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vaya-writes · 2 years ago

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The Wyvern's Bride - Part 3.7 (NSFW)

When Adalyn gets sacrificed to the local wyvern, she’s a little annoyed and a lot terrified. Upon meeting the wyvern, she discovers that he’s not particularly interested in eating people, and mostly wants to be left alone. In a plot to save himself from the responsibilities his family keep pushing on him, Slate names Adalyn as his human Envoy, and tasks her with finding him a wife.

6800 words. Cis female human x Cis male wyvern (slow burn, arranged marriage, eventual smut). firefly-graphics did the divider.

Masterlist - Previous

All the smutty content warnings. There is penetrative sex. There is oral. There are handjobs. There is overstimulation and a little bit of edging. There's a heap of profanity and a bunch of fluff too.

I'll include content breaks if you don't want to see the explicit stuff, but the whole thing will be suggestive. This chapter IS about Adalyn seducing Slate. But it's also a confession chapter, so there's wholesome stuff for the non smut readers too.

Slate is steadily growing closer to his wit’s end.

It had started with the nightgowns. The first had been a pale spring green colour. Modest in cut. Daring in meaning. The colour that wyverns tend to flush around their mates. Signifying trust. Fondness. Love. He’d never expected anyone to do that around him.

But Adalyn can’t possibly know that.

She’s been wearing them every night whilst lying beside him.

Things had escalated during yesterday’s beach date. (Outing. Trip. Whatever.) He should have said something. She’d asked him what to wear, and he hadn’t said anything about the colour. It had to be his fault, really. If he’d said something, perhaps she wouldn’t have worn that sky blue delight. Had the audacity to wear such a shade in public. Blue, the colour of attraction, desire, lust.

He wants to strangle the cousin who’d gifted it to her. Or thank them. He’s not sure yet, there are too many feelings he needs to sort out. Mostly because females only flush blue when they’re open to advances.

Another thing Adalyn couldn’t possibly have known. Especially with that genuine smile, and that sweet look of focus whenever he’d chatter about something most people found boring. It wasn’t wanton behaviour. Even if wearing the colour beside him in public had made his brain stall several times.

He’d barely been able to look at her. Had spoken about every fun fact under the sun to stop from spilling his guts or disgracing himself. Because there’s no way Adalyn had meant anything by the dress.

She’d married him to save him from embarrassment. To try something new, away from the mundanity of life in Fleecehold. Not because she was attracted to him. Not because she wanted him.

He’d decided it must be Rin, playing a trick on him. Especially as things intensified. Starting with that letter. That parcel. The only thing Adalyn had said about it was that Rin had sent her a book.

So, he’d deduced that this is Rin’s doing: Adalyn wearing more and more of those colours. A green tunic here. A blue shawl there. The nightgowns fray at his sanity the most, gradually getting shorter or more elaborate.

He doesn’t sleep well. Lies perfectly still in the bed next to Adalyn, entertaining thoughts that are downright obscene. Frustratingly aroused, most mornings he has to excuse himself before she wakes, to find a private spot in which he can relieve himself. He tries not to think about her when he does. Tries and fails.

The touches are equally tantalising in their torment. She’d started small. Innocent brushes here and there. A hand on his elbow. A bump against his shoulder. Adalyn reaching up to straighten his collar, or brush hair out of his face. Always with a smile. Gentle grazes that drive him mad.

Lunch breaks are fraught with tension. Since he’d helped her with the garden, Adalyn has incorporated handfeeding Slate into her repertoire. Offering bites of her own pastries or catching him when his hands are otherwise occupied. Today Slate emerges from her wing, filthy, to find her holding his lunch.

“Open,” she demands.

He does so without hesitation. Is scarce able to breathe at her proximity, at her intense stare. He feels his cheeks flush grey-green, but is unable to look away, unable to hide any of the awe or desire from his face.

She uses her thumb to brush some crumbs from the corner of his mouth, and he damn near melts. She smirks at his reaction, and that’s when he begins to suspect that she’s complicit in the attempts on his control.

It has to be intentional, at the point. It has to be. The colours, the touches, the ancestors damned pheromones. She’s wearing them again, he notices, not for the first time.

It had gotten so much worse when she’d unearthed the perfume. Rin’s gift, he begrudgingly remembers. The explosion of scents and pheromones that had given him a headache when first revealed. Now skilfully applied, just faintly enough that at first he thought they might have been his imagination.

