were running in slow circles along the back of her hand, and that was enough to seal the deal. As she was drifting off, she heard him say something to her—but missed what it was.
