The Last of the Monsters (9 page)

“Henry.” She slid her pants down. They pooled at her feet. Stepping out of them, she stood before him completely naked and yet still covered by the silky black strands of her hair.

Reaching up, she brushed her hair back over her shoulders, exposing her naked body to his gaze. “Touch me.”

Chapter Seven

Akta held her breath as Henry came to her. Her whole body was humming with arousal.

Normally she was happy to follow the guy’s lead in sex. She loved to be touched, to be made to feel feminine and fragile under a man’s hands. It surprised her how hot it made her to be the one to take charge now, to touch Henry and to demand he touch her.

He took a lock of her hair, pulling it forward. He examined it, running his fingers along it. Akta had to bite back her impatience. Laying her hair over her breast, Henry rubbed her nipple with the soft strands. Pleasure rippled though her. It was good, but not enough.

Taking his other hand, she brought it to her bare breast. His fingers immediately closed around her nipple, rolling and tugging with just enough pressure to have her wanting more.

“I want to make you come,” Henry said, breath ragged. “The way you made me come.”

Akta guided them back to the bed. Tossing the duvet to the floor, she lay back, propping herself up on one elbow. Henry’s gaze was fixed on the apex of her thighs. Akta stroked her fingers down her sternum, over her belly to her pussy. She slid her fingers between her legs, keeping them closed. She was so wet she was slippery. Unable to avoid the temptation, she pressed one finger between the lips of her sex and touched her clit.

“What are you doing? Show me,” Henry demanded.

Slowly, Akta parted her legs. Henry dropped to his knees beside her bed. Akta braced her heels on his shoulders and scooted her butt to the edge. With her left hand, she pinched and twisted her own nipples as her right hand separated the folds of her sex. Two fingers splayed, she used her middle finger to circle her clit.

He hadn’t touched her, and yet Akta was more aroused with each passing moment. She could feel him watching her, feel the way he studied her movements, learning what she liked, what pleased her.

Henry’s fingers stroked the inside of her thighs until he reached the warm, wet core. She pulled back as his fingers caressed her labia, then circled her clit.

“This is your clit,” he said, carefully petting the little bundle of nerves.

“Yes.”

“You’re beautiful here—so warm and wet.”

His head bent and he licked her clit—two long, hard strokes. Akta jumped a little.

“Softer,” she said, “and use more of your tongue.” She held her breath, scared he’d be angry with her for directing him, but he wasn’t. He pressed his tongue flat against the inner folds of her sex and rubbed her clit.

Akta’s fingers dug into the sheets and she pressed her feet hard against his shoulders. “Henry, yes, Henry.”

She savored his name. She’d imagined this, imagined them together like this.

He drew back for a moment, panting a little.

“Give me your hand,” she said.

Henry held up his hand. Taking it in both of hers, she folded all but his index finger into a fist, then guided his hand to her pussy. She ran his finger down the center of her sex and positioned it at the entrance to her body. She saw his eyes widen, and in the next instant his finger was inside her.

“Like this?”

“Oh yes.” Akta closed her eyes, reveling in the moment.

“You’re very tight.”

“It’s been a long time.”

“How long?”

“A year.”

“You haven’t been with anyone since I came to LA?”

“I was waiting for you.”

Henry’s finger withdrew and his tongue was back on her clit. Soon Akta was moving restlessly against the bed. She could come like this, the orgasm was there, just waiting to sweep her away, but she didn’t want that. She wanted to come with Henry’s cock buried in her, his body hard and hot against her skin.

“I want you in me,” she gasped.

Henry paused, then slid his finger into her while his tongue still worked her clit.

“More,” she gasped, unable to think past the need that was thick and hot in her belly.

A second finger entered her as he licked and kissed her clit. He matched the rhythm of his thrusting fingers with that of his tongue. A few heartbeats later, she came, the pleasure in her belly coiling into a hard knot of sensation. She grabbed his hair, grinding his face down against her sex as she came.

When it was over, she unclenched her fingers, combing them through Henry’s hair as she gasped for breath. His fingers were still in her, and his gaze was intent on her face as he slowly withdrew them then pressed them back in. Akta moaned.

“You came.”

It wasn’t a question, but she answered. “Yes.”

“I want to be inside you.”

“I want that too.”

“How long do we have to wait?”

“Wait?” Akta propped herself up. “We don’t. Girls are a little different. We can go right on to the next time. Are you ready?”

In answer, he stood up, showing her his cock, which was once more rigid. Akta scrambled back, making room on the bed. Henry reached for her, but Akta motioned him away.

“Lie down.”

Henry paused, as if trying to figure out what she meant, then lay down on his back. Akta swung her leg over him, straddling his thighs.

“Akta, wait.” Henry looked worried, even as he pulled at strands of her hair so it lay over her shoulders, framing her breasts.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?”

“You were tight, even with just my fingers you were tight.” He sat up and pulled her in for a long, deep kiss. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered against her lips.

Tears made the back of Akta’s throat tight. “You won’t, I promise. We’ll go slow.”

Raising her hips, she positioned herself above Henry’s cock. His hands lay tentatively on her thighs, so Akta put one on her breasts while the other she drew around until he held her ass. Connected, gazes locked, she sank down onto him.

She was tight, and he was big, but inch by inch he filled her. Akta knew a moment of pure pleasure when he was seated fully within her. This was what she’d wanted, what she’d craved for so long—this man inside her, filling her. It was even better than her fantasies.

“Akta.” Henry said it almost reverently. “Akta, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“For being a fool. We should have done this a long time ago.”

