Ebony Rising: (The Raven Queen's Harem Part 2)

by Angel Lawson

  For the first time in weeks I see the flicker of real desire in Dylan’s eyes. In an attempt to be patient I bite my lip and wrap my arms around my waist. The neckline of my dress plunges just enough to get an eyeful of cleavage. His eyes skim my flesh. I won’t throw myself at him. We’ll have to come to an understanding and right now I can’t figure out what’s going on in his head.

  To my surprise, he reaches for me and thumbs my bottom lip. In a sudden, unexpected rush he says, “You’re the most alluring woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, Morgan.”

  “Then why don’t you want me?”

  In the next moment the tall, muscular man looks inexplicably vulnerable. “I want you more than you can imagine. You’re like the fire of a thousand suns and I’m a tiny moth with no hope but to burn my wings. You’re like a gallon of wine for a man dying of thirst. You’re the stars that guide a sailor home.”

  His words sound like poetry, but other than the hand that moves from my mouth to my neck, he still hasn’t moved an inch.

  I inhale and say, “Let me guide your way. Let me quench your thirst. I’m here for you just like you’re here for me.”

  “I can’t.” He shakes his head. “Not yet.”

  This time I do make the first move. I step forward and grab him by the front of his shirt, wrinkling the fine, blue linen. I tug him downward, pulling him into a reluctant kiss. His lips are hot as fire, his breath sweet like honey. He caves just an inch and his strong hands cinch around my waist.

  Dylan’s hips brush against my belly and I feel the hardness beneath the fabric of his pants. There’s no mistaking his want. So something else is holding him back. I pull myself away from his mouth and ask again, “Why are you afraid?”

  He presses his forehead against mine and his jaw tenses. Just when I think it’s a lost cause he says, “You entice me, Morgan. Like no other in any other time or place. You ignite a hunger in me that I worry I cannot control.” His lips move to my neck and he kisses a fiery trail from one side to the other. “I don’t want to just make love to you. I want to consume you. I want to plunge deep inside and leave a mark. I want to fuck you senseless. I want to claim you.”

  “Is that so different from the others?”

  “No,” he replies gruffly. “It is the same, but I’m different. I don’t have the control they do.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I can barely hear my voice over the hammering of my heart.

  He lifts my chin and says very slowly, with incredible intent, “I will break you, Morgan. You are not ready for my passion. I will tear you apart.”

  Those words. That declaration. Jesus. I step back, unsteady on my feet.

  His expression is instantly remorseful. “I’m sorry. The truth is too much.”

  I look up in his eyes.

  “You don’t get to tell me what I can handle, guardian.”

  “What?” His eyes are wide with confusion.

  I place a hand on each hip and gesture to Dylan’s favorite reading chair. “Take a seat and get ready to do your fucking job.”

  My sentry. The leader of my guard does exactly as he’s told, lowering himself into the chair with a noble grace.

  I move before him and prepare to show him exactly how strong I am.

  Chapter 9

  Dylan

  The edge in Morgan’s voice—the commanding tone—snaps me to attention.

  I sit. I wait. I watch.

  She stands before me, hair curly and wild, in the tiniest slip of a dress. A black bow holds it all together in the back and I nearly yanked it off the minute she stepped in the room.

  I’d been honest with her. Every word I said was the absolute truth. I’m terrified of my reaction to her. There’s no chance I’d take it easy on her. No fucking way I’d be gentle. And although I can push back it would be disrespectful to flat out tell her no. When it comes to the displacement of the Darkness, I have no greater obligation. She’s my Queen and I’m here to serve her.

  Morgan approaches me, her dark eyes lit with determination. Resting her palms on the arms of my chair she leans over, giving me an exquisite view of her ample breasts, and whispers next to my lips, “You may be afraid of yourself, Dylan, but I’m not. I think you’re tense and need a little release.”

  My cock is already hard. It’s been hard for weeks now, listening to Morgan work her way through the men in the house. Every kiss, every touch. Christ, the orgasms. I don’t know about the other guardians but when she unravels, I lose time. My body freezes as she channels all her energy into that one final explosion.

