Don’t Teach an Eagle to Fly– 14. chapter
First time here? Start with Chapter 1.
Silence remained in the room. Kaelan approached Nirella slowly, with heavy steps, as if with every movement he needed to confirm that he still had it under control. He stopped close before her.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” he whispered.
She shrugged. “I was only asking.”
He looked into her eyes. Gray, challenging. He breathed through his teeth. Then he reached for her, caught her by the hips, and turned her sharply with her back to him.
“Well, as you wish,” he murmured into her hair.
He pushed her down onto the bed, but not violently, rather decisively. Exactly like a man who no longer wanted to hesitate. He spread her legs, his hands on her thighs.
“Is this what you wanted?” he asked hoarsely.
His voice was no longer controlled. But his movements still were. And he waited. Nirella did not move. She breathed slowly, clearly waiting to see what he would do next. Her palms were braced against the coverlet in a deep forward bend. Kaelan did not take his eyes off her. He felt his own skin burning, desire tangling in him with an unwillingness to let himself be guided by her.
“You want me to take you? Like this?” he growled.
She said nothing, but he began to unfasten his trousers anyway. Nirella stayed silent, but after a moment she spread her legs even wider and arched her back. She knew very well that this gave him a perfect view of her sex. Ready. Offered.
He could not hold back a sigh. He caught her by the hips and began to enter her. Not roughly, not abruptly. On the contrary. Slowly, steadily. He decided to force the confirmation of his dominance another way. He moved within her for a while, slowly and deliberately, almost torturously. He kept the pace under control, unwilling to let it end too quickly. He watched her tense beneath him, how her body responded even though she still did not speak. He watched every slight movement, every twitch of her thighs, every quiet shiver of her back. Nirella pressed her lips together, but her hips moved to meet his motions. He took each of her moans as proof. Each quiet sigh as confession. He did not quicken. Not yet. He wanted her to know that he alone had it in his hands.
He kept the rhythm, held her firmly, and watched every movement of hers. He saw her fingers tense, her breath quicken, her hips lift toward him on their own. She was still silent, but her body told him a story far more loudly. He wanted it to last a long time. He wanted to guide her. To smother her with desire. He dug his fingers into her hips and began to move faster. Not brutally. Just precisely, hard, and with perfect control. Each stroke was a statement. When her body began to shake, he sensed she was on the edge. And he withdrew. It shocked her. She wanted the exact opposite. A moment. Just one more moment until her orgasm.
“No,” she whimpered in disappointment.
He turned her over and laid her on her back. She lifted her arms above her head on her own. He was certain it wasn’t for comfort, but so he could look his fill of her breasts. He entered her and began to move slowly, heavily, as if pressing his own decision into her body with each motion. There was nothing of submission in her gaze. Only a strange, defiant desire. As if she meant to prove to him that he might have her, but would never own her.
He caught her by the hips and thrust harder. She responded at once, drew a sharp breath, and her back arched into a bow. He hissed through his teeth and slowed again. He did not want to allow her to have anything under control. Not today. She fixed her gaze on him. Gray. Bright. Disturbed. He felt her insides tightening. She was close.
“Address me as Your Majesty,” he ordered quietly.
“No,” she breathed at once, stubbornly, without hesitation.
Her voice was quiet, yet certain as a blade that flashes in the light for only a moment, yet cuts deep. Kaelan stilled. For a moment he only breathed, present in every inch of her body. Her defiance did not surprise him, but aroused him even more.
He bent over her and closed his hands around her wrists, though they had long since been lying obediently above her head. There was fire in his eyes and control in his breath. He would not allow her this. Not without consequences.
“Again,” he murmured.
She pressed her lips together, but then he drove into her sharply. It hit her like a wave. Her body burst into motion, arching, gasping, tears flashing in her eyes. He was not harsh. He was precise. Unforgivingly precise.
“Refuse me one more time,” he whispered into her ear, “and I’ll leave you like this all day. Unfinished. Unsatisfied. Bound.”
She sighed. She wanted to speak, but she did not have time. His hands slid over her hips and he entered her again, slower, longer, until she shuddered.
“Your Majesty,” she breathed at last, quietly.
He smiled. Not triumphantly, but with deep satisfaction. He began to move harder inside her. Without hesitation. The way she needed. This time he held nothing back. With every movement he subdued her more deeply, until her breath was only a mixture of sobs and quiet calls. He gripped her hips and drove into her one last time, sharply, deeply, hard. And she cried out. Without restraint. Her whole body shook beneath him, fingers clutching the coverlet, her back arching high. He felt her insides tightening, hot, slick. Gripping him so fiercely that he could barely hold on. A single additional stroke was enough. He entered her deeply, to the hilt, and with a cry he did not even manage to suppress, he spurted inside her. His body pulsed in a spasm, his forehead pressed to her neck, his breath rough, uneven.
He held her in his arms, as if she were meant to hold him together while the last wave of pleasure took him. He could not even move. He only breathed.