Scents that beckoned him closer. That bade him lean forward when she walked past, or that made him hyperaware of where she was in the room. Ones that whispered hello and tried to put him at ease. Others that got under his skin with how daringly inviting they were, almost begging him to reach out and touch Adalyn.

Today she’s wearing one of the latter. Along with a teal dress – unseasonably short. He’d be concerned for her wellbeing if he weren’t so busy sneaking glances at her woollen leggings. Or the way the dress clings to her chest. And her ass.

Ancestors, is he really ogling her so openly? He has to shake his head clear before recentring. She has him in such a daze, that he hadn’t processed any of their conversation. Had he even said anything? Had she? He’s searching his memory when Adalyn turns away and bends to pick up the picnic basket.

He watches the dress creep up the back of her legs, completely rapt again.

A strained sound escapes his throat, breaking the spell and startling him out of his trance.

She’s packing up and he has no recollection of eating. He really did sit through the visit, mute and staring. He curses himself. He’s becoming a pervert and a lecher.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” she smiles at him, and it hurts.

He watches her leave before looking down and realising with shame that he’s hard again. It’s probably a contributing factor to his dizziness.

The only thing that holds him back is perhaps she doesn’t realise just how strong of an effect these things are having. If she’s trying to make him want to jump her, to pin her to the bed and fuck her for hours on end, then mission accomplished.

But if she’s just trying to court him, to encourage him closer, to tell him it’s okay to feel things, to care about her more than they’d discussed...

He doesn’t know. He just doesn’t know what to make of the advances.

It comes to a head when Slate returns from work that night. Adalyn has made dinner again and is dressed in the same teal dress she’d worn at lunch, though she’s stripped out of her shoes and leggings. Her scent wraps around him – inviting and lovely – and he sits and readies himself for another painstaking meal.

He glances up when she asks about his day, and nearly drops his fork. She’s wearing makeup. Which by itself isn’t a big deal. She’d spent the past few days experimenting and trying on different cosmetics. But tonight her lips are painted a washed out blue and there’s a pale eyeshadow to match.

It’s ridiculous, but the colour goes right to his hemi. He stares back down at his food, a bit shellshocked, completely spacing on the question she’d asked him.

“Sorry, I missed what you said?”

“I said, what did you get up to today?”

“Oh, uh, the usual. I spent some time in your wing working on the second floor. Then...” he looks again. Can’t stop himself from glancing back up at her too innocent expression, her carefully composed interest and smile.

He loses track of his words again. “You know, just the usual.”

Adalyn regales Slate with details of her day while he forces himself to eat. He barely tastes the food. Barely hears what she’s saying. He’s not sure if he’s more in a hurry to finish and leave the table or dreading what comes next.

Adalyn finishes before he does, and watches him eat with a stare that’s almost predatory. For a moment Slate forgets himself. Forgets his size and his magic and his near immortality. He feels like her prey. A thrill goes through him at the thought. He squashes it down immediately.

“I think I’ll go do some more work before bed,” Slate mutters, standing once he finishes.

“Slate.”

He halts at his name.

“Please sit back down.”

He does, face flushing; worried that he appears too eager.

Adalyn stands and approaches him. All his nerves strain when she stops behind him and rests her hands on his shoulders. He feels like he could jump out of his skin.

“You should take a break. Are you really going to work through the night?”

Mute, he shakes his head, mesmerised by her tone. Her words are masked with faux sympathy.

“Good,” she murmurs, before kneading his shoulders.

Slate’s face turns greener when a whine escapes his throat. He covers his mouth and coughs, hoping to disguise the slip.

Adalyn huffs her amusement before digging her fingers in, unknotting his shoulders and working her way down his back. He feels like putty beneath her touch, mouth slightly agape, entire self-control devoted to keeping any more embarrassing noises to himself.

When she stops he could almost cry, but instead things intensify when Adalyn rounds the chair and takes a seat on his lap.

He stares at her, eyes too wide.

“Is this okay?” For a moment she seems hesitant. Doubt creeping into her expression.

He nods, almost frantic in the movement. “Mhm.”

She sags in relief before looping her arms around his neck. It puts her face a little too close to his, and he swallows; the only movement he’ll allow.

She crinkles her nose. “Your clothes are wet.”

He waits, desperate to see what she does next.

“Would you... like help taking them off?”

He goes stiff at her words. In every sense of the word. Thankfully she ignores his erections, using her finger to trace a pattern on his chest instead.

