I struggle to continue the blowjob, trying to focus on controlling my breathing and ignoring my gag reflex, which gets a lot harder when he's buried up to his nose in my cunt. His tongue rolls against my clit, his fingers squeezing my thighs, stroking my lips, dipping inside to press against my inner walls, like he went out and got a doctorate in taking me the-fuck apart when I wasn't looking. I'm probably not holding up my end of this sixty-nine, but he doesn't seem to mind as I lower my hips, my legs going weak, and all but sit on his face.
I whisper sweet curses against his cock as I cum and he keeps going, driving me shaking and overstimulated straight through one orgasm and into a second. I have to crawl away to stop him then, the pleasure so intense it almost hurts, but he grabs me by the hips to keep me from escaping and flips me onto my back.
I lay there, still trembling in the aftershocks, my clit throbbing from overstimulation, as he wipes the last of the flavored lube off with his own discarded T-shirt and retrieves the condom from where it had fallen among the blankets. He climbs over me again, apparently unable to take even a second passing without touching me, and we kiss slow and deep, tasting ourselves on one another's lips. I help him get the condom on and spread my lips, eager to feel him inside me.
Instead, he lies down on his side next to me.
"Like this," he says, pulling me against him, my back to his chest. "I want to hold you."
The words cause an unexpected glow of affection within me, the cloud of flustered butterflies in my chest spurred on by his delicate kisses to the back of my neck. His cock presses between my thighs, sliding against the lips of my sex with his shallow, teasing thrusts. I bite my lip, a low moan leaving me as he finds my entrance and eases in, slow and steady, spreading me open.
He can't get as deep in this position, but with his size that's hardly a problem, and he makes up for it with sheer intimacy. There isn't an inch of us not touching. My head rests on his arm, our fingers laced. His other hand strokes my breasts, my hips, my stomach, stoking the heat of desire that grows from the delicious weight of him filling me up. His kisses along my hairline leave me shivering even before he moves, surging up into me slowly and retreating like the sea before a wave, sending pulses of heat through me. I roll my hips back into his thrusts and twist my head back in order to kiss him. The kiss, and all of this, is surprisingly tender for him. I'm used to him being rough, almost a little feral. To be this gentle and romantic with me is unusual, and all the more appreciated for it.
He speeds up a little, his thrusts short and gentle, like he can't bear to leave the warmth of me for even a second, not even an inch. Pleasure builds slow and we both let it, wanting this to last. I'm so comfortable here with him inside me that I could lie like this forever, so close we're almost one person, tangled up in lazy kisses and slow, passionate sex.
But eventually my need to cum overwhelms my desire to stay like this as long as we can. His breath against my neck gets shallower and more urgent as well.
The hand currently squeezing my breast slips down to rub circles over my clit and I tighten around him with a moan. He speeds up again, thrusts a little harder but still not enough. His hand moves under my knee instead, lifting my leg up and back to open me wider to his thrusts. His next thrust hits deeper than before and I gasp his name, the feeling surprisingly intense after having become used to the slow, steady pace before. I stroke my own clit as he thrusts faster, kissing the back of my neck.
"I love you, Lyra," he whispers against my skin as his pace stutters. "I love you."
He throbs within me and then thrusts as deep as he can. I bite my lip, his deep thrusts and my own fingers bringing me over the edge in a crescendo of pleasure that blooms slowly but with an intensity leaving me breathless, shaking against him as I ride it out, rocking against him to draw it out just a little longer.
When at last my muscles relax and I ease against him, I reach up to touch his face, turning him toward me to kiss him softly.
"I love you, too," I say, hoping he can hear how deeply I mean those words.
We lay as we are for a long while, still joined, dozing, too comfortable and spent to care. Eventually we separate just long enough to quickly clean up, then fall into each other's arms again. Though we intended to sleep, once we begin kissing again we don't stop until we wring another orgasm from one another, and only then do we fall asleep, pleasantly exhausted.
But I don't sleep long.