Akta let out a little breath of laughter. She agreed, but now wasn’t the time to tell him that. Now was the time to see how much more pleasure they could find.

Bracing her hands on his chest, she started to move. Rocking back and forth, she began simply, then, when that wasn’t enough, she rose up off him, sinking down on him again, needing that moment of penetration.

The hushed quiet was broken by gasps and moans of pleasure, the creak of the bed as Akta’s movements grew more aggressive and erratic as she became more aroused.

“Akta, I need…” Henry’s words trailed off, but she knew what he needed.

Lifting herself off of him, Akta lay back and spread her legs. Henry knelt between them and guided his cock to the entrance to her body. He was tentative at first as he braced himself on either side of her. His hips flexed as he struggled to find the right angle. Akta lifted her legs, linking her ankles high on his back. He sank in another inch and they both groaned in pleasure.

“Is this right?” he asked, thrusting in and out with small movements.

“Yes, that’s perfect. Do what feels good.”

“Akta?”

She opened her eyes and looked at him. Henry watched her as he started to thrust harder and faster.

“Henry.” She touched his face as she said his name.

He kissed her wrist, her arm, then bent and kissed her as he continued to thrust.

Wrapped in her arms, Henry fucked her with a skill and precision he had no right to have. Akta had wanted the night to be pleasant for her and amazing for Henry, but she was the one who was shivering and gasping in pleasure. She’d underestimated how much even the simplest touches would affect her.

“Akta, I’m going to come again.”

“Yes, yes,” she encouraged. Henry shuddered above her, holding still for a long moment. Then he drew back and pounded into her, hard and fast and relentlessly. Whatever finesse he’d had was gone as he rode the crest of his orgasm. These thrusts rubbed against her inner walls, providing that extra bit of sensation she needed to find her second orgasm.

Digging her nails into his back, she watched his eyes widen as her body tightened around his.

He collapsed on top of her, his head on her shoulder. When she pushed, he rolled to the side. “Akta?”

“You’re too heavy for me,” she said with a smile. He lay back and she curled against his side, cheek on his chest. Henry’s arm came around her.

As she started to drift off to sleep the magnitude of what had just happened hit her. She’d finally had sex with Henry.

What were they going to do now?

Padma sat at the king’s feet. She was dirty, her clothes torn and hair a mess. A heavy silver manacle around her ankle was attached to a thick chain. The chain snaked across the floor to a ring embedded in the mortar between two of the massive stone slabs of the floor.

Crouched on an iron-and-basalt throne was the king. He had maroon skin and leathery dark wings. His hair was shaggy and coarse, and the iron-and-bronze crown he wore sat heavily on his brow. He looked like a gargoyle, crouched and ready, but he wore a thick silk robe, pinned at the shoulders with elegant wood brooches. The massive throne room was all stone, with thick rock columns supporting the arched ceiling above. Statues of primitively carved beasts lined the wall and metal basins of burning oil filled the space with flickering orange firelight. Sitting and lounging along the walls, on benches and chairs designed to support their wings and backward-bending legs, were other monsters.

Iron clanked and a massive white tiger, larger than any true jungle cat, prowled out from behind the throne. A thick metal collar around its neck connected it to the same embedded ring that held Padma. As it prowled, the chain dangling from its neck scraped and clanked. The tiger lowered its massive head to Padma and bared its teeth.

She gasped, flinching away from the tiger. Scooting back, she stopped only when her back was against the base of the throne. The king shifted, coming out of a crouch to sit, one leg brushing Padma as he did so. She screamed, scrambling away, and the monsters laughed. The king regarded her with black eyes, never saying anything as she moved as far from him and the tiger as her chain would allow.

The boom of a gong vibrated the air. It was loud and deep, so much so that the metal basins of oil seemed to vibrate in response, making the fires dance.

Everyone in the room looked up. The king’s head rose slowly, his gaze fixed on the thirty-foot-tall doors at the far end of the room.

Slowly they opened. Ebon had a hand planted on each of the doors, his muscles taut and straining as he forced them open. His wings were blood-red, his skin black as pitch. With a roar, he shoved the doors so hard that they crashed back against the walls. Around the room, monsters came to their feet, snarling and roaring.

“Silence.” The king’s voice boomed out, bringing an instant hush to the room. That silence was broken by a little sound—Padma’s gasp.

She was on her knees, eyes fixed on the monster who’d just entered. “Ebon,” she whispered.

“The human is mine,” Ebon snarled, head swiveling as he looked around the room. “Give her to me.”

Runak stepped from the shadow, his naturally black skin not quite as dark as Ebon’s. “You killed our brother. For the sake of this human.” He spat the last word, stalked over to the throne and grabbed Padma’s chain, yanking it so she slid across the floor. Padma screamed.

“Cut there. That was beautiful.” Cali spoke quietly to the director of photography and then hopped out of her chair. “Let’s reset to do it again.”

The set flooded with crew. Akta twisted to a sitting position and accepted the bottle of water a production assistant handed her. Sticking out one leg, she waited as the manacle—plastic with a metal overlay—was carefully unfastened from her ankle.

“You okay?” Runako asked, helping her up.

“Yep.”

“You should have a stunt double do it. Margo would kill me if I hurt you.”

“Getting pulled across the floor hardly requires a stunt double,” she told him. Runako was engaged to Margo, and though he wasn’t the gentlest of the monsters, he would never deliberately hurt her. Plus, she was wearing a full body suit under her torn wardrobe pieces that protected her as she slid.

“Then next time I won’t hold back,” Runako told her.

“Bring it on, tough guy,” Akta said as a makeup artist added to the dirt smudges on her neck.