  I look into her eyes. “I’m at your mercy, Morgan.”

  She smiles and hovers her mouth over mine. My lips ache, wanting to touch hers, and just when I think I’m going to lose control she kisses me, soft and seductive.

  Then she hikes up her skirt and climbs on my lap.

  My reaction is a hiss and I grit my teeth. Her eyes widen for a brief moment but narrow once she realizes the reason for my reaction. She presses down with the core of her body, fitting my twitching cock against the miniscule slip of silk fabric separating our flesh.

  “You’re strong, Dylan. More than the others. You’re the glue holding this whole thing together. I get that.” Her lips sear against my throat and her fingers unbutton my shirt. Her fingers are cool against my hot skin and the scrape of her nails down my chest and over my nipples lights a fire in my groin. She licks my mouth. “But you deserve to let go. Enjoy yourself.” She swallows. “Enjoy me.”

  She pushes me back into the leather cushion and slides down my body. I regret the heat from her core leaving my cock but her hands move to the buttons on my pants. She unfastens them with graceful ease. I lift my hips and watch her tug them down, removing them entirely. My fully erect cock springs from between my legs, aching with unparalleled desire as she inches her hands up my thighs.

  I can tell she doesn’t plan on making this quick and easy. No, the determination in her eyes implies she’s committed to a deeper connection than just getting me off. As her lips explore the muscles below my hips, I reach for the ribbon behind her back and yank. The bow slips, loosening the straps of her dress. She stands and it falls to the ground in a pool of fabric by her feet. The silver charm at her neck glints against her skin.

  My cock pulses at the sight of her. My heart hammers against my chest. She’s beautiful. Her breasts are perfect and her hips swell with a sensuous curve. Her ass is round and fleshy. My hands fist, fighting to stay off of her and let her maintain control. I eye the perfect brown of her nipples, the hard peaks that confirm her excitement. I smell the musky scent of want between her legs—even through her black lace panties.

  “Lean back,” she tells me.

  I jut my chin and comply, sliding down so my cock waves between us like a surrendering flag. My position brings a smile to Morgan’s puffy, pink lips. Seeing me in a state of relaxed submission with my belly exposed and vulnerable assets in the air give her all the power. Just because she’s on her knees does not mean she’s servicing me. No. It’s clear the roles are reversed. She owns me right now.

  And I’m two seconds from begging her for more.

  She saves me from doing it, cupping my balls with her cool, delicate hand. My body seizes. Her grin grows and I watch through hooded eyes as her hand moves up the rod-hard shaft and her tongue wets her lips.

  She leans forward, her breasts pressed against my knees. Her thumb swirls against the tip of my cock, spreading the slippery cum down the sides. Unable to withstand it any longer, I reach for her. Her hair, her cheeks.

  Together we guide her mouth down the hard warmth and I exhale, shuddering out the tension and desire I’ve carried for weeks and weeks.

  Up and down her head bobs, and I weave one hand into her curly locks and another cups the heavy weight of her breast. She’s done this before, with Damien, gifting him with the pleasure of her mouth.

  My excitement grows and my hips rise to meet her mouth and she braces herself accordingly. Leaning ba
ck so I can see her whole body. Her pert nipples. The dip of her lower belly.

  “Fuck,” I growl at the tightening in my balls. I want it to last forever. I want to bury my face in her hair, sleep with my hands wrapped around her body.

  To my surprise she pulls her mouth away but continues to use her hands, slip-sliding up and down my cock. “Give me your light. The goodness,” she cries and I realize what she wants me to do.

  With a guttural moan I come, chanting her name with each thrust. Cum flows from my cock, coating her body in thick, hot spurts. My head spins. My balls ache. My breath comes raggedly. For a brief moment I’m back in the sky, soaring amongst the clouds, while my girl waits for me below.