A nightmare finds its way to my endorphin-soaked brain. I dream I'm in the middle of a war zone. Not like the one I will likely see tomorrow, but something out of a World War II movie. Trenches and mortars and barbed wire. Someone is missing. I stumble through the trenches searching for them, grabbing mud-spattered people and limp bodies, looking for a face I recognize. I'm shouting a name, but I can't hear it over the sound of the shelling and gunfire. Finally, white hot with fear, I peer over the top of the trench, across no man's land to where the enemy is dug in. And I am certain, all at once, as I hear mortar whistling toward me, that the person I'm looking for is there, in the enemy camp.
I wake with a sharp inhale, a name on my lips ready to be shouted, but I can no longer remember what it is. Damon half wakes, disturbed by my movement, and pulls me closer, kissing my face and murmuring reassurances.
I don't say anything and let him return to sleep, but it takes a while for my heartbeat to return to normal and the dream stays with me even after. Unable to go back to sleep, I lie awake in Damon's arms, filled with a deep, restless worry. I am suddenly certain, in a way I cannot easily define, that all the people I care about are held in my hands like sand, and if I try to fight tomorrow, they will slip through my fingers one by one until I am alone.
Chapter 11
I finally doze off maybe an hour or two before it's time to get up, only for Damon to gently shake me awake as the early morning sunlight peeks through the curtains of my room. I nearly bite him for it.
I stagger through getting dressed and eating breakfast like a zombie. Damon, by contrast, seems rejuvenated, smiling and full of energy. If I were a worse person, I'd resent him for it, but he's too cute when he's happy, and it's nice to imagine I'm partially responsible.
I don't have any choice but to shake off my exhaustion. There's too much to be done. I spike my blood with an energy drink.
Most of the morning is spent working with Callahan, organizing supplies and transportation. We'll need to get our little army across the Irish Sea into Wales, across England, and then across the English Channel into France. It's no small feat, discreetly moving this many people. Figuring it out has been the bulk of our planning and preparing up until now and we're still ironing out details. The Daks supplied a large private jet that can fit everyone, with some creative seating choices, which will get us to Cardiff. And Callahan has a fleet of ferries waiting in Dover to get us across the channel into France as quietly as possible. Seamus, with a healthy dose of Fae magic and some shameless bribery, has even ensured we won't be stopped by the authorities during either trip. The difficulty has been in figuring out how to march an army from Cardiff to Dover without drawing too much attention.
"It's only a three-hour drive from Bristol," Callahan says, tapping Bristol on the map. "If we rent cars—"
"Do you have any idea how many cars we'd need?" I ask, dragging my hands over my face. We've been going around in circles with this conversation for ages, huddled around a road map of Europe and the UK spread out on a small table in the center of the courtyard. "And a caravan like that is definitely going to draw attention!"
We all fall silent for a moment as the noise of preparations drowns everything else out. I'd rather not be doing this in the middle of everything, but Callahan and Aura and I also have other people to be managing, which has also slowed down the conversation as we stop every few minutes to answer questions and give orders.
"What if we get vans and go in small groups rather than all together?" Callahan asks when the noise dies down.
"We
'd have to rent from three different companies, at least, to get enough vans. Which will draw attention. Not to mention the cost—"
"You know cost isn't an issue," Aura says.
I make a gesture of appeasement toward Aura. "You and the Daks have been incredibly generous with funding this," I say. "But there are limits. Not to mention, what would we do with the cars in Dover? Abandon them? Ferry them over and use them for the drive to Paris?"
"Why can't we use the jet to go all the way?" Maeve asks, leaning over the map on one side of Callahan.
"That has to be easier," Moira agrees, leaning in from the other side.
I shake my head.
"Morana will have eyes on the airports," I say. "It's risky even flying as far as Cardiff. We have to stay under the radar. That's why we're not taking the tube, either."
"If we're going to be driving, we need to leave as soon as possible," Callahan says with a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "It's three hours from Bristol to Dover. And another three from the port to Paris."
"Don't forget tolls and borders!" Brenna adds in passing, her arms full of leather armor for the shifters.
