Chapter 195: Ride me...
Vince eased out of her carefully, the wet sound of their separation loud in the quiet solar. Lyrielle lay sprawled across the desk, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, thighs still trembling. A thin trail of his release slipped from her as he stepped back, and the sight of it made something possessive tighten low in his gut.
He reached for her, brushing a strand of yellowish hair from her flushed cheek. "You all right?"
She nodded, voice hoarse. "More than all right."
Vince’s mouth curved. "Good. Because I don’t think this desk is going to survive another round." He cupped her face, thumb stroking the corner of her kiss-swollen lips. "Want to go somewhere more comfortable?"
Lyrielle’s blue eyes flickered with residual heat and something softer. "My chambers. Please."
That was all he needed. Vince scooped her up in one smooth motion, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. The ruined gown was still tangled around her waist; he left it. She looped her arms around his neck without being asked, face pressing into the side of his throat.
"Hold on," he murmured.
The air around them shimmered. Vector drive engaged—space folding in a clean, silent rush. The solar vanished. In the next heartbeat they stood in the center of Lyrielle’s private chambers: high vaulted ceiling, pale silk curtains half-drawn against the late morning light, a wide canopy bed draped in soft elven linens. The scent of night-blooming jasmine drifted from a vase on the windowsill.
Vince set her down on the edge of the mattress. He peeled the last of her gown away, then stripped himself with efficient movements until nothing remained between them. Lyrielle watched, still flushed, still marked by his earlier attention—the faint red of his mouth on her throat, the slick evidence of their coupling between her thighs.
He climbed onto the bed after her, guiding her back against the pillows. For a moment he simply looked at her, purple eyes tracing every line of her body as if memorizing it. Then he lowered his head and kissed her again, slower this time, thorough, tasting the lingering salt of her earlier pleasure.
Lyrielle’s hands slid into his hair. When they parted for air she spoke, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.
"I hated seeing those marks."
Vince stilled, propped on one elbow above her. "The tattoos?"
"Yes." Her voice was quiet, but the confession burned across her cheeks. "Elena. Vetra. Even my mother. Every time I saw the purple crown over their hearts I felt... something ugly. Like they’d taken a piece of you I wanted for myself." She laughed once, short and embarrassed. "It’s ridiculous. I’m a high-elf princess. I’m supposed to be above jealousy. But I wasn’t. I kept thinking about the way you look at them, the way they look at you, and I—"
She broke off, turning her face into the pillow. Vince caught her chin gently and brought her gaze back to his.
"I’m listening," he said. No teasing. Just quiet attention.
The honesty in his voice cracked something open. Lyrielle’s eyes shone. "I wanted to be the one you marked. I wanted your hands on me the way they’ve been on them. I wanted to know what it felt like to be chosen by you, not just as a princess or a healer, but as... me." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And when you offered, I almost couldn’t breathe."
Vince’s expression softened. He leaned down and kissed the corner of her mouth, then the tip of her ear, then the pulse point beneath it.
"You have me," he said simply. "Right now. Undivided. No one else in this room but us."
He proved it with his body.
He started by spreading her thighs and settling between them, mouth finding her already sensitive folds. Lyrielle arched with a sharp cry as his tongue dragged slowly through her wetness, tasting both of them. He licked her open with patient, devastating strokes, circling her clit, then sealing his lips around it and sucking until her hips bucked helplessly. Two fingers slid inside her, curling, stroking that same deep place he’d found earlier. He didn’t rush. He worked her with focused intensity until she came again, thighs clamping around his head, a broken moan spilling from her throat as her release pulsed against his tongue.
Before the aftershocks faded he rose over her, lined himself up, and pushed in to the hilt in one smooth thrust. Lyrielle’s head fell back against the pillows. The stretch was still intense, her body still fluttering from the orgasm, and the sensation of being filled again so soon made her whimper.
Vince set a deep, steady rhythm—long strokes that dragged every inch of him along her walls. He kept his eyes on hers the entire time, one hand laced with hers against the sheets, the other braced beside her head. Each time she started to look away in lingering self-consciousness he caught her chin and brought her focus back.
"Stay with me," he murmured. "I want to see you."
She did. She watched the way his jaw tightened when she clenched around him, the way his purple eyes darkened every time she gasped his name. The jealousy that had sat like a stone in her chest for days melted under the sheer weight of his attention. There was no room for anyone else in the way he moved inside her, the way he kissed her, the way he whispered rough praise against her ear.
"That’s it... take all of me... you feel so fucking good, Lyrielle—"
The second climax built slower, heavier. When it broke it rolled through her in long waves, forcing a soft, continuous cry from her lips. Vince fucked her through it, never breaking rhythm, until the last tremor passed.
He didn’t pull out.
Instead he rolled them so she straddled him, hands settling on her hips. Lyrielle blinked down at him, still trembling, still full of him. He guided her into a slow grind, letting her set the pace while his hands stroked up her sides, cupped her breasts, thumbed her nipples.
"Ride me," he said, voice low. "Take what you need."
She did. At first it was tentative, experimental rolls of her hips. Then deeper, harder, chasing the friction of his cock against that perfect spot inside her. Vince met every downward motion with an upward thrust, the wet slap of their bodies growing louder. Her yellowish hair spilled around her shoulders; her pointed ears flushed dark crimson again. She braced her hands on his chest and moved with increasing urgency, chasing another peak.
When she came the third time it was with a sob of pure overwhelm. Her walls clenched so tightly around him that Vince’s control finally snapped. He flipped them again without leaving her body, hooked her knees over his shoulders, and drove into her with short, powerful strokes that forced soft, helpless sounds from her throat with every impact.
"One more," he growled against her mouth. "Give me one more."
She did. The fourth orgasm tore through her like lightning, leaving her shaking and wordless. Vince followed a heartbeat later, burying himself deep and spilling into her with a low, guttural groan, hips jerking as he filled her a second time.
They collapsed together, sweat-slick and breathing hard. For a while neither spoke. Vince stayed inside her, softening slowly, one hand stroking idle patterns along her spine. Lyrielle’s face was pressed to his shoulder; he could feel the dampness of tears she hadn’t quite managed to hold back.
"I’m still jealous," she admitted in a small voice. "Just a little."
Vince kissed the top of her head. "Then I’ll keep reminding you until it goes away."
He did.
The afternoon light shifted across the floor. They moved from the bed to the wide window seat, Vince taking her from behind while she braced her hands against the cool glass, the city spread out far below. Then back to the bed, slower this time, almost lazy, bodies sliding together in a rhythm that felt more like conversation than conquest. Lyrielle poured out more confessions between kisses—how she’d watched Elena’s easy confidence around him, how Vetra’s quiet devotion had made her chest ache, how even her mother’s quiet smiles had twisted something sharp under her ribs. Each admission was met with Vince’s undivided focus: a deep thrust, a kiss to her temple, a murmured "I’m here with you. Only you right now."
By the time the light through the curtains had turned gold and then soft indigo, they were both beyond coherent speech. Vince’s final climax left him trembling; Lyrielle’s last orgasm was little more than a weak, exhausted flutter around him. They collapsed in a tangle of limbs, too spent to move.
Outside, the first evening stars were beginning to appear over the palace towers. Lyrielle’s head rested on Vince’s chest, one of his arms draped heavily across her waist.
Neither of them had the energy left to speak. The room smelled of sex and jasmine and sweat. The only sound was the quiet, shared rhythm of their breathing as the drifted off to sleep.