He’s clenching his jaw so tightly that it hurts. His hands dig into the armrests. He’s worried his claws will materialise and splinter the wood. He has to reply, he remembers, or he won’t get to see what happens next.

“If you want.”

She raises her brows. “I’m not asking what I want, I’m asking what you want.”

By the fucking Ancestors.

Unbidden, his hands go to her, trembling as he cradles her jaw. The other drifts into her hair. He gets even harder when she relaxes into his touch, turning pliant under his grip. He tries not to sound so choked, so raspy, but he can’t hide his desperation when he replies. “I want to kiss you.”

She lifts her chin in silent permission, eyelids drooping and jaw going slack. But it’s not enough for Slate. He presses his forehead against hers. “Please, I need to hear you ask.”

He’s breathless when she shifts, bringing her leg around so that she’s straddling him. He can feel much more of her now. Seated like this, it’d be impossible for Adalyn to miss the bulge in his pants. Shame darkens his cheeks.

Then she grinds her hips against his.

The movement is so minute, he’s not sure if he imagined it.

Her hands tighten around his neck. She brings her lips to his ear. Speaks so clearly, there’d be no mistaking her words. “Kiss me, Slate.”

Every doubt, hang-up, and hesitation empties from his mind. His shame slips away and it’s almost blissful the way he’s able to turn, touching his lips to hers without overanalysing his actions.

He realises he’s holding his breath. Pulls back to let it out in a whoosh, before leaning in and kissing her again. He’s too occupied with her touch to fret about the gall of his actions, and he’s moves instinctively, trailing soft kisses along her jaw and neck. He wants to commit every sound she makes to memory; every hitch of her breath, every pant and subdued gasp. He wants to worship every inch of skin he can reach; enjoy every shiver and sound he can wring from her.

Adalyn is the next to pause for air. Slate doesn’t let up though – having been given permission to kiss his wife, he intends to make the most of the experience. He lavishes kisses down her throat, across her shoulder, savouring her warmth. He lets his teeth scrape against her skin and nearly trembles with excitement when she flinches, before tilting her head back to give him better access.

“What else do you want?” She murmurs.

“You.”

She huffs a laugh. “I’m tired of guessing. Elaborate.”

He makes himself pull away. Feasts his eyes on her. Her lipstick has smeared. The colour might drive him insane if he looks any longer.

He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, trying to organise his thoughts. He doesn’t get the chance. Adalyn picks up where he’d left off, leaning in to suck a line of kisses down his throat. He lets out a shaky breath and his grip on her tightens.

Adalyn pauses. “Is this still okay?”

“Yes. Fuck, yes. Please, don’t stop.”

Emboldened by his plea, Adalyn grinds against him – there's no way he’s imagining it this time - her kisses becoming fiercer, their embrace more passionate. She nearly growls when her access is blocked by his collar. “I want to see more of you.”

--- NSFW Content Ahead ---

Slate doesn’t check himself, removing his shirt faster than he’d done before. Pieces finally click in his brain, and the next step of the evening presents itself to him. He stands, hands going under Adalyn’s ass, and carrying her to the bed. She isn’t fazed by the relocation, doesn’t even stop rubbing against him. She just wraps her legs around his waist before dragging his lips to hers again.

He kicks off his boots on the way there. Starts unlacing his pants. They make it to the bed and he sits, letting Adalyn straddle him and push him against the mattress.

“Much better,” she says before trailing her lips down his chest. She takes her time, and Slate practically melts at the attention. Wonders if Adalyn had been as eager to get her hands on him as he’d been her. Probably, he notes as she kisses and sucks nearly every inch of him. She’s exploratory in her path. Her cheek grazes his ribs when she kisses the indent of his scar. She runs her hand along his side, over the ridges and valleys of his muscles. When she turns her attention to one of his nipples he jolts.

He’s so focused on her mouth that he nearly misses her hand creeping down past his waistband. He lets out a shuddering breath when she rubs against his erections. His thoughts fizzle out when she fists her hand around one of his cocks and pumps it.

“Is this alright?” She murmurs against him.

He drags his pants down in answer, giving her better access. She squeezes and Slate can’t help but moan. It takes everything he has to not buck into her hand.

Adalyn doesn’t bother restraining herself, grinding against Slate’s thigh. When she stops mouthing at his chest he grasps her by the hair again, prompting her upwards to his face. She doesn’t need further instruction, and goes back to kissing him, mindless and messy.

