Chapter 25

Chapter 25

T his was what her body had been craving, Fey thought, shuddering beneath Alastair's tongue.

She'd had lovers before, but Alastair looked at her like he would die if he couldn't taste her, would die if he couldn't touch every inch of her body. He touched her like he was worshiping her, like every caress was a prayer.

He groaned as his tongue slipped into her, his hands holding her in place by her hips, and she lost herself in the feeling of his mouth on her. She'd have bruises where he gripped her hips, but she didn't care.

He found her clit, and his tongue circled once like he was teasing it before he closed his mouth around it.

Fey's body jolted, and he chuckled against her skin. One of his hands released her, and a moment later she heard a zipper. Shocked, she glanced down at where he knelt on the floor between her open legs. Alastair's hand gripped his cock from where he'd freed it from his pants, and he stroked himself as he licked and teased her.

"Do you like that?" he asked, looking up at her as she watched. He fisted his cock for her.

Wordlessly, she nodded, and she felt his smile against her skin .

"And what about this?" Alastair asked. His hand moved from her hips to her pussy, and he slipped a finger inside of her.

Fey fell back against the desk, her back arching like a bow. He growled his approval, and added another finger, his mouth never leaving her.

She was losing herself in this feeling, the combination of his fingers and mouth on her.

"Alastair," she warned, feeling her pleasure building. Her hands gripped the edge of the desk, fingernails digging into the wood.

He groaned again, curling his fingers inside her.

"Come for me, Witchling," he urged. His tongue danced over her clit as his fingers worked inside of her.

She did, her body flexing off the desk, head thrown back as she screamed. She gripped his head in her thighs, and he devoured her, using his fingers to guide her through her climax, mouth clasped around her clit.

Fey had never come so hard in her life, and when she finally relaxed enough to release his head from between her thighs, she collapsed back against the desk, breathless.

His clothing made little noise as he removed it, standing between her legs and leaning over the desk to cover her body with her own.

Alastair's face was wet with her arousal, and she could taste herself on him when he kissed her.

"You taste even better than I imagined," he whispered against her lips. His hands moved to her wrists, and he brought them up above her head, pinning her to the desk with one massive hand.

His other hand moved down her body, returning to between her thighs.

Fey gasped as his fingers entered her again.

"I'm not done with you yet," he said, and his words felt like a threat. "Oh no. Not after how long you made me wait for this. How long you made me wait to taste you."

Despite the earth-shattering orgasm she'd just had, Fey's body wasn't done either. His fingers moved inside her, and her body roiled in response.

"Beg me," Alastair said, moving his mouth to her ear .

His fingers moved inside her in a slow steady rhythm, and Fey barely heard him above the noises she was making.

"What?" she asked, breathlessly.

His fingers dug into her wrists, and between her legs he pushed a third finger inside her, stretching her. She gasped at the sensation.

"Beg me," he repeated.

He was fucking her hard with his fingers. Her body was wet enough to allow it, responding to his touches in a way she'd never responded to anyone before.

"Come on, little Witchling." His hand left her wrists, grabbing a fistful of her hair and wrenching her head back against the wood, forcing her body to arch. "Beg me to fuck you."

His fingers moved faster, harder inside her, and already Fey felt herself building to another release.

She wanted to tell him to fuck off. Want to tell him to get off of her and go fuck himself.

But that's not what came out of her mouth. His hand tangled in her hair, his fingers working her closer and closer to orgasm, and his fangs scraping against her neck, the word that came out of her mouth was "Please."

"Please what?" his voice was teasing, but his fingers fucked her even harder, almost painfully hard.

"Fuck me, Alastair," Fey panted. "Please. Please fuck me."

He groaned in relief. His fingers slipped out of her, and he brought them to her lips.

"Open," he ordered, eyes flashing. Without protest, Fey opened her mouth and let him slip two fingers inside her, sucking her juices from his fingers.

He smiled as she closed her mouth around his fingers, and she felt him shift between her legs, felt his cock nudge her entrance.

"Good girl," he whispered. And he pushed himself inside her.

Three fingers had stretched her, but this? This was enough to break her apart. Fey screamed as he entered her, inch by inch, her hands clawing at his back. It hurt, Goddess knew it hurt, but it was like nothing she'd felt before.

He swore against her skin, and she wondered if he felt the same .

" Fuck ," he snarled. She bit the space between his shoulder and his neck to stop from screaming again. "Witchling, you're so fucking tight."

When the last inch of his cock buried inside her, he paused for a second, letting her adjust to the sensation of him filling her. Then, his face hovering above hers, their eyes locked, he started to move.

This is what sex should be , Fey thought as he moved inside her. Her body was on fire, every nerve firing. Already she was cresting to another peak.

The desk creaked underneath them as he fucked her. Alastair's hand gripped her thigh tight enough to hurt, holding her in place, and his other hand found her neck and squeezed.

"I want to make you hurt, Fey," he said. His hand tightened around her throat and his cock was agonizingly hard inside her. "I want you covered in marks from me. And when you come back for more, I want to taste every mark I left on you."

He was moving faster, pounding into her. The desk moved with each thrust. Fey couldn't think, couldn't catch her breath. Her body was coming apart, and she wanted this, wanted him to hurt her.

