The Twenty-Fifth Chapter
His blade is so long and…sharp. The width and height of his groin is probably the biggest one her crevice has ever tasted.
Rozelyn had never seen a velvet steel as huge as this. It’s twice bigger than that of Eoghan, to be frank.
He’s definitely not lying that he was good. Not just good, he was utterly the best man in drilling a woman.
‘Perhaps that’s why this man is so sexy because he regularly exercises in bed…’ Rozelyn thought. Hans moaned from behind. It was music in her ears. Well, she probably forgot that she was being pounded by an Empath werewolf—by an entity that can manipulate emotions.
“I wonder how many women you can drill in a month, Hans…”
Rozelyn, even though she’s lying on her back, could clearly hear Hans chuckling.
“Probably a dozen,” he boasted.
He was holding her ponytail hair as he does her, like a cowboy riding a Cadillac. This was the first time this year that Rozelyn tasted the paradise that she had forgotten ever since her breakup with Eoghan. At least before the year ends, her wet deep abyss had now been entered by Han’s enormous basilisk.
“Harder, please!”
His swift pounding was his only answer. Rozelyn’s well-rounded ass bounced into his groin repeatedly. They were dancing in a canine-style mating position. The sound of their carnal activity echoed in the walls of Rozelyn’s boudoir. But to her, it was the classical music that she had been yearning to hear for months.
She was definitely on cloud nine. Her thirst had been quenched by this French hottie for less than an hour. Rozelyn hoisted her lower body for a bit and spread her legs wider, making Han’s manhood enter deeper. And so it did reach deeper, deeper. She could feel him in her stomach—in her wet core.
The fire in the fireplace suddenly bursts into flames—a signal for the Empath werewolf that the Thaumaturge vampire was nearing the summit.
He rode faster like he was being chased. Her moans were getting louder and louder that she forgot that the adjacent rooms were being occupied.
“Fuck them!” She bawled.
“Yeah, I’m obviously fucking you too!” He exclaimed back.
Rozelyn held tighter in the purple bed sheets. This convergence is indeed epic, not mentioning the fact that she was also burning calories as they did their carnal tango.
Hans firmly gripped her pony-tailed hair. He too was approaching the climax. He scooped her firm breasts and lifted her naked body higher and closer to his body.
They then lock their hands together as they reach the peak of their sophisticated convergence.
Rozelyn and Hans then plummeted into the soft-cushioned bed with their naked bodies facing each other.
***
Rozelyn is now refreshed—energized.
Hans was smoking by the veranda. The night’s frigid breeze caressed her cheeks as if the wind had its own hands. She breathed onto the fresh air and let her swelling crevice rest for a bit.
“Did you enjoy it?”
His voice resonated in her ears. Her eyes are still wide shut. But, the voice…the voice was no longer than that of a thick French voice. It was now an English accent—a Yorkshire accent.
She gradually opened her eyes and the man standing in front of her was not Hans Ryder.
She knew that face. She once saw a glimpse of that sex-loving face. The face that her stepmom drilled when the two were on their navy blue Sedan.
She now realized that the man standing was never a Hans Ryder as the man’s gray eyes sparkled and grinned.
“Romaine never told me that you’re such a wild cat in bed, Rozelyn.”
‘Shit! I should’ve sensed that he was not an Empath, that he was a shapeshifter werewolf.’
‘Well at least, I was able to pound on Dorrien’s mighty serpent. For hell’s sake Rozelyn, stop craving for a man’s steel!’
Rozelyn obviously needed help in controlling her sexual desires.
‘Unless he also shape-shifted his velvet steel so that it will be a few inches bigger!’
She mused, her eyes locked on Dorrien’s nakedness and manhood. Rozelyn definitely was holding her breath and temper. If only she was permitted to burn a werewolf, she had long gone burned Dorrien in the blazing fire of the stake just like what the accused Essex witches suffered way back in the sixteenth century.
“Why?!” She demanded a reasonable answer.
He laugh in a boisterous manner and said, “Cause I love fucking women, darling. And…” He paused and unsheathed his groin that he covered with a bathrobe a minute ago.
“…my little ferocious snake here wants to dive into someone’s wet abyss so I agree with your stepmom’s pleading to help you quench your sexual needs,” Dorrien continued then winked sexily at her.
Right. Her stepmom was an astral vampire—a freaking mind-reader. Romaine probably scanned her facial expressions that she needs someone to do fondue with.
He’s lucky that Rozelyn was indeed craving—craving for sex. Because if it was not, she would definitely show him what a fucking contemporary eighteen-year-old Thaumaturge can do to Lotharios like him.
She didn’t yield a reply and just sighed. Sighed because that was all her body can do because her entire mind is busy in keeping her temper from bursting out within.
‘I don’t think Romaine can just allow her boyfriend to lend it to someone else…or was it included in the Vampire’s code that one must help his or her fellow vampire in times of need, disregarding personal matters and conflicts...’
Well, Rozelyn had a point. They are bloodsucking and flesh-eating creatures who had sex not because they want to, but because they need to. Or else the Blood Rose and the Moonflower will bestow them with unimaginable consequences that perhaps even a Thaumaturge like her cannot contend with.
She just lay back in the purple-colored bed. Dorrien just gave her a glimpse and smirk one last time before saying, “Hans Ryder was a real person by the way. And mind you, he’s somehow connected with your father’s past.”
Before Rozelyn can query, Dorrien stormed out her boudoir without even zipping his black jeans.
“Phew! Is there someone else left amongst the coven and the pack that are worthy to be trusted?” She mumbled while hugging her lavender pillow as if the thing would reply.
She sighed again. Not because it was the only thing she could do, but because it was the only thing that can be done amidst this web of doubt and confusion within the walls of this fortress.
To be honest, she enjoyed their sex—which actually made her a bit of guilty. She enjoyed it perhaps also because of the fact that her body needed it—yearned for it. If she could just turn back time and heed more attention to Dorrien impersonating this Hans Ryder instead of being carried away by his muscular and strong sex appeal, then she would definitely be able to see through the glamour in less than a minute.
Anyway, what’s done is done. There’s no turning back the sands of time now.
“I must focus on the future—of what’s coming. Especially the bitch who called herself the Blood Mistress prevailed to spread havoc and mayhem throughout Shamrock—both to mortals like what she did to Henriz and to them for hypnotizing Chadwick, Stella, and Candice.”
Rozelyn conversed to herself and lay down on her head. Thanks to whoever is the housekeeper of this fortress, her bed is soft and cozy and most of all rejuvenating.
She was tired and embarrassed and guilty and dismayed; all of it. A whirlpool of emotion was swirling inside her, making her fall asleep without being able to notice that she already plunged down to the phantoms of the dream world.
