Pent-up rage and aggression from the arena caught me in the balls, spurring on our movements. Knowing she had to watch, had to listen, had to observe our every touch, only pushed us along.
I could hear her breathing, could feel her growing heat, and knew we were awakening something inside her. An intrigue that neither of us would fulfill unless she really begged.
She hadn’t earned it.
Had tried to fucking end me.
And it was on that note that I came in my pants, Zian never having touched my bare skin, his grip knowing and steady.
I yanked on him in kind, infuriated that he soiled me in such a way but turned on at the same time, my pleasure humming up and down my spine. Totally unfulfilled yet oddly complete.
My gaze found our little voyeur as I kissed Zian through his own climax, his seed warming my torso. I invited her to join us with my eyes, to lick the sticky substance from my skin, but she remained in her little corner, those black irises pulsating with bemused innocence. Better for her because she was nowhere near ready to play.
Just as we would likely never allow it.
Intimacy required trust.
And she hadn’t earned ours.
If anything, she’d only acquired our hate. Which was truly too bad because, in this place, she’d need an ally. And I wasn’t all that inclined to help her after our last experience together. Although, I knew I would, purely out of obligation to her rare existence.
“I hope you can fly better than you did yesterday,” I told her softly. “Because you’re going to need those wings, little dove.”
Zian sighed in contentment, his head hitting the pillow. “I give her a week, tops.”
“Yeah?” I smiled, amused. “I give her maybe a day.”
“Wanna make it a bet?”
“Cool. Winner gets on his knees,” Zian decided.
Of course he would choose that. Because I would, too. “Works for me.”