Iron and Magic (The Iron Covenant #1)(99)

He kept thrusting, his clever fingers teasing her.

She couldn’t catch her breath, caught between his hand and his hard shaft inside her. She was close, so close…

“Hugh,” she cried out. “Don’t stop. Don’t—”

The climax broke over her in a flood of heat and ecstasy. She slumped forward, feeling her body squeeze him in a steady rhythm, and he caught her before she hit the sheets and turned her over on her back. She floated in a fog of pleasure.

He grabbed her hips and pulled her, repositioning her on the bed. She was still floating when he opened her legs and knelt over her left thigh. He pushed her hips to the right, so her right leg wrapped around his waist, and thrust into her sideways. The unexpected pleasure dashed through her, tearing through the happy fog. On instinct, she tried to jerk upright. He pushed her back down and kept thrusting, finding a smooth rhythm.

She couldn’t move. She couldn’t shift her hips. She was completely at his mercy. He drove into her as if it were the only thing that mattered.

He was looking at her, his eyes a dark, vivid blue. His face turned harsh and slightly predatory, lost to lust. He bared his teeth and she realized the bastard was smiling.

Excitement and lust drowned her. Somewhere deep within, her rational mind acknowledged that watching him look at her made her want him more. It warned that she was surrendering some of her power. She snarled and tried to push away, but he held her down and went faster. His thick blunt shaft filled her with every move of his hips. The pleasure was exquisite.

A second climax began to build inside her.

He bent over her, blue eyes on fire. “Want me to let you go?”

She bit her lower lip, trying to keep from moaning. She knew exactly what this was – him proving that he could make her come without any help from her.

“All you have to do is say stop, Elara. Tell me to stop.”

Dear goddess, she didn’t want him to stop. “Fuck you,” she breathed.

“Lady’s choice.”

He hauled her upright and suddenly she was sitting on him as he sprawled on the sheets, huge and muscled like some hot dream.

“Fuck me, honey,” he dared.

And she did. She rode him, grinding her hips, taking his shaft inside her and letting it out as he kissed her neck and sucked her nipples, his hot hands locked on her ass, his fingers squeezing her and pulling her onto him.

The second orgasm washed over her, and she slumped over him, out of breath, her hair falling over their faces like a curtain hiding them from the rest of the world. The pleasure drained her so completely, she whimpered.

His lips found hers. He kissed her, and it was almost tender. Her head spun. She had to reassert herself, or she would kiss him back, and he would know she surrendered.

She arched her back and turned on him, facing his legs.

“Fun,” he growled. His thumb found the sensitive bundle of nerves between her cheeks, just above her anus. She rocked on him, slipping his shaft into her, and slid her hand over its base.

He swore.

She rode him again, her fingers squeezing and pumping him, milking his shaft as she thrust herself onto him. His body tensed under her, the powerful muscles growing tight from strain. She worked him faster, arching her back, pushing against his hand, slipping him in and out. Her magic slid out of her, winding around her in curls of white vapor. She was losing control.

His shaft thickened in her hand.

He swore again.

“Tell me to stop,” she told him.

He thrust into her, arching his hips. They built to a frenzied rhythm. The pleasure crested and broke in her. She cried out, her power simmering around her. He shook under her, every muscle taut with strain. She felt magic coursing through him, so powerful and bright, it shocked her. His shaft flexed in her hand. She felt the hot stream of his release inside her and let go, reveling in his pleasure. They stayed like that for a long moment, out of breath and slicked in sweat. He reached for her, pulled her down to him, and wrapped his arms around her, tucking her against his side.

Sex with Hugh d’Ambray. She should’ve never done it, because now she wanted more. He was the last person she should’ve given that much power over her. And he was holding her now. Being caged in his arms, stretched out next to him felt too good.

Elara sighed, still breathless. “Done, Preceptor?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice casual. “We still have a couple of hours until sunrise. Let’s see what happens.”





Elara stretched and slid off the bed. Hugh’s hand snapped out and locked on her wrist.

“Hands off,” she told him.

He leaned to glance out of the window, where gray pre-dawn light brightened the sky. “The sun isn’t up yet.”

“That’s good then, because I’m not leaving yet.”

He let her go and she stood. Her weight hit her feet and she swayed.

“Need some crutches?” he asked.

She flipped him off without turning and made the ten-step journey to grab the envelope. Her body felt liquid, her muscles tired and pliant. She was sore. She’d spent four hours in his room and none of it was sleeping, except for the few stretches when she cat-napped. She didn’t mean to fall asleep, but there was something irresistibly comforting about him stretched out next to her. She wasn’t sure if it was his size, the heat of his body, or simply knowing that if anything tried to enter the room intending to harm them, he would kill it, probably with his bare hands. Maybe all three.