Slate is close to coming. All she’s done is rub his cock and sit on his lap, and he’s nearly finished. He’s not sure if he should be embarrassed or elated. Is still caught up in surprise at the turn the night had taken.

Adalyn pulls back to catch her breath. She looks almost smug, watching him writhe and twitch under her touch. She brushes his hair back before placing her free hand on his cheek. “You look good like this.”

It takes a monumental effort to pull her into focus. He’s so hazy with need and so close to coming that tears prick his eyes. Adalyn is a blur of colour. The smear of her makeup, the marks blossoming on her throat, the flush in her cheeks – it's intoxicating. Another sound escapes him.

Her face softens at the noise. “You okay?”

“Adalyn...” He’s breathless. It’s an effort to speak. “If you keep- I want- I'm-”

“Use your words, dearest,” she leans down in a slow, deliberate movement. Presses her lips to the skin beneath his jaw. Then sucks.

He can’t use his words. Instead, he sees white as pleasure shoots through him, intense and unrelenting. His hips leave the bed. His breath catches in his throat. His eyes flutter closed. He doesn’t notice Adalyn’s praise as he comes – quite possibly harder than he’d ever done in his life.

Awareness drifts back to him as he comes down from his high. It doesn’t take long for him to reorient himself, but when he does the room is spinning. His brain feels like mush. Adalyn is still straddling his thigh, her hand splayed against his chest for balance. He wonders if she can feel how hard his heart is beating. She still grips one of his cocks, looking at the mess he’d made with an unreadable expression.

His tongue feels like lead, and he tries to string the right words together. “I’m sorry, I...”

He cuts off when she gives his spent cock an experimental squeeze. His hips jerk and he wheezes.

She huffs and smiles, watching him as she raises her hand to her mouth and licks her fingers clean.

His untouched cock throbs. What few thoughts had formed in his head quickly disperse.

“Why are you sorry? It’s not like I did this on accident,” she chides.

Fuck, he wants more. He needs it. But Adalyn is still dressed. Still composed, looking down at him with a bright-eyed expression he’s entirely unfamiliar with. Five centuries worth of matriarchal and societal conditioning are the final tethers keeping him from responding. From grabbing Adalyn ravaging her. Playing out every dirty little thought he’s had, every fantasy, every impulse.

He has to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it’s wanted before he can act. That he’s wanted.

“Do you-” he starts, looking up with searching eyes, “Do you feel like this too?”

She relaxes on top of him. Her lips twist into a wry smile. “Well, I didn’t come.”

Need unfurls inside of him, sudden and desperate. To see Adalyn come undone the way he had. To make her gasp and moan and beg for him. To make her feel the way he constantly does around her; needy, depraved, dying for her to take the initiative.

Before he knows it, he’s swapping places with her. Kissing down the length of her body. Slipping off the bed to kneel on the floor. Murmured pleas stream from him, too fast for him to process each one, “-let me help, let me make it better-” he grips her by the knees and pulls her towards him. “Please, fucking please, I want you so badly, I need to taste you, need to touch-” He parts her thighs. Wetness strings between them. She’s not wearing underwear. The observation knocks the breath from him.

He kisses her inner thigh. His unspent cock aches, painfully stiff. He grinds against the end of the bed, yearning for friction. “Ask me to touch you. Give me permission. Fuck, Adalyn, tell me what I need to do to make you want me.”

A hand closes around one of his horns, tugging. His whole scalp lights with pleasure at the sensation, and he shivers, staring up at Adalyn. Having her exert control over him like this is intoxicating.

Despite her actions, she doesn’t look like she’s in control. Her hair is mussed, her face pink, and she bites down on her lip viciously. Still, she tightens her grip on him.

“I already want you. I’ve wanted you for weeks. So stop teasing and just-” she cuts off. She lets out a groan, “Gods, are you really going to make me say it?” She pulls her dress up and stares pleadingly. “Use your mouth.”

Her words are the final fraying on his restraint. Lust rolls in and he pulls her to the edge of the bed. Too eager to temper his actions, he thrusts his face between her folds, tonguing up and down and before he finds her clit and sucks.

He should have stroked her first. Fondled her breasts or used his fingers. But there’s no room in him for sympathy and he continues his rough treatment, enthralled by the way she squirms beneath him. Her legs shake and jerk, and a stream of high-pitched noises escape her throat. He holds her steadfast, draping her knees over his shoulders and nuzzling closer.

