Chapter 215: Ask Me Properly *

Somewhere beyond the stone, the tournament’s first hour thundered through the forest. Silas didn’t hear it. He heard only water, and her breathing, and the soft lap of the spring against the ledge.

The others let them go.

Anna caught his wrist as he passed, a brush- her eyes said what her voice didn’t. Chloe had already turned back to her phone, but her toes curled against the stone, a farewell she wouldn’t speak. Gromda sank to her chin in the steam and nodded once, runes dimming to a light red- not a surrender, but a truce.

This one was hers.

Silas carried Echidna out of the water.

She was heavier than she looked, not in weight, but presence, and she fit against him like she’d been carved for it. Her tail looped his thigh. Her claws curled at his shoulder. Her horns caught the lantern light as he climbed the stone steps, and she didn’t speak- the Mother of Monsters, silent as a held breath.

The bedroom waited at the end of the hall.

Low ceiling, lantern glow, a bed carved from dark wood, furs piled high, steam curling through a grate in the floor. The door latched with a click that seemed louder than it was. This part of the mansion was designed like medieval times, a blend of ancient culture.

Silas set her down on the furs.

She sat there, knees pressed together, tail curled around her ankles, and for a moment she looked like something the world had never seen, which she was. Older than the oceans. Blushing to the tips of her ears.

The flush had climbed from her chest to her throat to her cheeks, dark against the pale scales at her jaw. Her hands lay open in her lap, claws half-extended, uncertain what to do with themselves.

"You’re staring," she said.

"You’re worth staring at."

Her tail twitched. "That is not a sufficient answer."

"It’s the only one I have."

She looked away. Then forced herself back. Pride won, the way it always did with her, but it shook.

"Take me."

Silas didn’t move.

"I said..."

"I heard you."

Her eyes flashed. "Then why are you still standing there?"

"Because you’re not ready."

"I am the Mother of..."

"You’re shaking."

The words landed like a blow. Her claws dug into the furs, and the flush deepened, and something ancient and furious and terrified warred in her golden eyes.

"I am not afraid," she said. And then, quieter, almost to herself: "I have never been afraid."

"Then this isn’t fear." He knelt on the bed before her, slow, his hands finding her knees. "This is new. They’re different things."

Her throat worked. Her tail uncurled, curled, and uncurled again.

"Show me," she whispered. "Show me how different."

He kissed her knee.

Just that, a press of lips to the scales at her kneecap, where the dark plating thinned into skin. She flinched as if he’d struck her. Her breath caught in a way that wasn’t pain.

Then the inside of her knee. Then higher, along the seam of her thigh, where scales gave way to bare skin, warm and damp from the spring. Her thighs parted without her permission, and she watched them do it, astonishment flickering across her face.

"You didn’t even..."

"Your body knows what it wants."

"It is not..." Her voice cracked. "It is not supposed to want anything."

He kissed higher, her hip, the jut of bone, the soft give of her belly, muscles fluttering under his mouth like birds.

Her hands came down and buried themselves in his hair.

"More," she said... commanding, and desperate.

He gave her more.

His mouth found her breast, the weight of it filling his hand, the nipple already tight and dark. He took it between his lips, and she made a sound she’d never made: a high, startled keen she swallowed too late.

"That was..."

"That was you."

"Impossible."

He licked her again, slow, and her back arched off the furs. "Entirely possible. You’re doing it now."

Her claws raked the bed, gouging furrows in the dark wood. He didn’t stop. He worked one breast, then the other, learning what made her gasp, what made her hiss, what made her tail lash the air like a whip.

"Silas~!"

"Say it."

"I don’t know the word for what you’re doing."

"Good. Then I’m doing it right."

His hand slid between her thighs.

She seized, every muscle locking as his fingers found her slick, swollen, and already aching. She’d come apart under Chloe’s cold hands in the water, but this was different. His hands. His weight. His patience. She was shaking before he’d touched her where she needed it most.

"Tell me to stop," he said.

Her mouth opened and closed. Her claws found his shoulders and pulled him closer instead.

"Don’t."

"Don’t stop, or don’t..."

"Don’t stop."

He didn’t.

His fingers traced her, plump, pink and slick, already parting for him. He circled her clit with his thumb, and she bucked, a raw sound torn from her throat, her hips chasing his hand before her body knew what it was doing.