  I blink and fall back against the cushion, spent of every ounce. I watch through the haze of ecstasy as Morgan uses her free hand and rubs her fingers in the slick goo.

  “What the hell?” I say, narrowing my eyes as the runes reveal themselves, glimmering and glinting on her breasts and stomach.

  She looks down and back up. Her eyes shine bright. “Withholding on me doesn’t make me stronger, Dylan. Each one of you has to do your part. I respect your concerns over my body but you can’t shy away from your duty.”

  There’s no fight in me anymore. She’s proven her point. I’m not the one in control here. I tug her off her knees and into my lap. We’re both sticky and her body shines like the sun. I bring her mouth to mine and kiss her passionately, sharing the source of energy that courses between us all.

  She pulls back and says, “I was wrong about one thing.”

  I push a curl of hair off her cheek. “What’s that?”

  “You didn’t need a little release.” Her hand rests on my shoulder. “You needed a big one.”

  Chapter 10

  Morgan

  Late afternoon sun warms the window seat. I’ve got my notebook in my lap and I’m struggling with the assignment given to me by Professor Christensen. It seemed easy at the time; three questions for the main characters of each other’s books. Anita’s book has a character, a young man named Cass. He’s the son of an original survivor—a very powerful man—whose family has created a dominant class in their post-apocalyptic world. Cass does not see eye to eye with his tyrannical father and he’s heir to the throne. On his father’s deathbed he’s told that their power comes from a magic source. Cass must decide if he’s going to use the power the same as his father did or toss it aside altogether and become one with the people.

  With my pen, I scribble down a few questions:

  Does Cass have the strength to survive with ordinary citizens?

  Will the people even accept him as one of them?

  Who will take over if he steps down from the throne?

  My stomach rumbles and I check the time. Dinner is in ten minutes. With every encounter, the table becomes a little more intimate. The earlier activities with Dylan provides another link in the chain. I’ve tested them all and I’m not closer to finding a mate than I was when I started. Each of my guardians is worthy. They’re talented and smart. Strong and capable. They put my needs and safety first.

  There was no condition that I had to lose my virginity to my mate. I’d clarified that in an awkward and abrupt conversation with Dylan two weeks ago. But it still seemed like the right thing to do, so I held off. How would I even decide which man was to be my first real lover? They’re all equally compelling and proving themselves quite skilled sexually.

  Although I’d still done nothing more than a little dry humping and making out with Clinton, I’ve experienced enough with them all that it seems even more likely I’ll have to make a wild guess as to who will be the first.

  I walk to the bathroom and drag a comb through my curly hair. My lips still look a little enlarged and my cheeks carry a red tint from the encounter with Dylan. I’d never known a man so stubborn. He certainly brought out my rebellious side and I loved seeing him crack under pressure and just let go. I smile at my reflection. That had been delicious. He had been delicious.

  I hear a knock at the door and rest my hairbrush on the counter. I slip on my shoes and find Sam waiting outside the door. He looks amazing, as always, even dressed in his causal knee-length shorts and button-down shirt. Tonight the shorts are a dark navy blue and the shirt a preppy-plaid. His warm, brown skin makes his green eyes shine. His hair is tied in a knot at the back of his head.

  “Ready for dinner?”

  “I am, thanks for waiting for me.”

  He exhales and I see a glimmer of exhaustion. “I’ve been in the studio all day. I needed to see someone else. Lucky for me, the most beautiful woman in the house lives down the hall.”

  I snort. “I’m the only woman in the house.”

  He frowns. “What about Sue? She’d take offense to that.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  That earns me a grin and he links his arm with mine. Sam escorting me to our mandatory dinner has become a tradition—one I like. Slowly I’ve come to appreciate each of the men for their individuality, and Sam, at the end of the day, is probably my very best friend in the house.

  A friend with benefits, but a friend all the same.

  “How was your meeting with your professor today?” he asks as we arrive in the foyer.

  “Good. I was just working on an assignment. He’s determined to have me and my critique partner work more together. She’s coming here on Thursday.”

