Chapter 607: Chapter-607
Hovering invisibly by the bedpost, the System let out a strangled, digital gasp.
"Host! What are you doing?! He is trying to nurse you back to health! Why are you aggressively attacking his masculinity?!"
Heena completely ignored the lion. She kept her eyes locked on Samuel, her breathing visibly shallow, a faint, feverish flush spreading across her pale chest and neck.
Samuel’s eyebrow twitched. The dangerous, calculating predator behind his golden eyes slowly began to wake up. He looked at her flushed skin, the erratic rise and fall of her chest, and the sheer, desperate aggression in her stare.
He was a genius scholar; it didn’t take him long to do the math. She was in agonizing pain, and she was deliberately picking a fight to provoke a physical reaction—using her own arousal and sheer Vanguard aggression as a desperate painkiller.
"I think I finally understand your language," Samuel said slowly, his voice dropping an entire octave, becoming dark, heavy, and incredibly dangerous. He tossed the damp cloth onto the floor. "What exactly do you mean by—"
She cut him off with a sharp, husky laugh.
"Still don’t get it? Seriously?" Heena challenged.
She didn’t wait for him to finish the thought. Reaching out with surprising strength, she grabbed the pristine lapels of his charcoal robes and yanked him forcefully forward. Samuel didn’t resist, letting himself be pulled down until his hands planted firmly on the mattress on either side of her hips, trapping her cage-like beneath him.
Heena didn’t give him another second to think.
Her hands violently fisted in the crisp fabric of his collar, pulling him down with a sudden, fierce strength. Their lips crashed together, the kiss entirely devoid of any polite hesitation or gentle romance. It was aggressive, demanding, and completely ravenous. Her tongue parted his lips effortlessly, invading his mouth with the fiery, unyielding dominance of a Vanguard commander claiming her territory.
Samuel let out a low, heavy sound at the back of his throat. He slowly closed his golden eyes, completely surrendering his usual, calculating restraint to the intoxicating heat of his wife.
Heena had started the fire, but Samuel was the one who poured oil on it.
He brought his large, warm hands up, firmly framing her pale face. His long fingers tangled in her dark hair as he tilted her head, capturing her lips with a devastating, overwhelming intensity that made her entire body shudder. He deepened the kiss, matching her desperate, feverish energy perfectly, turning her provocation into an absolute, breathless surrender.
They broke apart for a fraction of a second, their foreheads resting against each other as they desperately gasped for air. But the brief separation was absolute torture.
Before Heena could even form a coherent thought, Samuel’s mouth crashed down onto hers again, rekindling the fiery back-and-forth. The kiss shifted from a desperate clash of dominance into a deep, intoxicating rhythm that completely drowned out the agonizing throbbing in her temple.
Slowly, fluidly, Samuel leaned his heavy, muscular frame into hers. He guided her backward, shifting his weight until Heena was falling back against the soft, silk-draped mattress.
He hovered above her, supporting his weight on his forearms so he wouldn’t crush her, his lips never once leaving hers.
Heena’s back hit the mattress. Despite the lingering, dull ache in her skull, a slow, immensely satisfied smile curved against his lips. The blinding pain was already fading, replaced by a completely different, overwhelming heat.
She uncurled her fists from his collar, sliding her arms up his broad shoulders until they wrapped securely around the back of his neck. She pulled him closer, anchoring him to her, completely ready to let the brilliant scholar prove exactly what kind of man he was.
Samuel’s golden eyes burned as he felt her arms lock around his neck, pulling him down until the full weight of his chest pressed against the fever-hot silk of her skin. The damp cloth lay forgotten on the floor. The careful scholar was gone; what remained was the man who had claimed her, the one who answered aggression with something darker and far more thorough.
"Wife," he growled against her mouth, the word rough and possessive. "You wanted this. You picked the fight. Now take what you asked for."
He claimed her lips again, deeper this time, tongue stroking against hers in slow, deliberate thrusts that matched the roll of his hips. The hard length of him pressed through the open fall of his charcoal robes, thick and insistent against the thin fabric covering her. She arched, a low, broken moan spilling from her throat as the friction sent heat flooding low in her belly, drowning the last edges of the headache in pure need.
His hand slid down, palm flat against her sternum, feeling the frantic beat of her heart. Then lower, shoving the silk aside with impatient fingers until he found the bare heat of her. She was already slick, swollen, ready. He dragged two fingers through her folds, slow and deliberate, collecting the wetness before circling her clit with firm, knowing pressure.
"Madam," he murmured, voice dropping into that dangerous register that made her thighs tremble. "Look at you. Soaking my hand already. Is this how a general handles pain? By demanding her husband’s cock?"
She answered with a sharp, needy sound, hips lifting into his touch. Samuel gave her no mercy. He pushed those two fingers inside her in one smooth stroke, curling them against the spot that made her cry out. Her walls clenched hard around the intrusion, a wet, greedy pulse that drew a dark sound from his own chest.
"That’s it," he praised, working her open with steady thrusts. "Take it. Let me feel how badly you need this."
He scissored his fingers, stretching her, then added a third. The stretch burned in the best way, forcing another raw moan from her lips. Samuel watched every flicker of expression, every flutter of her lashes, cataloguing the way her body answered him. When her thighs started to shake he withdrew, ignoring the broken sound of protest she made.
He shoved his robes open fully. The heavy length of his cock sprang free, flushed dark and thick, the tip already gleaming. He dragged the broad head through her folds once, twice, coating himself in her slick before notching against her entrance.
"Lord," he said, the title almost reverent and utterly filthy at the same time. "Open for me."
He pushed in.
The first thick inch stretched her wide. She gasped, head tipping back against the pillows as he sank deeper, slow and relentless, filling her until the pressure bordered on too much. Samuel’s jaw flexed. His golden eyes stayed locked on her face, reading every micro-expression as he seated himself to the hilt in one continuous thrust.
"Fuck," he breathed, the curse low and rough. "Still so tight. Still perfect."
He held still for a heartbeat, buried to the root, letting her adjust to the overwhelming fullness. Then he began to move.
The first stroke was deep and measured, dragging almost all the way out before slamming back in. The wet sound of their joining filled the quiet room. She moaned, long and throaty, nails digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders. Samuel answered with a darker sound of his own, hips rolling in a steady, powerful rhythm that drove the air from her lungs with every impact.
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