Everyone at the table groans miserably. Callahan runs a hand over his face and leans on the table.
"That reminds me," he says. "Have you seen Seamus? I wanted to ask him about the paperwork for the Port Authority."
"I haven't seen him all morning," I reply, too tired to worry about it.
"We need to stop focusing on this trivial stuff," Aura says, taking control of the conversation. "We've been arguing about how to get there all day and ignoring the real issue!"
"What's that?" I ask.
Aura taps the table next to the jumble of buttons, coins, and chess pieces representing our army.
"That even if we get there, we don't have the manpower to do what you're planning!"
She drags the map of Morana's palace out from under the other map.
"You want us to hold this courtyard here, right? But it's got four major entrances to worry about. More if they get creative."
"We can barricade those two—" I say, but Aura is still going.
"And we have to get there first," she says, moving tokens on the map to illustrate her point. "Using the wolves out front to protect the ranged units is smart, but who's watching their flank? We're outnumbered, remember! They'll just close around us. Everything depends on the pincer maneuver you wanted to do with these two groups of melee vamps, but we don't have enough people for that. We've got enough to fill out maybe half of that, and that's if we steal a few from the ranged group. We're spread too thin, Lyra."
"She's right," Moira agrees, frowning. "And I don't much like the idea of putting my pack mates on the front lines of a slaughter."
"You have to remember these units will need noncombatants with them as well," Maeve adds. "Healers and supply runners and such. If you want to hold the courtyard for any length of time that is."
"All of this is beside the point," Callahan says, putting the European map on top again. "We can't do anything if we can't get there. Now, what if we got two big rigs with enclosed trailers . . ."
I groan and put my head down on the table, covering it with my arms. Fuck being queen. Fuck leadership. I hate this. I want a nap.
A shout from the castle gates interrupts us, and I return to full alertness. The sentry shouts that someone's approaching. Scratch that. A lot of someone’s.
I hurry to the gate, Aura, Callahan and the twins following close behind. Damon and Carver appear from where they've been managing weapon and armor distribution to join us. My heart races, certain it's Morana coming to stop us before we even get underway.
I vault up the steps to the watchtower by the gate, leaning over the crenellation with my heart in my throat, only to laugh as I recognize who it is.
"Open the gate!" I shout as I hurry back down. "They're friends!"
As the gate opens, Emmett waves to me proudly, the wind catching his hair, making him look like something out of a dream, his eyes as green as the tall grass of the Irish coast behind him. Also behind him are a whole host of other vampires.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, delight like champagne making me laugh just to see him again.
"I told you I'd be back," he said as reached me, smiling as if he is as happy to see me as I am to see him. "I'm here to offer my help, and the help of all the ancient clans of Kresova."
He clears his throat and raises his voice, gesturing behind him.
"I bring you the Alders of London," he says, and a number of the people cheer proudly. "The Blackthorns of Scotland." Another third cheers, and I have a feeling they are putting special effort into being louder and more excited than the Alders. "And the Aspen of Italy." The final third give their cheer as well. "The clans are behind you, Lyra. Morana has finally gone too far for anyone to ignore it. We won't let ourselves be quietly absorbed into her empire. If you can promise us safety and sovereignty when all this over, then we'll follow you into hell to take Morana down."
His speech finished, the people behind him all cheer again. He leans a little closer to me, grinning, and speaks more quietly. "I've got six more busloads waiting down the coast."
"How did you convince them all?" I ask, dazed. He shrugs, his smile so charming I'm certain the answer to my question is that he simply looked at them, and they all came running.
"Every Aspen left who wasn't forced into Morana's army volunteered," he says. "They want their clan back. The Alders were a little harder to convince, but they're traditionalists. And there's no older tradition than the clan's independence. Once I convinced them there was a real danger of Morana taking over, they threw in."
"What about the Blackthorns?" I ask. "They're your clan, aren't they?"
"Easy," Emmett says, laughing. "I just told them the Alders were doing it. They may be vampires, but they're Scotsmen first. So, what do you say? Will you let us join you?"
