Chapter 192: Lynx and Ten Women II

Emily’s face went red to the roots of her dark hair. She’d been sitting on the edge of the bed, hands clasped in her lap, watching everything.

When he said her name, she flinched like she’d been caught doing something.

"I... I haven’t—"

"I know." He reached out and caught her wrist, pulled her onto the bed. "That’s the point."

He laid her down and took his time with her, because he was finally taking her first time, because she was nervous, because he wanted her to feel every second of the first time.

He kissed her mouth, her throat, the valley between her breasts. He peeled her clothes off piece by piece and kissed the skin he exposed.

When his fingers found her, she was already wet, watching had done its work, but he still worked her open slowly, one finger, then two, curling and pressing until she was arching off the mattress and making small, helpless sounds.

"Please," she whispered. "Lynx, please, I want—"

"I know what you want." He positioned himself between her thighs. "Tell me anyway."

"I want you inside me." Her voice cracked. "Please."

He pushed in slow. Emily’s eyes went wide and her mouth opened on a silent gasp. She was tight, so fucking tight he had to work his way in, inch by inch, watching her face for pain.

There was none. Just that stunned, overwhelmed look of being filled for the first time. His cock had done it’s magic.

"Okay?" he asked.

She nodded, breathless. "More."

He gave her more. Slow, deep strokes, letting her body adjust, letting her feel the drag of him along her walls. Emily’s hands found his back and clung.

Her hips started to move with his, shy at first, then bolder. When she came, a small, surprised orgasm that made her gasp and clench, Lynx smiled down at her.

"Good girl," he said. "Again."

He fucked her through the second one, faster now, and the third, and by the fourth she was a trembling mess beneath him, hair plastered to her forehead, eyes half closed. He pulled out before he finished and left her there, panting, to move on.

"Lira."

Lira was already on the bed, waiting. She didn’t need to be told what to do. She rolled onto her hands and knees and arched her back, presenting herself, and looked over her shoulder at him with those big green eyes.

"Like this?"

"Exactly like that."

He mounted her from behind and pushed in with one stroke. Lira’s breath hitched and her fingers curled into the sheets.

He grabbed her hips and fucked her hard from the start, no warm up, no gentleness. She’d watched enough. She was wet enough.

And she took him beautifully, cunt gripping and releasing with every thrust, tits swaying beneath her with the force of it.

"Harder," she gasped. "Lynx, harder..."

He gave her harder. Slapped her ass, once, twice, and she moaned and pushed back against him.

He reached around, found her clit with two fingers, and rubbed tight circles while he fucked her.

Lira came apart in seconds, a sharp, keening cry, her whole body shuddering. He didn’t stop.

He fucked her through it and into another, and another, until she was sobbing into the mattress and her thighs were shaking.

When he finally pulled out, she collapsed flat, chest heaving.

"Ophelia."

Ophelia came to him with a smile. That split hair, pink and white, spilled over her shoulders as she climbed into his lap, facing him, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

She kissed him slow and deep, and he let her, one hand fisting in her hair. When she pulled back, her rose pink eyes were soft.

"I’ve been waiting all night," she said.

"Then it’s time to stop waiting."

She reached down, guided him to her entrance, and sank onto him with a long, satisfied sigh.

She was wet and hot and tight, and she rode him with a slow, rolling rhythm that was almost lazy, until he got a hand under her ass and started driving up into her, hard and fast, until her composure cracked and she was moaning into his shoulder.

He flipped her onto her back without pulling out, kept fucking her through the turn, and Ophelia’s laugh turned into a gasp.

He pinned her wrists above her head with one hand and fucked her deep and slow, watching her face.

When she came, it was with his name on her lips and her cunt squeezing him so tight he had to grit his teeth.

"Eira."

Eira had been watching from the foot of the bed, dark eyes hooded, one hand between her own thighs.

She pulled her fingers out and came to him without a word. He bent her over the edge of the bed, face down, ass up, and pushed into her from behind.

She was slick and ready, and she took him with a low, throaty moan.

He fucked her hard and fast, one hand on her hip, the other wrapped in her dark hair. The slap of his body against hers was loud. Eira’s moans were louder.

He spanked her, once, twice, three times, and she cried out and pushed back against him, and he felt her cunt flutter and clench as she came.

"Isabel."

Isabel didn’t move when he said her name. She stood at the foot of the bed with her blonde hair loose over her shoulders and her orange eyes steady on his.

And for a moment the room seemed to hold its breath around her, because she was different from the others.

Normal Human. She was a mother. A woman who had run a household and buried a husband and watched her own daughter fall for the same man she had.

She had a composure the younger ones didn’t, a stillness that came from knowing exactly what she was and refusing to pretend otherwise.

Lynx walked to her. He didn’t reach for her. He stopped close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to keep his eyes, and he let her look at him, at the silver mark on his forehead, at the sweat drying on his chest, at the cock still heavy between his thighs, slick from his recent conquest.

Isabel smiled.

He caught her by the waist and lifted her onto the bed. She went down onto her back without resistance, blonde hair spreading across the silk, and he followed her down, caging her with his arms, and kissed her.

Not the way he’d kissed Amira or Kira. Slow. Deep. His mouth opened hers and his tongue found hers and she made a small sound against his lips and her hands came up into his hair and held him there.

He kissed her for a long time. Long enough that the wet heat of the room pressed in on them both and her thighs shifted, restless, under his hips.

Long enough that the others, turned their heads to watch.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then the soft place under her ear where her pulse beat slow and steady against his lips.

He dragged his mouth down the side of her throat and she tipped her head back for him, offering it, and her fingers tightened in his hair.

"There," she breathed. "Right there."

