Synergist

by Chloe Adler

“To Azotar. If he’d captured you or worse.” His eyes turn back to me, shining with unshed tears.

  “Oh, Vasily.” I throw my arms around him. He crushes me to him, then pulls away to gaze into my eyes again.

  He reaches up and strokes my face. I close my eyes at the impossibly tender gesture, and he takes my mouth in his, nibbling on my lower lip. “Amaya,” he breathes. “When I thought you might not come back—”

  “Shhh.” I kiss him to shut him up.

  But he pulls back. “I had no one to blame but myself.” Then he’s back, his lips firm on mine, easing them open, slipping his tongue inside.

  “It’s okay, I’m here. And I want you. I need you.” I moan and press the length of my body tight along his, covering each point of contact.

  He lifts me up and lays me down across his lap. Taking his time, he slips the top button of my shirt free, kissing my exposed collarbone from left to right. Then he moves to the next button and kisses me lower. His lips sear my skin, tracking the heat down the center of my chest as he follows the line of buttons with his mouth. When my top hangs free, he helps me out of it and sits up to look at me in my lacy red bra.

  “So beautiful.” He slips a finger beneath the cup and traces the delicate skin under my breast. Leaning down, he takes my nipple through the fabric, gently teasing it with his teeth.

  I grip his shoulders, marveling at the contrast of our skin, his ebony beneath my own sienna as my fingertips dig into his flesh.

  “Ouch.” His voice is muffled around my tit but he doesn’t budge.

  I take it as a sign and jab my fingernails in deeper. “To remind you not to piss me off in the future,” I growl, letting go of my aggro display and throwing my head back. “Time for you to make me come properly. Skin on fucking skin.”

  Detaching from my breast he rumbles, “Amaya, look at what your voice does to me,” and pushes his hard cock into the small of my back. I flip over, scoot down the couch and breathe in the full scent of him as I bury my face between his legs. The lilacs mix with fresh alfalfa and a gentle summer breeze, the scents of Tara.

  “Pants off. Now.” I don’t wait for him to comply, thumbing open his slacks and tugging as he lifts his commando ass to let me. The man, fairy king, is huge. I expected no less, but until his cock was on full display, I had only the bulge to go by. Pulling back to admire it, the king leans back against the couch, widening his legs. “Proud, ’eh?”

  “It only matters if you like it.” His dick stands at attention as though it’s auditioning for me.

  “Oh I like it. Let’s see if it fits.” I grab him with both hands, because one isn’t enough, and encircle his girth. He doesn’t push or thrust into my hands. Such restraint. As a reward, I lean down and wrap my mouth around his thick cock. Partly because I want to see if he tastes as good as he smells, but mostly because I need him inside of me and my mouth is closest.

  My lips stretch around him and I swallow him deeply.

  “Oh my Pan.”

  What was that? No time for distraction, the fae is too tasty. I want to swallow him whole. His cock is an aphrodisiac too—I’m slick and vibrating with lust. One more plunge and he practically pulls me off and throws me on my back. Normally I do not like being manhandled but this time it works.

  “Take off your pants or I’ll rip them off.”

  I squirm out of said offending pants and he crouches before me.

  “You’re stunning.” Starting at my ankles, he runs his hands up the insides of my calves and then my thighs. At midthigh, he pushes my legs open. Wide. I let my lids drop as he leans in closer. If I shut off the visual and the constant screaming of my mind that this is indeed a freaking king, I can focus more fully on the sensations. I want, need to experience Vasily as a man, not as a king.

  The cool tickle of his breath lights up my clit, sending faint vibrations skittering over the surface of my skin. He traces the crease between my lips and thighs with a finger, alternately blowing on my heat and skimming the outside of my pussy. Like a maestro with his instrument, he’s warming me up, slow and light. Almost with trepidation. The tender touches make me squirm and I raise my butt to encourage further contact with my pulsating cunt. His tongue joins his fingers but with the same delicate probing, all on the outside, tripping over my mound and lips.

  “I need more.” My voice is husky, deeper than usual, and it takes all of my restraint not to beg.

  “Turn over, ass in the air and grip the back of the couch.” His thick voice pours over me like molasses. Sweet, dark and slow.

  Wha—?

  “I want to worship you.”

  I’m currently in no position to argue, so I do as he says. “Your wish is my command.” I cover my mouth with a hand to keep from chortling.

  “I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.” And then his face is buried in my pussy. I let out a shriek and wriggle away but he holds me in place, darting out his tongue. He presses it in and then pulls it out to suck on my clit.

  “Oh!” I pant. The velveteen softness sends jittering sparks of pleasure straight through my clit and deep into my belly. He laps at me from behind, holding my legs apart with his large, capable hands. Pressing back into him mashes his face into me and I gasp, losing my breath completely. His fingers pry me open and he inserts one, deep inside, wriggling it while flicking my swollen clit with is tongue. Squeezing my legs and the back of the couch, I start to buck, the orgasm building from deep within. I’m seconds away from bursting when he stops and squeezes the insides of my thighs.

  “No!” I cry out and his tongue laps all the way up the crease of my slickness, past my anus and up my spine. He lays his body along the length of mine, fists my hair and turns my neck to the side, exposing it.

  “Do you want me inside of you?” His voice rumbles in my ear, sending miniscule shivers back down my spine, electrifying the air between us.

  “Yes. Please.” I turn my neck further and he takes my mouth in his, sucking on my lips, pushing in his tongue. I open, letting him explore my depths. He palms my pussy, gently squeezing it and spreading my moisture. With his mouth still on mine, our tongues swirling around each other, he teases my opening with his cock. I groan and press my ass back, arching against him, more than done with his teasing. Pulling away slightly so he can maneuver inside of me, his massive cock enters my pussy one inch at a time, allowing me to stretch, conform to his bulk. The sheer immensity pulls my breath from my lungs but I don’t break our kiss. Instead, I bite his lip and moan into his mouth, bucking my ass to take him deeper. The sensations are heightened when he slips his other hand around my chest and squeezes my breasts together, pinching one of my nipples.

