Chapter 414 Bounced On His Cock After Fifteen Shifts
She woke in his bed.
The bath was a memory. The sheets were warm.
Dex was beside her. On his side, facing her, one arm draped across her waist, his breathing steady and deep. Asleep.
She watched him for a moment. The firelight caught the angles of his face, softening the jaw that spent its waking hours clenched, smoothing the brow that spent its waking hours calculating. Asleep, Dexmon Drakenfell looked younger. Less guarded.
She shifted closer. The movement was small, instinctive, the gravitational pull of a woman towards the warmth that made her feel safe. Her thigh brushed his. Her hip pressed against his hand.
His eyes opened.
The transition from sleep to awareness was instant, zero to Alpha in under a second, his pupils adjusting to the low light and finding her face with the precision of a predator whose senses never fully powered down.
Then the gold softened. He saw her. Just her. And the predator became the man who held her in bathwater and kissed her hiccups.
“Hey,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.
“Hey.”
His thumb traced a slow circle on her hip. The circle was idle, absentminded, the unconscious movement of a hand that knew her body and touched it without requiring permission from his brain.
Serena felt his emotions shift through the matebond. The sleepy warmth changed temperature. Heated. Deepened. His thumb stopped circling and pressed, his fingers spreading across her hip, gripping with a pressure that was still gentle and was rapidly becoming less so.
She blushed.
Dex felt the blush through the matebond and his blood rushed south with a speed that should have been embarrassing and was instead gratifying, because her shyness was the thing that undid him every time. She had been his for months and she was still timid with him. Still flushed when he touched her. Still caught her breath when his hands moved. The newness of her had never worn off because the newness was who she was, and who she was made his wolf want to devour her.
He shifted his hips and pushed into her.
Her breath hitched sharply, her face pressing against his neck, her fingers curling into his shoulders. The sound was small, involuntary, caught between surprise and sensation.
“That’s it.” His voice dropped to the register that lived between tenderness and command. “Take me, baby.”
She winced. Sore was insufficient as a word. The stretch burned in a way that reminded her she had been doing this for a matter of months and her body was still learning the shape of him. Fifteen shifts, forty-seven minutes of blade training, and hours of emotional collapse had left every muscle in her body protesting, and the muscles between her thighs were joining the protest with particular emphasis. She breathed through it.
She pulled back from his neck, looking him in the eyes. Green finding gold. His jaw tightened at whatever he saw in her face, the flicker of pain that she was trying to mask and the matebond was delivering uncensored.
He pulled out slowly. Pushed in. Slow, measured, controlled. Again. Again. Four careful strokes, each one deeper than the last, until he was fully seated inside her and her breath was coming in short, shallow bursts that said the stretch was still burning and the burning was still present and the present was starting to blur.
His hands found her hips. Lifted. He started bouncing her on his cock, the rhythm building rapidly, each downward stroke sending two messages at once. The first was pain, the dull ache of muscles that had never fully recovered from the last time. The second was pleasure, building beneath the soreness the way heat builds beneath bruised skin, and her body could not decide which signal to prioritize, so it processed both simultaneously.
“That’s it. Take me deeper. I want to feel you shake every time you drop down on my cock.”
At a point she could never identify afterward, the ache stopped mattering. She could not pinpoint the exact thrust where pain became background noise and the pressure building low in her core took over, but the transition happened, and once it did, her hips started moving on their own.
Both hands went into his hair. Rational thought left the building.
“Good girl.” His voice was wrecked, raw. “Such a good fucking girl.”
She felt unwanted, overwhelming joy at his praise. Her body craved his approval the way it craved air, a need she had never experienced before him and could never fully explain.
Her heat began rising with an aggression that startled her. He was hitting a spot inside her that made her vision blur at the edges, each stroke finding the exact angle that turned her spine into a live wire and her breathing into something unrecognizable.
“You like being my good girl.” His mouth was at her ear, teeth grazing the lobe. “Say it.”
Every time he talked to her like that, something inside her chest detonated. The filth and the tenderness braided together into a frequency that her body responded to before her mind could intervene, and the response was total.
“I like being your good girl,” she whispered, and the whisper was barely audible but the matebond carried it at full volume and Dex’s reaction was immediate.
Aegon surged. His eyes flashed full gold for a fraction of a second, his wolf pressing against the surface because she had just submitted and his instinct was to claim the submission with everything he had.
His grip on her hips tightened. The rhythm changed. Faster. Harder. The controlled patience from the first strokes was gone, replaced by something raw and possessive that was equal parts Dex and equal parts wolf.
“Mine.” The word came out layered, his voice and Aegon’s overlapping. “Mine. Mine.”
His thrusts grew frantic, driving into her with a force that should have overwhelmed her and instead pushed her closer to something enormous. The pressure in her core was tightening with every stroke, coiling in on itself, building toward a threshold she could feel approaching and could do nothing to delay.
“Cum all over my cock.” His command was rough, ragged, carrying the authority of an Alpha whose bloodline had been issuing commands for a thousand years and whose current command was delivered with a desperation that no command should carry. “Now.”
Pleasure spiked through her. Her entire body flushed hot as the tension that had been coiling broke through every wall she had left.
Every sore muscle she had been ignoring seized at once, the ache in her arms from the blade work and the trembling in her legs from the shifts and the rawness between her thighs all compressing into a single white-hot point that shattered through everything.
She gasped, body jerking against him, her walls throbbing and clenching around him in waves that flooded with wet heat. The sound that left her mouth was loud, uncontrolled, the kind of sound she would have been mortified by if she had any cognitive function remaining, and she did have zero cognitive function remaining.
Dex’s hips stuttered. “That’s it. Milk me, baby.”
He released inside her in long, intense pulses, his arms locked around her waist, his face buried in her neck, his breathing ragged against her skin. The matebond carried the shared pleasure in both directions, her orgasm feeding his, his feeding hers, the feedback loop amplifying the sensation until neither of them could identify where their pleasure ended and the other’s began.
Her orgasm was still rolling through her in aftershocks when movement registered in her peripheral vision.
Her head snapped toward the doorway on instinct.
Dex did not stop. His hips were still driving into her in the residual, involuntary rhythm of a man whose wolf was steering and whose brain had checked out three thrusts ago. His face stayed buried in her neck. His arms stayed locked around her waist.
The High Emperor of Orosia stood watching.
Her body was still convulsing around Dex, still flushed, still making sounds she had no ability to stop, and the High Emperor was watching every second of it with an expression that started as surprise and ended in a place she did not have vocabulary for.
She blinked and he was gone.
“Dex!”