He sucked the skin there, gentle, then harder, and she arched under him. He could feel her heartbeat speed up against his tongue.

He moved lower, the hollow of her throat, the ridge of her collarbone, the shallow dip between her breasts.

His hands found the hem of her shirt and pulled it up, and she lifted her arms so he could take it off, and then her bra, and then she was bare beneath him, and he stopped.

Isabel was beautiful the way a woman is beautiful when she’s stopped performing. Her breasts were big and soft and her nipples were dark and hard in the cool air. No single scar or blemish on her smooth skin.

She watched his face while he looked at her, "You’re staring," she said.

"I’m memorizing."

"Pretty words."

"True ones." He bent his head and took one nipple into his mouth, and Isabel’s breath caught, a small, sharp sound that she swallowed almost before it escaped.

He sucked slow, tongue flat, and her back bowed off the mattress. His hand covered her other breast, thumb rolling the nipple in slow circles, and she made that sound again, softer this time.

"Lynx..."

"Say it."

"Don’t stop."

He didn’t. He worked her breasts until she was breathing hard through her nose, until her hips were shifting against his thigh, until her hands had gone from his hair to his shoulders and her nails were pressing little crescents into his skin.

Then he kissed his way down, sternum, belly, the soft curve above her hip, and hooked his fingers into the waistband of her pants and pulled them off her in one motion.

She was wet. He could see it before he touched her, slick shining on the inside of her thighs, the lips of her cunt flushed and parted. He knelt between her legs and looked at her, and Isabel, for the first time all night, looked away.

"Don’t," he said.

"Don’t what?"

"Don’t hide from me." He put a hand flat on her stomach, holding her there, and pressed his thumb to her clit, light, no pressure, just contact. Isabel’s whole body jolted and her eyes came back to his. "There you are."

"You’re cruel," she whispered.

"I’m thorough." He dragged his thumb down through her wetness, up again, slow, and her thighs tried to close around his hand and he pushed them apart with his shoulder.

"Ahnn~" Her breath hitched as he circled her clit.

He slid one finger into her, easy, and she was so wet it made no sound at all.

"Oghnn~ Ahnn~"

"Good." He added a second finger, curled them, and found the spot that made her hips come off the bed. "Keep doing that. But right now I want you to feel what it is when it’s me."

He worked her slow. No hurry, no performance, just two fingers curling and pressing while his thumb rolled her clit, and his eyes on her face the whole time.

Isabel came apart in pieces. First her breathing, then her hands, then the small sounds she couldn’t hold back.

She tried to be quiet, but Lynx pressed deeper, curled harder, and she gasped out loud, and the gasp turned into a moan, and the moan turned into his name.

"That’s it," he said. "Let them hear you."

"They’re..."

"Watching. I know." He didn’t look away from her. "Let them. We’ve done it before like this."

She stopped holding it in, and the room was quiet enough that everyone heard here, the wet sound of his fingers, the small broken rhythm of her breath, the way she said his name like it was the only word she had left.

He felt her start to tighten around his fingers, that flutter that meant she was close, and he pulled his hand away.

Isabel made a sound of pure loss. "Lynx..."

"Not yet." He climbed over her, braced on his forearms, and looked down at her face. "Not yet."

He kissed her throat again while he lined himself up, and she felt the head of him press against her entrance and her whole body went still.

Her hands came up and framed his face, and she looked at him, past the glow on him, past all of it, and something in her expression softened into a thing she’d never said out loud.

"Be careful with me," she said.

"Always."

He pushed in slow. One long, even stroke, no rush, letting her feel every inch as he filled her.

Isabel’s mouth opened on a breath that never quite became a sound, and her eyes stayed on his, and her hands tightened on his jaw.

He bottomed out and stopped, buried to the root, and let her adjust, let her feel the stretch, the fullness, the way her body had to open around him.

"We good?" he asked.

"Yes." Her voice was barely there. "God, yes."

He moved. Slow, deep strokes, the kind that didn’t let her off, no fast rhythm to hide behind, no slap of skin to drown out what she was feeling.

Every thrust dragged the length of him along her walls and pressed the head of his cock against something deep inside her that made her breath catch every single time.

His mouth found her throat again, lips and teeth on the pulse there, and he felt it jump under his tongue with every stroke.

"Look at me," he said against her skin.

She did. Orange eyes, wet at the corners, fixed on his.

"You’re mine," he said. "Not because I took you. Because you gave yourself."

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I’m yours." Her voice broke on the last word. "I’ve been yours since the first night."

He kissed her then, deep, slow, his mouth covering hers while he kept moving inside her, and she kissed him back like she was answering a question he hadn’t asked.

Her legs came up and wrapped around his waist, heels pressing into his lower back, and he sank deeper into her with every stroke, and the sound of it was quiet and wet and close.

He felt her start to climb. Her hands slid from his face to his shoulders and her nails pressed in. Her breathing went shallow. Her cunt began to flutter around him, soft, rhythmic, in time with his strokes.

"I’m close," she whispered.

"I know."

"Lynx..."

"Let go. I’ve got you."

Isabel came quietly. A long shudder that started in her hips and rolled up her spine, a soft gasp that she pressed into his shoulder, and her whole body going tight and still around him.

Her clenching in slow, gentle waves, over and over, holding him, drawing him in.

He kissed her through it. Mouth on her mouth, then her cheek, then the corner of her eye where a tear had escaped and she hadn’t noticed.

He stayed buried deep and didn’t move, letting her ride it out, letting every last pulse of her cunt run its course around his cock.

When she finally went slack under him, breath evening out, hands falling open on the pillow, he pulled out slowly.

"Rose."