Chapter 39 | Ravinica

Chapter 39

Ravinica

I HITCHED MY FOOT OVER to the next toehold—a crack in the stony edifice of the pillar. When I reached over the peaked lip of the roof, fingers curling around the open windowsill, hands abruptly fell on my wrists from the room beyond.

I gasped, seeing the swirls of tattoos on both hands, illuminated by the moonlight behind me.

Magnus poked his head out.

"Don't do it, Scar," I shot out. My feet stumbled for purchase on my tenuous toeholds—three stories up in the sky.

He smirked. "Never, Mufasa."

With that, he hauled me up through the window with surprising strength, into the room. Our bodies collided awkwardly as I landed on my feet.

Yes, even two Viking-blooded initiates living in far-off villages away from modern civilization could quote Disney classics.

"The nickname fits for me," he said into my ear. A layer of goosebumps broke out along my arms. We were still locked in an embrace, with Magnus catching me when I landed in the records room of Mimir Tomes.

My hands snuck along his forearms, feeling the raised flesh of his scars underneath his tattoos. "Shit," I said, frowning. "Sorry. I didn't think about that."

He chuckled. "It's fine."

"I'm not gonna call you Scar again, Magnus. It's not fine." I gulped and slowly separated from him, though it pained me to do so.

He held a smile on his face—only the second genuine smile I'd seen from the draug since coming here. In weeks of doing our secret research, the emotionless, unreadable man hadn't let me break through his shell.

Now, he seemed in a better mood than I'd ever seen.

And for good reason. We passed the damn Combat & Strategy trial today! I wanted to scream it to the heavens, except I knew there was no quicker way to call Huscarls to our location.

His gray eyes landed on mine, smile faltering as he turned toward our tables, which he had already set up.

"You were amazing out there," he said over his shoulder, without looking at me.

"You too," I replied, following him to the tables.

"I never thought you'd go for being our decoy."

I shrugged. "I knew Astrid had it out for me. Had to use it to our advantage. The deciding factor was you being our ace in the hole, Magnus. Our best-kept secret."

When I shot him a smile, he felt my presence and glanced over his shoulder. I chewed my lip, lowering my head. "Maybe that's what I'll have to call you. Ace."

He snorted and started rummaging around in a backpack he had on the chair his trench coat was hanging over. "Please, gods no."

I laughed. "So? How are we celebrating our victory?"

He pulled out a wine bottle from his bag, and then two clay mugs in his other hand. "I came prepared," he said, showing me the goods and swishing the bottle of red in his hands.

My lips parted. "Magnus Feldraug, you scoundrel, you!"

He chuckled. Cracked open the wine, poured our drinks, and handed me one. We toasted, bumping mugs.

"Skaal," we both said in unison, and then drank.

It was shockingly romantic coming from such a man.

The wine was good, burning nicely down my throat like a velvet caress.

Magnus shoved his backpack off the chair and sat, facing me. I took one glance at the tables where our books rested unopened—he had gathered mine for me before I showed up, evidently.

I sat in the only other chair we had, across from him. We drank in silence. I couldn't hide my smile when I looked up into his handsome face.

Magnus was gaunt, in a messy sort of way. His dark crimson hair was perpetually unkempt, kept long near his shoulders when it wasn't in a bun. His eyes burned holes in me, and his features were sharp and dangerous.

"This is nice," I said, apropos of nothing. I just needed something to say, to put a knife through the tension hovering between us.

He nodded, saying nothing.

Our eyes locked. I wanted a celebration for our victory, for sure, and so did he. I wanted a deeper celebration than this. I suspected he did too. We were dancing, both of us knowing it, neither of us making the requisite move to push the game forward.

"So . . ." I murmured, then sipped from my cup and glanced over the rim to the table of books again.

When my eyes moved back to Magnus, he was on his feet in a flurry. Moving toward me, making me inhale sharply with his determined stride.

The man grabbed my wrists, rolling his fingers around the small nub of bone. I suppressed a shiver of delight, a buzz of excitement rolling through me.