“-slower, please-” he hears despite the clenching of her thighs around his ears.

Part of him flickers with remorse. He’d attacked her without any preamble or warmup, lapping up her juices like a wyvern starved. The rest of him is unmoved. Thrilled to hear Adalyn beg. Delighted at being told what to do. And merciless. Having waited long enough for Adalyn to give him an order, he intends to follow this one to the letter, even if she grows to regret the request.

“You want me to slow down?” He hums as his imagination runs free. She’d been teasing him all day. Two could play that game.

She whimpers and nods her assent.

He moves back, giving her some space and lathering kisses on her thighs once more. Despite his sadistic intent, he nearly loses himself worshiping her legs. He sucks and nips at the soft flesh of her inner thighs, watching marks bloom and darken with unshakable focus.

She goes limp with the treatment. Her moans drop in pitch, her breathing evens out. They both relax, drawn into a new rhythm; less manic, less starved. Softer; more intimate. Her spasms grow further apart, and she seems content to lie there under him. Until she’s not.

There’s a gentle tug on his horn, and he blinks up at her. She looks wrecked. Her eyes are watery, and her makeup is smudged. He wonders if he’s taking things too far.

“Please, Slate. Not there.”

He holds fast to his plan, trusting Adalyn to tell him to stop if it gets too much. He kisses her other thigh. “Here then?”

She shakes her head.

He holds back a smirk. Kisses her knee. “Here?”

Adalyn lets out a whine. Bucks her hips. “Stop teasing.”

“You told me to slow down.” He nips at her skin before dragging his nose upwards, perfectly content to draw things out. “Unless you want me to go fast again?”

She doesn’t say anything. Drops her head and lets out a frustrated whine.

“Tell me where, Adalyn.” He doesn’t hide his smile this time.

“You know where.” She sounds petulant.

Warmth spreads through him, but he continues to play dumb, and shrugs. Echoes her earlier words. “Elaborate. I’m tired of guessing.” He scrapes her with his teeth again. “Plus, I like hearing you tell me what to do.”

Tears drip from her eyes. Slate pulls back, startled. He’s about to apologise, certain he’s pushed too far when she grabs him by both horns. Guides his face to her pussy.

“Here.”

His mind goes blank at the action, his thoughts skittering away. Until he’s only aware of her grip and the delectable warmth before him. He takes his time with kitten licks and soft kisses. Teasing forgotten, he treats her with awe, with gentleness. His wife spreading her legs for him is such a privilege, he can’t help but savour every taste.

Despite his abandoned plan, Adalyn still feels Slate’s exploratory pace. He winds her up until she’s groaning and bucking once more. Impatient, she uses her grip on Slate’s horns to grind against his face.

Slate drops further at the sensation. With his eyes shut tight and Adalyn’s thighs pressed hard around his head, it’s too easy for him to lose himself. He works without thought, drawn into her taste, her sounds. Her grip on him sends goosebumps down his neck and he hums, happy to relish the sensation, letting Adalyn pull him wherever she likes.

Trancelike, he moves with increasing fervour, flicking his tongue against her clit before moving down to tease her entrance. Over and over until he’s sucking hard at her pearl just to enjoy the way she shudders against him. He doesn’t notice the growing tension in her limbs, or the change in her volume. Doesn’t notice the signs of the orgasm creeping up on her until she’s gripping his horns with every ounce of her strength and gasping out his name.

It draws him out of his daze. Rekindles his lust. Slate decides then and there that he needs to hear Adalyn say it again. That he’ll do whatever it takes to keep her like this – moaning and incoherent. Appetite barely whetted, he keeps working, sucking harder on her clit and teasing her entrance with a finger. She’s so slick, slipping inside is effortless. She whines and tries to jerk back, but Slate is resolute, intent on pushing Adalyn as far as she can go. He adds another finger.

She’s a mess beneath him. Still shaking, riding out the aftershocks of her orgasm. Unable to come down with the way Slate keeps going. She wants to relax, wants to relish the intrusion, but is too heightened to do so. She’s barely aware of the sounds leaving her, the whimpers and groans.

Every time she untenses, Slate moves his fingers, prompting her to clamp down. Again and again, until she stops trying to pull from his grasp. Starts opening for his touches again. Though she can’t yet stop her cries or hold still. Tears brim her eyes. It’s almost as if she doesn’t know what she wants.