  I almost come right then but he bites my lip and growls, “Not yet.”

  Vasily pushes himself deeper inside of me, shocking me back to my senses. I thought he was all the way inside but apparently not. I’ve never had anything or anyone buried so deep and it rocks me to my core. It’s as though his whole body and spirit are inside of me, embracing every cell. As though we’re a complete being, one and the same. I am truly the key that fits this man’s lock, in every way. The realization transforms the moment from pure sexuality to pure consciousness and back again. I don’t even notice an orgasm building, I’ve transcended beyond the need to have one, my entire body vibrating with a thousand tiny orgasms in every single cell at once.

  “Come with me, Amaya,” Vasily roars, slamming me back into my body.

  Instantly, we’re coming together and a million tiny stars explode, reform and explode again. Over and over until I’m too spent to move.

  I lay in his arms, so warm and safe. Eventually, we fall asleep.

  “What the fuck, bitch?” Jules’s voice tears me out of a lovely dream. I force my eyes open to find the men’s sitting area filled with the four warlocks and Jules. The only two missing are Sabin and Candy. At least some kind soul has placed a blanket over me and Vasily.

  He groans and pulls it tighter around our bodies. “Can we have some
privacy please?”

  “You gave that up when you decided to get naked in the lounge of the men’s wing, boss,” says Forrest.

  I peer over the edge of the blanket, expecting narrowed eyes or a clenched jaw, but he’s smiling. They all are.

  “Glad to see at least someone’s getting laid,” says Jules.

  I widen my eyes at her in warning.

  “What?” she responds. “The other four are mine.”

  My body tenses, ready to leap up, but Vasily holds me still and runs his fingers down my back.

  The men are all looking at me, not Jules, and I’m tempted to stick my tongue out at her and yell, “Finders, keepers! They’re all mine!” Surely that’s my ego talking. I bury my face in Vasily’s shoulder instead and work on slowing my breathing down.

  “All right, time for dinner, love bugs,” says Bodhi. “Dining room in ten.”

  Everyone files out, with Jules the last to leave. She shoots me a look first. “Chicks before dicks, right?”

  I sure hope she’s not going to make me choose between my best friend and my men.

  “Grrr,” I snarl once they’re gone and sit up. Vasily helps me put on my clothes, and we walk down the hallway together, descending the stairs into the atrium.

  Sabin rushes up to us before we enter the dining room.

  “My king.” He kneels before Vasily. “I’d like to ask for Candy’s hand in marriage, sir. I want to offer you my services as a loyal knight to help you banish the fachan from our realm forever. Then you can return to your rightful place as king and ruler.”

  Aww, it looks like Sabin’s turning over a new leaf.

  “After all, it’s the least I can do for the man who saved my beloved. I know you brought Azotar back into Tara to save her.”

  Vasily did what?

  * * *

  The End

  * * *

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  Author Musings

  Synergist was a book written from the heart. But what does that even mean to you Chloe?

  You asked, and I'm glad you did. My process is that every book I've ever written has started with the character. Every writer starts with something. Some writers may get a plot or story first and others a character or characters. Some may first desire to write about a scene or a place. The process is different for everyone.

  I've been a character "downloader" from my very first character Lizzy in my still unpublished first trilogy and also for my future sci-fi books. The characters "speak" to me much like a voice that won't shut up until I write them down to get them out of my head. Amaya was like this. She showed up one day when I was writing my first series, Love on the Edge, and never shut up. So before I even started Iphigenia's series, Tales from the Edge, I had to write everything Amaya said to me, to get her out of my head.

  And I loved her, from the very first tap, tap, tap, on my brain. IMO she's not a typical heroine but she's amazing. She puts others first, in a way, like Iphi but only those she knows and loves. She possesses a fierce loyalty to Jules, her parents and now to the men and Tara but she knows who she is - or thinks she does.

  Amaya doesn't make excuses. She has to do what she feels is right, regardless of what others say or think.

  When I first started writing I thought that my characters were people I wished I was, people I wanted to be if only I had more of this or less of that (insert emotion or external circumstance here). Then I realized that each and every character has a kernel of something that I have and more than that, something that everyone in the world possesses.

  For example: If one character leads with her strength, that strength is something we all have but we may not lead with it. Another may lead with her empathy, like Iphi. Most people (not all) can be empathic but very few lead with it.

  So what I'm trying to say is that the process of putting these people on the page is not only a learning experience, it's a little bit like therapy. I get to be the sword wielding dragon slayer - not that any of my characters atm would ever kill a dragon - but you get the point. And you, the reader, get the same thing. You get to become that character, experience it, live as if, during the telling of the story.

  Fiction takes us out of our lives and writing, in a way, puts us into it. I'm not explaining this well but I'm okay with that.

  I'm going through a strange and different time in my personal life right now. It's a time of re-learning, new discoveries and looking at what's truly important and what's not. I've had to clean house (figuratively) and decide what needs to come first, second, third and what needs to be scraped from the plate completely and deposited into the compost where it will decay and ferment. But decay leads to new growth when other plant life is fed with the mulch.

  And so is life, every aspect of it. We grow, we die, we feed the world with our bodies. Our emotions grow, they wither, they feed our minds. Our thoughts, our joys, our pain - all of it grows, withers and feeds.

  And…. this is what stream of consciousness looks like people! No apologies but fair warning (after the fact) - ;)

  XXOOXX ~ Chloe

  About the Author

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