Magnus lifted me from the chair with my arms, so we were both standing. Close, again. I placed my mug of wine on the chair behind me.

Magnus was lean, taller than me by an inch or two. I didn't have to crane my neck like I did with Grim. I also wasn't looking level with him like I was with Arne.

His arms were corded with muscle, wiry. My hands freely roamed his forearms, tracing his scars and tattoos, as he held me close to him, nearly chest to chest. My yellow-gold eyes locked with his bright gray ones.

His lips were full, eminently kissable, and I found myself licking my lips just looking at them. "I want to learn how you got each and every one of those scars, Magnus," I said in a low, throaty voice.

I hadn't been aware my voice had become so lusty, it happened so fast. It was nearly guttural the way I spoke to him.

"And I want you , Ravinica."

My breath hitched. His was a cool, rich voice that settled over me like a soft touch spiked with danger.

"I see the way you look at Grim, at Arne. I want that too. All for myself."

I swallowed past a lump and brought myself closer to him. "Ah. A bit possessive, are we? You've had me all to yourself for weeks now."

His face flickered with doubt, a grimace twisting his fine features. "I know. That's my biggest regret—not capitalizing on the time we've had here."

He let out a small groaning sound, inches from me. I could feel his hot breath on my face, getting shallower and shallower.

He leaned in to kiss me—

And I leaned in at the same time, but wrapped a hand gently around his neck, ghosting over his swirl of tattoos there, and whispered, "I'm not choosing between you and the others, Magnus. Old Way be damned. I'm doing things my own way here."

I only had to be certain I was willing to give my heart to numerous men. And right now, I was.

Our lips were an inch apart. "You don't have to choose, silvermoon. I already did for you."

His audacity made me quiver. I melted in his arms. Inside, I begged him to take me right here in Mimir Tomes' records room.

"Possessive and cocky, eh?" I breathed.

"You don't know the half of it. You're mine, Ravinica. Whether you want to admit it or not."

Well . . . shit.

When he put it that way.

His arm wove with mine and his hand wrapped around the column of my neck, drawing my flesh taut.

With our hands at each other's throats, we leaned in and locked lips. His were soft and demanding, showing the possessive demon that he was. He was a cold man, both in his veins and to the touch, yet the kiss was a smoldering reminder of how he could turn up the heat when he wanted.

With my eyes closing, Magnus applied pressure to my windpipe, firm enough to excite, soft enough to tell me he knew what he was doing.

"Say ‘Ace' if I'm being too rough, silvermoon," he said against my lips.

Fucking hells. Too rough with . . .

I was unfathomably drenched by the time his lips separated from mine, connected by a strand of our saliva. My breath came hot and heavy, yet his hardly seemed to come at all.

Then I eked out, "Say ‘Queen' if I'm being too rough with you , Magnus."

His eyebrows perched high on his forehead at my words, and a low hum purred deep in his chest.

Then we were moving, eyes dancing with desire. He tried to twirl me around and I spun into his chest, making him wrap his arm around me.

I staggered against the chair next to me and heard my wine cup clattering to the ground, spilling its contents onto the old wooden floorboards.

Magnus spun me again, dizzying me in a wave of lust. My arms ended up behind me, held sturdy by one of his hands that speared under my arm, curling around my body. Our chests were flush against each other.

Smiling, he reached into his backpack, pulled a length of rope out of nowhere, and got to work.

I gasped when he blindly tied my wrists together behind my back, his eyes never leaving mine. He was an expert, swirling the firm knot in seconds, while I stood there dumbly and didn't fight him for a single thing.

I wanted to let this man do horrible, rough things to me, and I wanted to thank him afterwards. I'd never felt this way about anyone— needing him to take control and command of my body in such a way. It was such a liberating, freeing experience that I nearly crumpled right then and there.