His prior plan to tease Adalyn until she begged comes back to him. He could keep going, turning her into an oversensitive mess. But looking at her, he doesn’t think he has the restraint. Watching her twitch and loll her head just reminds him of how much he wants to experience her pleasure for himself. To sink inside of her and feel her tremors directly around his cock.

Slate rests his cheek against her thigh and pauses to catch his breath. He uses the moment to check in. “How you doing, Ad?”

She tries pressing her legs together, succeeding only in pulling Slate’s face closer. A spent little noise escapes her.

He can’t help but smile. “Sensitive?”

She nods.

He runs his free hand up the outside of her thigh, soothing. “Do you want me to stop?”

She covers her face. Flinches when Slate curls his fingers inside of her. But doesn’t pull back.

“I asked you a question.” He takes mercy and eases up. Lets her think unimpeded. Even if he wants to keep distracting her.

A moment passes and she shakes her head. Her voice is barely a whisper, but Slate still hears her reply.

“More.”

He plants a soft kiss onto her thigh. He’s desperate for the next step, still achingly stiff and untouched. But if she wants more, who is he to refuse?

He kisses his way back to her core, spreading her legs and ready to taste her again when he’s accosted by the swat of her hand.

“Slate,” she cries and indecency of the sound makes his mouth water. “Please,” she wraps her hand around his horn once more and tugs. “I need the rest of you.”

He doesn’t have the discipline to hold back. To feel anything but relief at her words. It’s all he can do to crawl up the bed, breathless, until he hovers over her face, caging her in with his forearms. He still needs to see her ask.

“Say that again.”

Her nose crinkles and she balls her fists against his chest. Her voice is small. “I need you...”

Her embarrassment endears him. Arouses him. He can’t help but lower himself, settling between her legs. He strokes her thighs. Creeps his fingers closer to her dripping folds. She pants at the touch, spreading her legs eagerly. The sight threatens to unravel him, but he can still draw this out. Just a bit more.

“You’re going to have to be specific, sweetheart.”

Her hazy eyes clear long enough for her to blink up at him, pleading through dampened lashes. “I need you to fuck me.”

Ancestors. When she looks at him like that, when she says something so crass – he's not going to be able to hold out much longer. His legs tremble as he rubs his cock against her folds. Carefully. Tauntingly.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

She whimpers. Hits his chest. “I said, fuck me.”

“Ask nicely?” She could give him hell for it later. Right now, nothing beats the glee he feels hearing Adalyn beg.

“Please,” she whines and tears escape down her cheeks. She wraps her legs around his waist and grinds against him. “Please stop teasing, please just fuck me, please Slate, please.”

He can’t hold back anymore. Not when she’s lined up so perfectly or begging so prettily. He can’t stop himself from leaning down to brush his lips against her cheek. He tastes her tears before moving his lips to hers, gently at first. Heat grows inside him until he’s kissing her with abandon, fervid and hungry. When he pulls back he’s breathless, but no less eager.

“I’d be delighted.”

The last of his patience fleeing him, Slate thrusts inside.

Her legs wrap tighter around him. They’re both silent but for their heavy breathing. The pause probably only lasts a moment, but it stretches on for Slate, enthralled by Adalyn panting in his ear, the tremble in her muscles, the absolute euphoria of having one of his cocks inside her.

She moves first, grabbing the hem of her dress and pulling. She lifts her hips to ease the dress up, the motion sending pleasure curling in his gut. Still, he takes Adalyn by the wrist.

“Leave it on.”

Adalyn leans back to look into his eyes again, even as her cheeks grow redder. There’s a question in the air, and as he stares at Adalyn, some of the mania, some of the subservience leaves her. She looks pleased. “You want me to leave it on?”

He nods, suddenly abashed by the request. By the ease at which Adalyn can take control of the situation.

Her smile widens and she pulls him down into a heated kiss. “Don’t rip it. I like seeing what it does to you.”

He groans against her neck, heart pounding when Adalyn rolls her hips against him. “You’re a fiend, Adalyn.” He starts fucking her, resisting the urge to sink his teeth into her shoulder while he does.

She meets his thrusts, thighs trembling with the effort. She takes his hands, coaxing him to squeeze her ass, to touch her waist. “Your fiend.”

His hemi throbs at the words and he lets out a near growl. The curve of her hips, the warmth of her skin. She’s so soft beneath him. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm.”

