The Hero Given to the Demon Queen

Chapter 14: Continued

Nyx thrashed against the bindings hard enough that the bedframe creaked and the seals bit deeper into her wrists and ankles.

“Let me go—you rancid, desperate bitch—let me go!”

Thalira did not answer with words. She stripped with sharp, efficient movements, armor and dark cloth discarded in a careless heap. When she climbed onto the bed she was already flushed, grey eyes bright with something ugly and hungry. She caught Nyx’s ankles, forced them wider until the younger woman’s thighs strained against the seals, and lowered her mouth to the inside of one calf.

The first long, wet drag of her tongue drew a full-body jolt from Nyx.

“No—no, no, no—don’t—!”

Thalira ignored her. She licked a slow, deliberate path up the leg, paused at the knee to suck a mark into the soft skin, then continued higher, leaving shining trails of saliva. When she reached the soft skin of the inner thigh she made a low, appreciative sound and bit down just hard enough to leave a crescent of teeth. Her free hand was already between her own legs, fingers working in rough, urgent circles over her clit, dipping lower to push inside herself with wet, shameless sounds.

“Same blood,” she muttered against Nyx’s skin. “Same scent as my Queen. Even your fear smells like hers.”

Nyx’s eyes burned pure crimson. Power flared uselessly against the seals holding her open.

“I don’t want you—my first time won’t be with you—get off me—get off—!”

The words dissolved into a raw shout when Thalira’s mouth finally settled between her legs.

There was nothing teasing about it.

The commander licked into her with open, greedy strokes, tongue flat and insistent, pushing past the folds to drag over the sensitive inner walls, nose pressed hard against the swollen bud above. She sucked the clit into her mouth and flicked it with the tip of her tongue, then drove deeper again, fucking Nyx with it in long, filthy thrusts. Saliva ran down Nyx’s skin in thick trails, mixing with the reluctant wetness that began to slick Thalira’s chin. The wet, obscene sounds of tongue and lips and sucking filled the sealed room—loud, wet, unmistakable.

Nyx screamed.

She screamed until her voice cracked, hips trying to twist away even as the bindings held her spread and helpless. Tears of rage and humiliation streaked into her black hair. For a long time there was only the desperate, furious struggle and the relentless attention of Thalira’s mouth: the broad sweeps of tongue that opened her, the hard suction on her clit, the deep, claiming thrusts that made her thighs tremble.

Then the first traitorous spark of sensation cut through the panic.

Nyx’s breath hitched. Her next protest came out thinner, broken.

“Stop—stop it—don’t—ahh—fuck—don’t go so deep—”

Thalira only pressed closer. She sucked hard on the sensitive bud until Nyx’s hips jerked against her face, then drove her tongue deeper again, curling it inside her, tasting every involuntary clench. One of her hands left her own body long enough to pin Nyx’s hip down when the younger woman bucked too hard. The other hand resumed its rough pace between her own thighs—two fingers buried to the knuckle, thumb grinding her clit in tight circles. Wetness slicked her fingers; soft, shameless moans of her own pleasure mixed with the filthier, wetter sounds coming from Nyx’s cunt.

The air in the room began to change.

A faint, cold scent of ash drifted through the sealed space—impossible, out of place, and growing heavier with every broken sound Nyx made. Neither of them noticed. Thalira was lost in the taste and the likeness to the woman she could never have, tongue working deeper, lips sealed around the clit, drinking every drop that spilled. Nyx was lost in the war between loathing and the forced climb of her own body—the way her walls fluttered around Thalira’s tongue, the way her clit throbbed under the relentless suction, the way her hips began to rock against the mouth that was violating her.

“No—no, not with you—please—it’s too much—don’t—ahh—fuck—it hurts—”

The words no longer carried any real force. Her thighs trembled on either side of Thalira’s head. Her back arched as much as the bindings allowed. When the orgasm finally tore through her it was violent and unwanted—raw, broken cries spilling out of her while tears kept falling, hips jerking helplessly against the commander’s mouth, cunt clenching hard around the tongue still thrusting inside her. Thalira moaned at the taste and the convulsions, working herself faster, fingers plunging deeper, and followed only moments later with a low, guttural sound of her own, thighs clamping around her hand as she came hard against her own palm.

She did not stop immediately.

She licked Nyx through the aftershocks—slow, thorough strokes that made the younger woman twitch and whimper, oversensitive and still forced open. Then she moved upward, dragging her tongue across the soft skin of her stomach, her ribs, the undersides of her breasts, the frantic pulse at her throat, leaving every inch shining with saliva and the evidence of what had just been done to her. By the time she finished there was almost no part of Nyx left untouched or dry.

Only then did Thalira finally pull back.

Nyx lay limp in the bindings, chest heaving, face turned away. Silent tears still slipped from the outer corners of her eyes into the sweat-damp sheets. The fight had gone out of her body; only the occasional fine tremor remained, and the unmistakable wetness still glistening between her open thighs.

Thalira released the seals with a flick of her fingers. Nyx did not try to rise or cover herself. She simply rolled onto her side, back to the commander, and curled in on herself as much as the lingering aches allowed—thighs sticky, cunt still pulsing with the memory of the tongue that had forced her open and made her come.

Thalira watched her for a moment, breathing still uneven. Then she stretched out behind her, one arm sliding around Nyx’s waist, and pulled her back against her chest. Her lips brushed the damp curve of a shoulder in something that was almost gentle.

“Quiet now,” she murmured against the skin. “It’s done.”

Within minutes the commander’s breathing slowed into sleep, her body heavy and possessive along Nyx’s back.

Nyx did not sleep.

She stared at the dark wall of the unfamiliar room, eyes open and burning, the taste of ash still faint in the air, and the unmistakable ache between her legs, and said nothing at all.

—

In her own sealed chamber, Elara dreamed again.

There was no plain of ash this time—only a close, smothering dark and a voice that sounded like it was smiling through a throat full of cinders.

“Ahhh… so delicious…”

The words dripped with ugly delight.

“Here… right here… so much of it… so rich…”

Elara’s sleeping body arched. Her breath came fast and ragged. For a moment the scent of cold ash filled her lungs as if the dream had teeth.

Then she jolted awake with a sharp gasp.

The room was empty. The crystals burned their usual low violet. No laughter. No voice. Only the racing of her own heart and the faint, fading impression that something far below—or far inside—had just been fed.

She sat up slowly, arms wrapped around herself, and listened to the silence until the last of the dream-smell left her nose.

Nothing answered.