Magnus was fast, urgent, pushing me up against the table. When my ass dug into the edge of the table, he grunted and hoisted me up by the backs of my thighs. My arms struggled, reflexively reaching for balance. His knot held, keeping them in place.

He reached for my belt since I couldn't do it on my own, and started to peel my leather pants off my body, around my thick thighs and down to my ankles.

His spindly, expert hands roamed over my soft flesh, moving to my inner thighs without waiting. Drawing gasps from my lungs with every forceful, intentional move he made.

"So warm," he muttered, tutting, roving over my thighs near the edge of my panties. "You're everything I've wished for, silvermoon."

I squeezed my legs around his hands, trying to keep him there, though it only made him smile. My eyes locked onto his bare chest—which should have been a hint over the past few weeks, remaining shirtless in the third level of Mimir Tomes even with me around.

I surveyed his scars and tattoos. They seemed to swirl and move beneath my gaze as he pried my thighs apart. He squeezed in between me and abruptly went to his knees.

"Oh shit, Magnus."

His head poked up. I leaned back slightly and could only see his crimson hair over the slight swell of my belly.

"Let me feast," he demanded.

I gulped over a dry throat and nodded senselessly.

He ripped my panties away, drawing out a rough gasp from my throat from the sudden snap. I wriggled and my wrists chafed against the ropes binding me.

Magnus dipped his head between my legs and licked away my essence. He hummed as he nosed my clit and probed my soaking-wet pussy with his tongue. The muscle laved with toe-curling precision, catching all my juices and sucking them away.

He added fingers to the mix, and it was game over. I writhed, moaning as he ate me out and wrapped his hands around the outsides of my shaking thighs.

"F-Fuck, Magnus," I choked out. "You're gonna make me come already."

"Come all over my fucking face, silvermoon," he ordered. "I want to see your perfect flower open for me. I need to see you completely."

He licked me some more, digging his fingers deeper into my flesh while he prodded, hooked, and administered an orgasmic test of my resolve.

I broke immediately, like a snowflake in a summer storm. Fragmenting at the seams, I squirmed and came on the spot.

My thighs wrapped around his head and neck. If I'd had my arms available, I would have stuffed his face deeper in my cunt, forcing him to lap up my arousal and drown in my climax.

He chuckled darkly as I tried to squeeze the life out of his head, content with popping him like a watermelon.

Then he stood, pants strained at the middle, bulging near his waist. He stripped his pants down and his cock swung out and slammed down on my twitching pussy.

A soft slap of flesh rang out, his cock hard and white-hot against my wet lips, yet with a strange chill that made me hiss. I could see how far he would reach, with his shaft resting on me and spearing up along my belly.

"Shit," I groaned.

The most beautiful thing about his cock were the studs lining the underside of his shaft, forming a Jacob's Ladder, which was what caused the cold spark against my belly. A hint of blue tattoos swirled along his impressive length.

Just like the rest of him, Magnus was unique.

He shot me an amused smile and slapped his cock on my belly and pussy. I tensed and squirted a hint of arousal at him, eyes fluttering when I felt the cold metal against my slippery heat.

He rubbed his dick along my lips, making sure I felt every stud on his cock. The ridge bulged and twitched, spilling precum on my stomach.

He fingered me ravenously, until his entire hand was sticky and wet. With his other hand, he stroked himself, bringing himself to a full, long erection.

I cried out and writhed, chafing my wrists against my binding. "Fuck me already, Magnus. This teasing is too much!"

Without another word, he lined up and thrust inside me—hard. A silent scream escaped me as his length filled my walls and punched deep inside. The piercings added lovely bumps along my walls.

He bucked his hips and I lost my vision for a split second. I moaned as he started thrusting, creaking the legs of the table against the floorboards.

Magnus held my thighs up, tipping me completely onto my back. I stared up at his wicked face and the rafters of the ceiling as my legs went onto his shoulders.

He pummeled my pussy and massaged my clit at the same time, bringing an orgasm sputtering inside me within minutes.