Slate sits back, pulling Adalyn onto his lap as he goes. She doesn’t need to move much, legs already locked around him. Splayed open above him, with her dress ruffled and her hair loose, Slate doesn’t know where to look. He can’t see a single part of her he doesn’t desire.

She takes his hands again. Glides them up her stomach, pushing the fabric up as she goes, until her breasts are peaking out. He doesn’t need further instruction, and begins to fondle her, awed. He leans in to suck and nip at her flesh. She jerks in his lap, arching and gasping at the attention, and Slate groans as she clenches around him.

“All yours, Slate.”

His hips jerk. “Fuck.” He starts bouncing Adalyn on his lap, eliciting a stream of her gasps. She closes her eyes. Bites down on her lip. He reaches between them to press against her clit, delighting in the way she starts to squirm. “If you keep talking like that I’ll end up fucking you all night.”

She laughs, but cuts off in a moan. It takes her a moment to reply. “Why wouldn’t I want my husband to fuck me all night? I happen to like him a lot.”

Her teasing, sultry tone is undermined by her breathlessness, but it still does things to him. He stops palming her breast and grabs her by the hips. Overrides her easy pace on top of him in favour of a rougher fucking. Bucks up against her momentum and weight, driving himself deeper with each thrust, until he’s nearly slamming her down onto his cock.

There’s still a part of him wondering if he’s taking it too far. Worried he might hurt Adalyn. The bed shakes beneath them, and the sound of their fucking echoes in the stone room. But Adalyn seems to enjoy the treatment. Her mouth is agape, her back arches, her nails scrabble to find purchase on his back.

There’s no more room for rational thought, watching her like this – feeling her like this. The only thought he’s capable of having is the realisation that he needs more. He fucks her harder, faster, chasing that need for more. More of Adalyn. More of her sounds. More of that hot, wet texture gripping him so tightly. Until she’s convulsing on top of him, clasping a hand over her mouth, strained gasps escaping her.

He grabs her wrist, unthinking. “I want to hear you.”

Slate doesn’t give her a chance to respond. Keeps bucking, even as she trembles, limbs wracked with tension. Her moans peak, then stop entirely for a moment as she flexes. The spasms around his cock, the additional slick – feeling her come on top of him is his own undoing.

The last of his thoughts turn to static. Every muscle in his core tightens. Then he’s slack jawed, head thrown back as he comes inside of Adalyn, hips faltering and coming to a stop once she’s taken every drop.

“Fuck,” he says. His muscles turn to jelly. When Adalyn stops twitching around him she too goes slack, collapsing against his chest.

“Yeah,” she agrees.

--- NSFW Content Ends ---

He closes his eyes against the spinning of the room. Catches his breath. His muscles burn with a pleasant exertion. Strength is already starting to return to his body. The only downside to his quick recovery are the thoughts spooling back into his head; invasive and demeaning.

Did he really just fuck Adalyn?

He opens his eyes, and blinks down at her, bewildered. Hair sticks to her nape. Her heart is still pounding, but she’s boneless, the slight drag of her fingers against his arm the only indication of her consciousness.

Yes. That had just happened. She’d climbed into his lap and asked him what he wanted. And then he’d carried her to the bed.

She’d literally seduced him.

Right?

He curses his doubt. He should be ecstatic. Basking in afterglow. Giddy at Adalyn’s proximity. Not analysing whether or not his wife had actually wanted to have sex with him.

He glares at the ceiling. He knows he’s being ridiculous. He knows it, he knows it, he knows it. It’s something he’ll have to unlearn. To talk to Adalyn about. Because if she does want him the same way he wants her, and he’s being cautiously obtuse – he winces at the thought.

“Did you say you’ve wanted me for weeks?” It’s honestly a miracle he remembers the words. The rest of their encounter had been intense enough that all the foreplay, the banter, had burnt into afterthoughts.

She stirs, opening her eyes to look up at him. Then smiles, her cheeks flushing before she hides her face against his chest. Her words are muffled. “It sounds familiar.”

“Did you mean it?”

He feels her swallow. She shifts so that she’s no longer straddling him, instead curling up against his side. “Yes.”

He stares. Tries to reply, but words just catch in his throat.

She wants him? (Wanted him. Still wants him?) Does she mean physically? Romantically? He has to know. Has to ask. If only he could formulate a proper sentence.

Seconds stretch into minutes. Worried he’ll lose his chance, his nerve, he blurts: “Do you like me?”