"I want you to remember this," he groaned against her skin. "I want you to remember every place I touched you."

She tried to talk, tried to say his name, but he moved his hand to her mouth, covering her words.

"Come for me again, Witchling," he commanded.

And she did.

Fey nearly blacked out from the force of it, and if his hand hadn't covered her mouth she might have screamed loud enough to be heard in the club, music be damned. He fucked her through it, moving his hips in slow sensual strokes and whispering filthy things in her ears.

As she came down from her peak, his rhythm became faster, more erratic, and when she whispered his name against the hand that held her, he groaned his release, spilling himself inside her before collapsing.

They lay there together, entwined on his desk, breathless and sweaty. Might have stayed there all night if the desk hadn't creaked again, under the weight of them both. Creaked, and shifted .

"Alastair?" Fey said in warning, but before he could respond the desk gave an audible crack as a leg snapped and flung them both to the floor.

Alastair swore as they fell, rolling so he landed on his back, cradling her safely against his chest.

"What the fuck ?" he snarled, lifting his head to look around in shock, and she laughed.

"You broke the desk!"

He blinked at her in confusion, then blinked at the desk, now toppled on the ground.

"Fuck," he said, finally. He let his head fall back against the floor. "Fuck me, that was an antique."

Fey laughed again, harder than she probably should have, and his arms slipped around her back, holding her tight against him. His fingers traced patterns on her bare skin, pausing at each of her scars. Not in disgust or surprise, but something akin to curiosity. Reverence.

Curled against his chest, Fey let him. Let him trail his fingers over each of her battle scars. She had the strangest feeling that he was memorizing them.

She could have fallen asleep there, draped over him on the floor. Could have, but shouldn't.

She shifted in his arms to sit up, and his hands tensed around her, grunting a wordless objection.

"I have to go," Fey said with a smile.

"No, you don't," he responded. His eyes were closed.

"I do. And you have to go back to work. You have a club to run."

"Fuck them," he said. "They can handle one night without me. And fuck them if they can't. Let the building burn for all I care."

"I have to go, and you know it." She stood, stretching her limbs, and began searching for her clothing.

Alastair propped himself up on his elbow, watching her move around the room, digging through the mess the broken desk had made.

"What?" she asked, finding her panties and pulling them over her hips.

"You're exquisite, you know that?" Alastair said. He sounded amazed. Fey snorted, reaching for her sweater. He reached out to grab her wrist, holding her .

"Stay here with me tonight," he said. "I shouldn't have done this here. There's a bed upstairs." He nodded to the ceiling. Good to know , Fey thought to herself. "Sleep here. I'll make it worth it." His eyes glittered, and Fey clenched her thighs together involuntarily.

"Maybe next time," she said, gently peeling his fingers from her wrist.

"Next time?" He asked, grinning. "So, there will be a next time?"

"Don't get too ahead of yourself," Fey warned, but it was an effort not to smile back at him. An effort not to take him up on the offer and let him take her upstairs to a bed where he could ravish her all night.

Fey felt good. For the first time in a long time, she felt at peace in her body. Maybe there would be another time. And maybe another after that. It wasn't common for a Witch to become involved with a Vampire, but it wasn't forbidden. And that sex? That had been just what she'd needed. It would be hard to say no to that again…

The contents of his desk had spilled over the floor, and she couldn't seem to find her pants in the mess. She piled things together, organizing the chaos. A small bag caught her eye, and Fey plucked it from the ground, shaking the powder inside.

"What's this?" she asked.

Alastair grunted from where he lay on the ground. "Devil dust. We pulled it off a dealer a few weeks ago." He eyed the bag in her hand nervously. "It's foul stuff. You should put it down, trust me."

But Fey wasn't listening. The color had drained from her face as she stared at the bag.

"This?" she asked, breathless. "This is devil dust?"

Alastair nodded, but she wasn't looking at him. "It is," he confirmed, suspicion in his voice. "Why?"

"It's not gold," Fey whispered.

"No," Alastair answered. His voice was slow and soft. "It's not."

Fey's head was spinning. There wasn't enough air in the room suddenly. "Alastair, is there a drug that's gold? Liquid gold, with," she faltered. "With light swirling inside?"

"Fey," he started.

"Just answer the fucking question." Fey snarled at him .

Alastair swallowed. He knew the answer. Suspected she did too. And it meant something more to her than he could understand.

"No, Witchling. As far as I know—and, trust me, I would know—there's no drug out there like you're describing."

She was going to vomit. Thoughts were tumbling through her head faster than she could keep up.

It wasn't devil dust, what they'd found in the warehouse. Wasn't a drug at all. Why had they thought that? Where had that information come from? And why were they sent to destroy it? What could be so dangerous that the Queen sent her Blades to get rid of it?

Something bigger was happening here, a puzzle she had only the vaguest idea of, too many pieces that she didn't have yet.

Fey tossed the devil dust on the broken remnants of his desk.

"I have to go," she said, yanking her pants from underneath the desk and pulling them on. She shrugged her sweater on, pulling it over her breasts.

"Wait, Fey—" Alastair started, but it was too late. She was already heading out the door.

And then she was gone.