"More," she gasped. "That. More of that."

"Ask me properly."

"I am commanding you~..."

"Ask me properly."

Her eyes blazed. The Mother of Monsters, reduced to begging by two fingers and a thumb, fury warring with hunger. Hunger won.

"Please."

The word broke her. She said it like a confession, like a surrender, like the first honest thing she’d ever spoken.

"Please, Silas."

He lowered his mouth to her.

The first lick drew a sound from her that rattled the lantern glass. The second made her claws find the back of his head and hold on. The third- a long, slow drag from bottom to top, his tongue parting her, tasting her, learning the shape of her- made her say his name like it was the only word she remembered.

He worked her with his mouth until she was writhing, tail whipping the furs, hips grinding against his face, cries echoing off the stone. Her climax came in a shuddering wave he drank down, and she lay gasping, staring at the ceiling, her whole body trembling.

"I felt..." She couldn’t finish.

"Good?"

"I felt everything."

She sat up.

Her chest heaved. Her hair hung in wet ropes across her shoulders. The flush had spread to her ears, to the base of her horns, and she looked at him- really looked, her chin lifting, her eyes holding his even though her voice shook.

"Now," she said. "Now I’m ready."

"Are you?"

"Yes." She reached for him, claws careful against his chest, and pulled him over her. "I have waited an age to feel something. I am not waiting anymore."

He settled between her thighs.

She was slick from his mouth, from her own wanting, and her golden eyes tracked him, wide and unblinking, as he guided his cock to her entrance. The first press made her breath catch. The first inch made her claws dig into his shoulders.

"Breathe," he murmured.

"I know how to breathe."

"Then breathe."

She did. He pushed deeper, slowly, giving her time, watching her face- the way her eyes went wide, the way her jaw tightened, the way her tail curled around his waist and held on like a lifeline.

"Silas~..."

"I’m right here."

"It hurts."

"I know. It won’t for long."

Her claws raked his back and drew blood. He didn’t flinch. He held still, letting her adjust, letting her body learn the shape of him.

Then she moved.

A roll of her hips, experimental and curious- the way she learned everything, by devouring it whole. Her eyes widened at the sensation. She did it again. And again. Then she was rocking against him, breath coming in sharp gasps, head thrown back, horns catching the lantern light.

"More," she demanded. "Silas. More."

He gave her more.

He pulled back and drove in, and she cried out, not in pain. Something else. Something new. Her walls clenched around him, hot and tight, and her tail tightened around his waist, pulling him deeper.

"Yes," she breathed. "Yes. That."

He fucked her slow and deep, watching her learn pleasure in real time. Every stroke taught her something. Every angle made her gasp. She was voracious, matching him, meeting him, hips rolling against his with growing confidence, claws raking his back in time with his thrusts.

"Harder," she demanded.

"You sure?"

"I am the Mother of Monsters. I am sure of everything."

He gave her harder.

The bed groaned. Furs tore under her claws. Her cries filled the room, raw, unguarded, ancient and new at once. She was no longer the imperious creature who had resisted his charm. She was a woman discovering, for the first time in an immortal life, what her body was for.

"I’m~..." She didn’t know the word. "Something is~..."

"Let it happen."

"I can’t..."

"You can."

Her eyes met his, and she let go.

Her orgasm seized her like a storm, her back bowing, claws shearing the furs, a cry rolling off the stone walls as she clenched around him, wave after wave. He followed her over the edge, buried deep, spilling into her with a groan that was half wonder, half surrender.

The room went still.

Steam curled through the grate. Lantern light flickered. Her chest heaved beneath him, scales warm where they pressed against his skin.

Her claws gentled.

Slowly, carefully, she brought her hands up and cradled his face.

"You," she said, her voice hoarse, "are mine."

"I know."

"Truly mine." Her thumb traced his jaw. "Mine."

"Yours."

She pulled him down and kissed him- soft, shaking, and full of something she had no name for.

When she broke the kiss, her cheeks were still flushed, her eyes still bright, and her voice still unsteady.

"Again."

Silas laughed, surprised out of him. "Again?"

"I have an age of feeling to catch up on." Her tail curled around his thigh, possessive and certain. "I meant every word."

And somewhere beyond the stone, the tournament thundered on without them.