She pauses in stroking his collarbone. Looks up at him again, another wry smile at her lips. “You’re asking now?”

He flushes. “Well, I know you wanted to- that you wanted me. But I mean... Do you want to court me?”

The smile drops as she presses her lips together. Her face goes red as she stares up at him. She probably doesn’t realise Slate can see so much detail in the dark.

Finally, she lowers her stare. Her voice is small. “I’ve been trying to court you for weeks.”

He’s shocked into silence. Barely manages a weak, “What?”

“I thought bringing you lunch every day and trying to spend so much time with you might clue you in.”

His eyes widen further.

“But humans do things differently. We’re a lot more reserved with physical touch and professions of emotion until we’re sure there’s returned feelings. And it’s usually done in equal parts by both men and women. I felt bad approaching you because I didn’t know how you felt about it.”

He splutters. A small part of him starts spiralling. “You-”

“I think I would have driven myself insane if Rin hadn’t sent me a book last week. It’s a treatise on wyvern physiology, though there was some etiquette stuff in there too. But even trying some of the stuff it mentioned, I was worried I might go too far.”

He’s still incredulous. “You like me. Romantically?”

She hides her face in the pillow. There’s a muffled noise of affirmation. It’s cute.

It doesn’t tamper his bewilderment. “Why?”

She turns her face, enough to be audible. “Well, you’re handsome. And interesting. And kind. And easy to be around. And every now and then you do something that’s really attractive. Liking you was mostly... just a crush. That snowballed into something bigger.”

Amusement breaches his shock, and he relaxes. “You think I’m attractive?”

Her face turns redder. “Yes. When you... lift things. Or when your clothes get wet.”

He can’t help but laugh. Wraps his arm around her shoulders and draws her close again.

“Do you...” she hesitates. Looks nearly as bothered as he’s felt these past few days.

He scans her face, wondering what could possibly be wrong. Finally, it hits him.

“Oh!”

She deflates at his exclamation. He nearly panics at the posture. Rushes to reply.

“Adalyn, I adore you.”

Her brow crinkles. “But I’m... I’m just...”

He takes her by the jaw. Runs his thumb over her cheek. “You’re thoughtful. You take me seriously. You listen to me. You respect me.”

She calms enough to frown. “That’s a low bar.”

Slate presses his forehead to hers. “You make me feel welcome. It’s... you have no idea how much I appreciate you.”

She untenses when he leans in and touches his lips to her own. She melts into the kiss and his mind goes delightfully fuzzy. It’s sweet, and soft, and he loses track of time. His head spins when they pause. Close enough to share breath.

He flushes as he contemplates his next words. “Can I... Can you tell me more about how humans make advances? Maybe not right now, but...”

She smiles, and it’s sweet enough to wind him. “Of course.”

He stares for a moment. Touches his forehead to hers again, inhaling deeply. Sweat and time have dulled her perfume, but it still lingers in the back of his mind, ambrosial and rich. Euphoria trickles into him, steadily enough that he leans down to kiss her again. Slowly, with a gradual increase in hunger. Until his hand is curling in her hair again, and he’s nearly on top of Adalyn – the heat between them rekindled.

She breaks away, her eyes crinkling as she grins. “Are you still hard?”

His lips twitch. “That’s the other one.”

“Didn’t I get that one off before...?”

He huffs. “I told you what’d happen if you kept running your mouth.”

She laughs before stretching up to kiss him again. The intensity returns, Adalyn definitely encouraging it with the way she clings to him, her hands coasting along his back, her breasts pressing against his chest. Until she pulls away, and shuffles back.

Slate doesn’t have time to be disappointed, because Adalyn rolls onto her stomach and lifts her ass. She gives an enticing wiggle, rubbing against him. “I could take more. But you’re changing the sheets afterwards.

Something in his chest begins to soar. He could probably tear up from happiness, from affection. Especially if he thinks too long about her smile, or how easily she’s able to proposition him.

He sets aside the feelings for later.

Then pins Adalyn to the mattress, ready to start again.

#vaya writes #the wyvern's bride #christ it's finally done #this took me like a month and a half and that was mostly just to edit and revise SO MANY TIMES #there will be more but there's nothing else mapped out so I'm a bit tentative about what to write next #but yeah I want a nice epilogue #and then maybe a series of shorts for things like more cute dates and Slate going into rut #monster romance #tetaro #wyverns #dragons

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