  “Here?”

  “Yes, we’ll meet in the library.” But his question makes me pause and I hold on to his elbow. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you guys have any friends? People you work with? I know you all slip off occasionally at night. Where are you going?”

  “That’s a lot of questions, Morgan.”

  “I’m just curious. I’ve never seen any of you speak to someone outside of the house before. Are you not allowed?”

  “We’re not hermits,” he says, but his eyes are guarded and Professor Christensen’s comment about rumors of their activities lingers in my mind. “I shop for supplies—meet models in the park and shoot photography all over the city. I know the others do, too. We’re just dedicated to protecting you and everyone else. There’s not a lot of time left for socialization. We have one another—and you.” He gives me a wistful grin. “Although I could definitely go for a night out at the pub, you know?”

  “Maybe we could go sometime?”

  He links his fingers with mine. “Maybe.”

  We enter the dining room. Clinton waits at the door and I give his hand a squeeze as we pass. The others wait, with drinks in hand, near their seats. I greet Bunny across the table and run my hand over Damien’s shoulder. Dylan watches my every move, waiting for me to take my spot at the head of the table. I’ve quickly learned that my guardians are a stickler for old-fashioned manners and never sit before I do. Sam pulls out the chair for me and I take my seat. The others follow.

  Sue and Davis arrive with dinner, a steaming pan of lasagna, salad, and buttered bread. Generous glasses of red wine sit before each of us and I’m not shy about taking a drink. It’s been a long, complicated day.

  The vibration coursing through the room tells me that everyone is aware of what happened between me and Dylan. Talking sex isn’t polite dinner conversation, so I dig around for a little guardian history.

  “I have a question,” I say, allowing my pasta a moment to cool. “How did you become guardians anyway?”

  Looks are exchanged down the table. No one answers right away so I fix my attention on Dylan. There’s no doubt he knows the answer. He takes a long gulp of his wine and says, “Mythology says we were created from the blood, bone, and ash left on the battlefield from your people.”

  “The ones the Morrigan slaughtered?” That idea leaves an uneasy feeling in my bones. She killed them and then the gods bound them into an eternity of servitude?

  “She was betrayed,” Clinton says, the muscle in his jaw tensing. “Cu Cuchulainn let th
e Darkness loose. Our ancestors were the victims. The gods created us to make sure it never happened again.”

  I rest my fork on my plate, my appetite gone. “How long have you actually been alive?”

  “Alive?” Bunny asks, his expression full of wonder. “It seems like since the beginning of time. First as blood. Then bone. Later, tears and ash. I lay on the ground, buried among the charred remains of death. A god scooped me up and placed me in his pocket. For a millennia, I settled in the warmth until he remembered I was there. He held me in his palm and blew his breath on me, like a strong wind, and I scattered amongst the clouds. Rain dropped me to the ocean until I was pushed and pulled into the waves of hurricane. The god declared me ready, snatched me from the air and molded me in his hands. I returned in the form of a raven, my mission set in my mind: Protect the world from the Darkness and the Darkness from herself.”

  The entire table has taken a quiet, somber feel. I look at each guardian. “Did the same happen to each of you?”

  “More or less,” Sam replies. “It was an honor to be chosen and created by the hand of a god.”

  A lump forms in the back of my throat. “You don’t blame me—her—for this at all?”

  A choking sound comes from Damien and it takes a moment before I realize he’s laughing. “I don’t think you understand what a gift it is to serve in this capacity.” His violet eyes flash passionately. “We’re blessed. Guarding you—providing an outlet for your energy and power. There is nothing more fulfilling.”

  “We were a speck,” Clinton adds. “The gods made us a force.”

  “Serving me and my--” I swallow, “--needs, cannot be that great.” I mean, I haven’t picked a mate. I won’t let them have sex with me—yet. The whole house is a ball of tension.

  Dylan leans forward, elbows on the table. “You do not understand the extent of our abilities, Morgan. We’re more than what you’ve seen.”