Chapter 188: I am pleased with you

"You’re enjoying this," Edrik said, and it wasn’t quite an accusation, more like he was trying to understand a fact that didn’t fit the shape of his world.

"Immensely," she said, and went back to Thorne.

She worked him slow and merciless, feeling the way his hips started to rock up into her hand despite himself, feeling the tension coil tighter and tighter in his stomach. When he was close, and she could tell by the stutter in his breathing, the way his hand in her hair tightened, she let go entirely and climbed up his body instead, pressing her mouth to his, swallowing the frustrated sound he made into her own mouth.

"Cruel," he gasped when she pulled back.

"You love it."

"I really, really do."

She looked back at Edrik. His hand had gone still around himself, fingers barely moving, like he was terrified of crossing whatever line she had drawn even though she could see exactly how badly he wanted to just take himself in hand and finish, orders be damned. The fact that he hadn’t, that he was holding himself to some thread of her will even now, sent a fresh wave of heat through her.

"Good," she told him, low. "You’re being good."

"Don’t," he said, teeth gritted. "Don’t say it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I’m..." He stopped and swallowed. "Like you’re pleased with me."

"I am pleased with you." She climbed off of Thorne and crossed the room again, slower this time, drawing it out, and crouched in front of Edrik’s chair. She took him in her hand and he made a sound like something breaking loose in his chest. "It’s a good feeling, isn’t it? Being good for someone."

"I don’t..." He stopped again when she licked the head of his cock, slow and thorough, tasting salt. "I don’t do good."

"You’re learning." She took him into her mouth, just the head, just enough to feel him strain up against the roof of her mouth, and pulled back before he could get any further than that. He made a wrecked noise, and his hands finally left the armrests, just for a second, just long enough to fist in the cushion of the chair beside him, before he forced them back.

"That’s cheating," he ground out.

"There’s no cheating. There’s only me, and what I let you have." She stood, leaving him panting, flushed, furious and desperate in equal measure, and turned back toward the bed where Thorne was watching the whole thing with naked, open delight on his face, propped up on his elbows like he had front row seats to something he never wanted to end.

"You’re killing him," Thorne said happily. "This is the best night of my life."

"Shut up, Thorne," Edrik snarled, but there was no real heat behind it, just strain, just the frayed edge of a man holding on by threads.

Dove climbed back onto the bed, straddling Thorne’s hips this time, and felt him go rigid with anticipation beneath her.

"Watch," she told Edrik, not looking at him, looking down at Thorne’s face instead, at the open want written across it. "You don’t get to look away."

"I wasn’t planning to," Edrik said, voice low and rough, and when she did glance at him his eyes were locked on her, dark and burning, and his hand had gone still around himself entirely now, like even the slow drag of his own palm had become too much to manage alongside watching this.

She sank down onto Thorne slowly, feeling him fill her inch by inch, feeling her whole body light up at the stretch and the fullness of it, and above her Thorne’s hands came up to grip her hips, not guiding, just holding, like he needed something to do with them besides reach for more than she was giving.

"Dove," he breathed, "Dove, you feel so..."

"I know." She rolled her hips, slow, testing, feeling the way it dragged a groan out of him from somewhere deep in his chest. "Don’t come yet."

"Making that very difficult."

"I don’t care." She picked up a rhythm, unhurried at first, savoring the slick drag of him inside her, savoring the way his fingers dug into her hips when she clenched around him deliberately. She could hear Edrik’s breathing from across the room, ragged, uneven, and when she glanced over she found him gripping the armrests again, knuckles bloodless, watching with an expression that was somewhere between agony and worship.

"You’re allowed to touch yourself," she told him between breaths, rocking harder now, feeling her own pleasure building low and insistent. "Slowly. I told you."

"I don’t..." His voice cracked. "I don’t trust myself to be slow right now."

"Then don’t touch yourself at all." She ground down against Thorne, feeling him jerk beneath her, feeling the way his grip on her hips tightened to something almost bruising. "Your choice."

Thorne’s control broke first. She felt it in the stutter of his hips, the way his breathing went ragged and high, and she leaned down to drag her teeth along his collarbone, hard, and that was what finished him. He came with a shout that he didn’t even try to muffle, hips snapping up into her, and the sensation of him pulsing inside her, combined with the friction, the angle, the sheer sight of Edrik watching with that desperate, helpless hunger on his face, dragged her own release out of her.

She stayed there a moment, catching her breath, feeling Thorne’s hands go loose and gentle on her hips, stroking absently, reverently.

"Good?" he asked, voice wrecked.

"You didn’t wait," she reminded him, and his sheepish smile made hers impossible to hide. "I noticed, husband."

"Very." She pressed a kiss to his sternum and then lifted herself off him, slow, feeling the slick mess of him drip down her thigh, and she didn’t bother to clean up before she turned to look at Edrik.

He was staring at her like he had forgotten how to do anything else.

"Come here," she said.

He was across the room before she finished the sentence, and she almost laughed at how fast the obedience came once there was finally something he wanted badly enough.

Later, Dove rested with one of Edrik’s hands between hers while Thorne brushed her hair away from her face. She kissed Edrik’s knuckles and watched the corner of his mouth lift. She liked that he would let her see him like this, pleased by something nobody else had been allowed close enough to offer. For a while she didn’t want anything beyond the warmth of them beside her.

Their bags remained by the washstand, and the diner was quiet.

Near midnight, a knock came from the hall. The diner owner didn’t open the door. He waited until Edrik answered through it, then explained that the injured worker had been taken to the base for care and the early truck would leave at dawn.

Dove’s serving counter was on that truck. If she wanted the quieter road and an easy return, she would have to choose between another hour of sleep and being there when her goods arrived.