Chapter 168: Dizzy For Dinner

She licked her lips, looked almost pleased with herself, glancing sideways at Edrik, whose cock was practically purple now, straining untouched, his jaw clenched so tight Thorne could see the muscle jumping from here.

"My turn," Edrik said, voice low and rough, barely a question.

Dove wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, breath still unsteady, and looked between the two of them: Thorne collapsed and wrecked across the table, Edrik straining against rope that had held firm this whole time, both of them hers to do with exactly as she pleased.

"Mm," she said, voice still a little breathless, climbing off the table on unsteady legs. "We’ll see." She turned and glanced back over her shoulder at Edrik. His eyes tracked every inch of movement, dark and hungry, and she let her tail flick once, lazy, before she wiggled her hips at him, just a little, just enough to watch his jaw clench tighter.

"Okay," she said, voice honey-sweet, mock-patient. "Time for you to be a good boy. Fuck me properly."

Edrik growled. The sound came from somewhere low in his chest, something rough and pleased and barely human, and she saw the way his lip had split where he had been biting down on it, a thin line of blood trailing to his chin. He didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were fixed on her, on the curve of her spine, the swell of her hips, and the chair beneath his tied wrists cracked sharply.

She blinked. "Uh oh."

That was all the warning she got. She was halfway back toward Thorne, his cock already stirring again in her hand, lips just brushing the head of it, when Edrik was suddenly there, the broken chair clattering somewhere behind him, his hands closing around her hips with bruising intensity.

"That’s enough games, my girl," he said, voice wrecked and low, and then he was hauling her back against him and driving into her in one brutal, unrelenting thrust.

The sound that tore out of her was involuntary, loud, her whole body arching back into him. "Fuck!" She threw her head back, mouth falling open, and the stretch of him, thick, almost too thick, splitting her open on every inch, sent white sparking through her vision.

Thorne’s cock slipped from her grip entirely, forgotten for a second, and she heard him growl from where he was still sprawled half across the table.

"Easy," Thorne snapped, voice rough with the kind of warning that came from watching too fast, too hard. "You’re gonna hurt her, Edrik..."

Edrik didn’t answer. He was too far gone for words, hips snapping forward with a rhythm that had no patience in it, no gentleness, just hunger finally let off its leash. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips hard enough to bruise, and every thrust punched a sound out of her that she didn’t bother trying to muffle, high, broken, helpless noises that she could feel more than hear, vibrating up through her chest.

She reached back blindly, grabbing for anything, and found the edge of the table, knuckles white against the wood. The angle had her bent forward, back arched, and every slam of his hips drove her up onto her toes.

"Edrik," she gasped, though she wasn’t sure if it was a plea for more or a warning, wasn’t sure her brain was doing anything right now except short-circuiting around the feeling of him splitting her open again and again.

Thorne was already moving, dragging himself up off the table despite the exhaustion still written into every line of him, cock hardening fast in his hand as he watched. He positioned himself in front of her, lining his length up level with her mouth, clearly not about to be left out of this twice.

"Not outdone that easy," he muttered, and there was something smug threaded through the roughness of his voice even now.

She managed to get her lips around the head of him, tongue flicking, but the rhythm was all wrong. Edrik’s thrusts were jolting her whole body forward and back too hard, too fast, and she couldn’t find any kind of pace with Thorne’s cock in her mouth without choking on it.

Edrik was the one who noticed. He always noticed things like that, some clinical, assessing part of his brain cutting through even the haze of this.

"Fuck. Wait," he said, voice rough, breathing hard, and he actually slowed, hips stilling for one long, agonizing second. "This might hurt her." He looked at Thorne, sharp. "Stop. Let me."

Thorne pulled back immediately, cock bobbing untouched, breathing hard through his nose, clearly not happy about it but not arguing either.

Edrik’s hands gentled on her, a startling contrast to a second ago, sliding around her hips, coaxing her to turn. She went easily, dizzy, thighs trembling, and he eased her down onto her back on the table, careful, almost reverent, even with his cock still buried deep inside her, even with his own control clearly fraying at the edges.

He slid her down toward the table’s end until her hips were right at the edge, until he could plant his feet on the floor and stand over her properly.

"There," he murmured, voice low, almost soothing, fingers smoothing once over her thigh. "There we go."

Then he slammed back into her.

She screamed again, couldn’t help it, the new angle hitting somewhere even deeper, somewhere that had stars bursting behind her eyes, and her hands flew up, grabbing at his forearms, at anything, nails digging crescents into his skin. He didn’t flinch. If anything the sting of it seemed to spur him faster, his hips driving into her with a punishing, relentless rhythm, the table creaking and groaning in protest beneath them both.

"Fuck. Edrik." Her voice came out wrecked, broken into fragments between each thrust. "Fuck, fuck, right there..."

He grunted something that might be her name, might just be a sound torn loose from somewhere animal in him, and his pace didn’t slow, didn’t gentle, just kept driving into her with the same brutal intensity, the blood from his split lip smearing faintly at the corner of his mouth when he leaned down to catch her mouth with his.