Chapter Text
"I told myself I would do this when the war was won," the Darkling says. Alina realizes that he is half asleep from the softness of his tone. His breath tickles her ear. "I'm glad I saved it."
She is not really comfortable held like this against him -- her neck is at a bad angle against his chest, and his arm is a lead weight across her lower back. But it doesn't matter. She wouldn't disturb this moment for any comfort in the world. Perhaps tomorrow he'll start ignoring her again. Maybe the day after that things will be worse still. So right now she has to savor this warmth and fullness, the tenderness of this satisfaction.
One of his hands has wandered back between her thighs. Perhaps he isn't as sleepy as she thought. He rubs up against her slit and she cannot suppress a mewl. It still aches there from the freshness of his incursion, but his touch reawakens every sensation he has spent the night teaching her. She feels more than hears him sigh. "My seed is leaking out of you. Can you feel it?"
She can't, really, and then he pulls something wet from between her folds and starts smearing it around on the tender flesh of her thighs. She is already gasping before he starts to gather the stuff on his finger and push it back inside her, easily pushing apart the walls that had barely yielded to him just a few hours before. She cannot, does not, will not stop herself from writhing on those long fingers, trying to move the most sensitive parts of her against him to recapture the rhythm that had brought her to heights she had never even imagined reaching on her own, alone in her narrow bed in the servants' quarters.
He curses, and all of a sudden she realizes that he's hard again, furiously so, and that it's pressing against her belly like a brand. His large limbs arrange her and she is on her hands and knees in front of him.
"I need to fill that back up," he mutters, half to himself. "Need you dripping with it. The more the better, hmm?"
She freezes, horrified almost out of her arousal, just as he lines himself up at her entrance and slams inside with one thrust.
It's good. She cries out and has to try to bury her head in the sheets against the overwhelming sensation. But a cruel smack at her hindquarters, and then two more in quick succession, startle her up again.
"Arch for me, now, Alina," says the Darkling. "Milk my cock. I can feel -- Saints -- I can feel how much you want to."
He can't get her pregnant, Alina thinks. He would have a lot of children if that were something he did with women. It must be safe for some reason. He wouldn't want a child with Alina --
She presses back, letting her spine curve her body flat and open against him. Better to feel than to think.
"Good girl. Good girl. Fuck!"
They've already done it so many times tonight, and yet he only lasts long enough to bring Alina off first, thumbing furiously at her clit until he can feel through the tether that she's come. Then he tosses her over onto the bed, on her back, and pounds into her while biting at her breasts and neck. This time, when he groans and shudders inside her, she can almost imagine that she can feel the heat of his seed spreading across her cervix.
He doesn't pull out. He stays on top of her, groaning into her neck. Alina cautiously tangles her arms around her neck, and is rewarded with a brush of his lips and tongue just above her collarbone before he collapses over her with a sigh of satisfaction.
"I hope you get pregnant soon," he whispers against her ear. "And by the way, I think it should be obvious, but if I've learned anything with you it's that you need things spelled out. If you let anyone else so much as try something like this with you, I'll find out, and then I'll kill them slowly while you watch."
The bottom falls out of her stomach. She is so shocked that she says something she has been avoiding saying all night. "But you're married."
She never gets to hear the Darkling laugh. It's almost beautiful, even if he's laughing at her. He's kissing her as he laughs, sweet little pecks across her cheeks and eyelids. His nose nuzzles her brow. "Oh, Alinochka."
"I mean it! We can't --"
He kisses her. Under the pressure of that now-familiar mouth, she feels herself melting again. When he finally releases her she knows she is lost.
"I can, Alina. Now go to sleep."
She shouldn't. She does. As darkness just like his takes her mind, the last thing she feels is the pressure of his cock, still stuffed inside her, stretching at the substance of her core.