OBSIDIAN GUARD BOOK 2

CHAPTER 9 DESPERATE THIRST

POV Ollivander

We parted ways for breath after both of us had just experienced our first true kiss.

I looked him dead in the eye, my hands gripping the massive swell of his shoulders. "My mouth waters thinking of what you would feel like in it," I said, my voice steady and dark. "Let me find out. Please, sir."

"Good boy." Gideon's hand shot out, grabbing a painful handful of hair at the back of my head. He lunged forward, crushing his mouth against mine in a feverish, brutal kiss, demanding mine to open for him again. It made my lips sting, the force of it so overwhelming that I felt the sudden, hot release of my own excitement inside my pants. I gasped into his mouth, my body trembling with the shock of it.

Gideon pulled back, his eyes searching mine. He saw the wet heat staining my trousers, and a look of pure, dark triumph crossed his face. He shoved me off his lap, sending me tumbling to the cold obsidian floor.

"Get on your knees and release me," he barked, his hands already fumbling with his belt. "Feast your eyes on what is yours."

I got on all fours, my heart hammering against my ribs. I had belonged to the Queen and shared with many people, to the Thanes, to clients, to anyone who had information the Queen needed, but I had never had something belong to me.

This wasn't work. This wasn't a mission. I crawled over, my fingers shaking as I unbuttoned his pants and pulled the heavy fabric down.

He was massive, longer and thicker than anyone I had ever handled in the dark corners of Ironspire or the Guard. I leaned in, my tongue darting out to lick the bead of moisture at the tip, wanting to know his taste. I moaned at the sensation, knowing I was the sole cause of it.

I touched him some more, soft licks at the top, and then I got bolder. I dragged my tongue from the base to the tip and gripped him with my hand to steady him. As I explored gently, the tension in his frame changed.

I was well practised at this technique, but it was different this time; this time, I enjoyed it just as much as the recipient seemed to.

He started to soften under my touch. My stomach did a slow, sick flip. I looked up at him, panic rising in my throat. Had I done something wrong?

Gideon looked down at me, his face a mask of strained intensity. "You're being too soft, little flower," he rasped, his voice strained. "I need you to be rough. Squeeze it. Use teeth. Do not be gentle with me."

I understood then. I nodded, my resolve hardening. I went for him with the same violence he had used on me. I gripped him tight, my teeth grazing him just enough to draw a sharp hiss of air from his lungs. I felt him surge back to life, hardening even more than before.

"f**k yes, little flower," he groaned, his head falling back against the chair. "Now look at me. Look at me while you do that."

I kept my eyes on his as the morning burned away. I sucked hard, I bit down, I squeezed until the blood flow was affected enough to change the color of his skin. I devoured him to my heart's content. I let myself free to do what I wanted, and Gideon kept responding with a jagged, beautiful heat.

I took his entire length into me, but gagged at his length and girth. His response was far too encouraging not to try it again and again.

I brought him to oblivion, having him unravel under my touch until he reached his peak. I devoured everything he could give me, a desperate, greedy thirst I hadn't known I possessed.

Even after he came undone, his body jerking with the force of his release, I didn't stop. I tried to suck more from him, my mouth working even as his eyes rolled back and his breathing turned to ragged, broken gasps.

The twitching of his thighs was exhilarating. I kept going until Gideon's hand returned to my hair, but he didn't push me away. He pulled me up, hauling me back into his lap and wrapping his massive arms around me in a crushing hug.

We sat there, both of us breathing heavily, the silence of the room ringing in my ears.

Gideon held me tight, his face buried in the crook of my neck. He was taking a moment, a quiet, tender beat of recovery. But I felt completely at odds. The s*x I understood. The pain I could navigate.

But this? This felt nice. No one had ever held me afterward. No one had ever made the "after" feel like a reward instead of a dismissal.

I sat awkwardly in his embrace, my arms hanging limp, staring at the obsidian floor and hoping he would release me soon. I didn't know how to be special. I only knew how to be used.

I waited for the rejection. I waited for the heavy weight of his arms to vanish and for the cold command to go clean myself up.

But Gideon wasn't moving. He was breathing against my neck, his heart hammering a slow, rhythmic victory march against my spine. He must have felt the way my body remained wound tight, a vibrating string of unspent tension.

He was a Heart Weaver, after all. He didn't just hear the beat; he felt the pressure in the veins.

"You're still humming, little flower," he rumbled. His voice was lower now, devoid of the earlier rage, replaced by a blunt, stubborn sort of focus. He pulled back just enough to look at me.

His face was a mess, flushed, sweaty, and wearing an expression of confused, brute sincerity. He looked at my lap; I was a wet mess through my pants, and he could see it plain as day.

"I don't like unfinished business," he grunted.

Before I could process the words, he shifted. He didn't let me off his lap; he simply adjusted his grip, his massive, calloused hands sliding down to the waistband of my trousers. He didn't ask. He just pulled. The silk hissed as it gave way, exposing me to the room's chilled air.

"Sir?" I whispered, my voice cracking. "You don't have to..."

"Shut up," he said, though there was no heat in it. It was the way one might talk to a favored hound barking at nothing. "I'm the one who decides what I want to do."

He reached down. His hand was a shock, huge, hot, and slightly rough from a lifetime of hitting things. He didn't use the practiced, clinical touch I was used to. He gripped me with the same heavy, possessive strength he'd used for everything, but I could also feel him experimenting, as if it were his first time.

He began to move, his thumb dragging over the head of my length with a rhythmic, bruising pressure. It wasn't "nice" in a gentle way, but it felt good. Really good. He was a gentle giant with me, using his strength to ensure I couldn't think of anything else.

Every time his hand slid down, he squeezed at the base. I had moaned the first time he had done it, and he had noticed. He kept finding ways to give me so much pleasure that it escaped me in broken sounds.

No one had ever cared enough to discover this about me, but this giant beast was having fun doing it. He smiled and grinned every time he knew he'd found a good spot or rhythm. He was acting like a child with his favorite toy, and I had no issues with it.

"Look at me," he commanded.

I forced my eyes up. He was watching me with a strange, fierce pride. He looked like he was witnessing a miracle.

"You're so small," he muttered, his breath hitching. "I could break you with a squeeze. But you take it. You just... take everything I give you."

He sped up. The friction was intense, borderline painful, but it was exactly what I needed to break through the wall of my own dissociation. I felt my toes curl into the thick carpet, my fingers digging into his shoulders, clawing at the skin through his shirt.

"That's it," he urged, his voice a dark, encouraging growl. "Break for me, little flower. Let me feel your heart skip."

I couldn't hold the "spy" mask any longer. My head fell back, a jagged, ugly sob escaping my throat as the world narrowed down to the sensation of his hand and the heat of his gaze. I came with a violent, racking force that left me lightheaded, my body bucking against his chest.

Gideon didn't let go. He steadied me until the last tremor had passed, holding me through the messy, vulnerable aftermath. Then, he did the unthinkable. He didn't push me off. He pulled me back into that crushing, awkward hug, burying his face in my hair.

"There," he said, his voice satisfied and thick. "You c*m beautifully, my precious flower."

I sat there, my skin hot, my mind a fractured mess. I felt the urge to scramble away, to find a corner and hide until I could be a tool again. But the mountain of a man holding me seemed perfectly content to stay exactly where we were.

For the first time in my life, I wasn't waiting for the next command. I was just... there. And as much as it terrified me, I didn't move.