When he moved my legs and sandwiched my thighs together to the side, creating a firm, tight hole for him to thrust into, I lost it completely.

I came again, shaking my head and grinding my teeth to fight off the stars shooting behind my lids.

He fucked me from the side through my climax, jiggling my big ass with every hard thrust of his hips against my flesh. The thin man could work , and all I could do was enjoy his ministrations.

He spun me again, onto my belly this time, and held my wrists by the rope. My feet landed on the floor, wobbly, and my ass rippled as he railed me from behind.

To think I'd ever had a chance at "out-roughing" him was laughable. He molded my body to his liking, making sure we both enjoyed what he was doing.

And I hadn't even seen the half of it.

After flipping me on the table, his hand fell on my neck and shoved, smashing my tits and cheeks against the wood. When he pulled back, he had my silver hair wrapped around his wrist, and a choked groan escaped my lips as my head snapped back.

He fucked the air out of my lungs, and the feeling out of my extremities. My hands were useless behind me, and I'd never realized how much I needed them for stability until now.

He kept pulling and pulling . . . until I started to go with him.

I cried out and staggered away from the table, his cock still lodged in my needy pussy. He fucked me from behind, standing, palming my soft neck and tilting my head back so he could kiss me from behind, his face hovering over my shoulder.

Then he abruptly shoved me forward and I stumbled, yelping as the floor rushed to meet my face—

Only for him to catch me by yanking my hair and cutting off my breath, my nose mere inches from the floorboards. I writhed in sudden pain and pleasure.

I lapped at wine that had spilled there, not understanding the primal urge coming over me—needing something to do with my tongue while he defiled and claimed me.

He propped my ass up, my head down, and the wine burned against my cheek as I licked like a bitch in heat—like a cat at a milk bowl.

He slammed into me from above and behind, smashing his hips against my rippling ass. Every plunge of his cock sent me into a downward spiral where I knew another orgasm awaited me, heavier than the last.

The next one would be my undoing.

Abruptly, his boot was on the side of my face. I mewled as he squished my cheek into the floorboards, as if trying to imprint my body there, and he said nothing the entire time he destroyed me.

His leg was stretched far over my body so he could literally stand on my face and make a mockery of me. He didn't put much weight down, but it was enough to debase, humiliate, and arouse me even more.

I started writhing, feeling the dam breaking and the final flood incoming. I cried out in a muffled, bubbled voice mixed with spit and wine. I could almost taste the bottom of his shoe, it was so close to my lips.

His hands dug into my hips. He slid one between my ass crack as he plowed into me. I was on the verge of yelling out the safeword, but I knew I could take it—I was determined to let him ruin me, because it felt so fucking good and perfect.

Then one of his fingers darted past the tight bundle of my asshole, spearing inside me, and I howled. My insides uncoiled as he battered them with his hard cock, and I exploded. My ass lifted higher, until I was pushing up against his hips, forcing him to bottom out inside me.

"Gods fucking save me, silvermoon," he grunted, speaking for the first time since our torrential affair had begun. "Your pussy is choking the life out of me."

He pulled out of my tightened hole, ragged and bumpy, and sprayed cum across my back and into my hair. The ropes were sizzling-hot, and I quivered and lost myself to the unraveling climax at the same time.

Magnus yanked my wrist-ties one last time, hauling me up so he could finish coming on me.

He hugged my back against his chest. He breathed in my ear. "That was everything, love."

I nodded dumbly, still lost to the ongoing orgasm. Aftershocks of sheer bliss shot through me, making me jolt every few seconds.

He had broken me. I couldn't even talk. I could feel the tread of his bootprint embedded in the side of my face—one of a million spots where he'd claimed me.

Seconds later, or maybe hours, the roughness of the bindings on my wrists slid away. The rope dropped, and my hands were freed.

I breathed shallowly, trying to catch my breath. Awoken to a new way of lovemaking that was earth-shattering. Magnus had simultaneously broken me and rebuilt me.

And all I could say, in a gasping voice:

". . . Again."