He offers me a hand to shake and I take it at once, my breath catching at the tingling rush as soon as my skin touches his.
"Absolutely."
The clans number about 300 together, more than enough to bring us even with Morana's forces. As they try to pack into the castle, a sense of slightly overwhelmed joy takes hold of everyone. This is doable. This is more than doable. We aren't just throwing ourselves at a noble cause and hoping for the best now. We could actually win this!
"You do realize this makes our transportation problem worse, right?" Aura says, as we stand among the massive crowd, trying to figure out where to begin to organize them.
"We'll figure it out," I say with a laugh, clapping her on the shoulder. "What matters is that we finally, really stand a chance of feeding that bitch her own teeth!"
A cheer answers my enthusiastic declaration and I laugh, cheering along. Maybe I'm a little delirious from exhaustion, but the renewed sense of hope makes me want to dance in the street. We have a chance! Emmett looks as pleased as I do, and his proud smile makes him look like a hero in a movie. Overwhelmed with excitement, I throw my arms around him in an exuberant hug. He stumbles at first, surprised, then laughs and hugs me back.
Encouraged, I swing him around in an impromptu little dance and he exceeds my expectations by playing along, to the amusement of the crowd as we dance to no music . . . at least until someone, one of the Blackthorns I expect, breaks out an accordion and gives us a beat. I know we have no time for this little celebration, but damn if it doesn't feel good after so much fear and worry to let Emmett spin me around in a ridiculous, goofy dance. Suddenly he dips me, dramatic and silly. Except, leaning back against his arm, his hand warm in mine, our eyes meet for just a little too long, and suddenly nothing about this is silly. My heart is beating too hard and all I can think about is how close he is.
"Oh no," a familiar voice calls out, cutting through the music and the crowd, half of whom are now dancing as well. Emmett nearly drops me in his hurry to set me back on my feet.
"Seamus!" I say, as the Fae
navigates the crowd to approach us. "You'll never believe the good news!"
"He brought you an army, didn't he?" Seamus says, glancing at Emmett and actually looking a bit disappointed.
"Yeah," I confirm. "Why, what's wrong?"
"Well, if I'd known ahead of time," Seamus says, "I could have planned to reveal my present before his! Now it's going to look so much less impressive in comparison!"
"What?" I ask, confused, but Seamus wink and snaps his fingers. At once, ten strangers step out of the air behind him, appearing from nowhere in a shimmer of iridescent light. The crowd separates to give them room, startled.
"A troupe of Fae, courtesy of the queens themselves," Seamus announces. "I was thinking about what you'd said about enchanting bullets and such and I thought, well, of course I could do that, but think of how much more I could do with nine or ten of me! And as it turns out, there are plenty of Fae eager to see Morana punished for kidnapping changelings."
My head spins for a moment, overwhelmed. Not just an army, but a troupe of Fae, too? I catch myself on Seamus's arm to keep from falling over.
"Nyx, come here," Seamus says, gesturing to one of the Fae, a tall man with long dark hair and eyes like glimmering stars. "I haven't forgotten your transportation woes. Nyx here is the answer to your prayers."
Nyx bows elaborately.
"A pleasure to meet you," he says, his voice soft and rich as the night. "I am honored to offer my services to a queen."
"Nyx is a master of teleportation magic," Seamus explains. "He'll have your entire army at Morana's gates in two shakes of a lamb's tail."
"Two shakes?" Nyx sniffs. "I could do it in one."
I laugh, wild and a little hysterical, clinging to Seamus for support.
"Are you, all right?" he asks, a little worried.
"God, yes," I tell him, grinning from ear to ear. "Morana doesn't stand a fucking chance."
Chapter 12
It's dusk and the sky is a painter's riot of red, pink, and orange. The army assembles in an open field near the castle, 400 to 500 people milling about in loose formation, waiting to begin. Just as the sun kisses the horizon, Nyx steps out in front of everyone, the evening breeze turning his long black hair into a waving banner which, to me, looks like a living piece of the night.
Fury : The Kresova Vampire Harems: Lyra Page 8
