Eyes opened.

Draxcilian remained in the bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling. Images invaded his cunning mind, causing shoulders to tense and hands to clench. There was no escape.

When he closed them all he could see was the familiar form of his astray Mistress, Aolani Malvlasta. He could hear her laughter, her tease, her moan. He could feel her flesh beneath his fingers; soft, pliable skin that bent and careened with his every desire. When lips parted to inhale, he breathed her kiss.

When they opened all he could see was the image of Meleigh de Montesquieu making her way through the streets of Rhy'din toward the Red Dragon Inn. If she was here then undoubtedly her husband, Leoline de Montesquieu, was near, and that meant danger was just as close.

Turning just his head, he lowered his eyes to the petite female form sleeping beside him, that of Aribet de Montesquieu . In cherubic fashion she laid amidst her slumber, thick brunette hair swarming around her sweet face, with her large eyes veiled behind innocent lids and soft, kissable lips barely parted with shallow breathing. The sheets covered her in a lazy fashion, haphazardly doing any good as the creamy length of one leg laid bare, as well as one succulent globe of her youthful breast. She was an angel...an angel amongst the darkness.

He traced the delicate features of her pretty face with his ashen stare, as he had done many nights before. Aolani considered her a prize of some sort, and while she had given him glimpses as to the importance of her presence within the Sovereignty she had never fully divulged the exact parameters of why Aribet was there. It had never bothered him as he knew the Mistress was a passionate creature of whimsical demeanor, though that all changed now that the de Montesquieu family was so close.

He reached out and trailed his cold fingertips along her chin, tracing the elegant sweep of her jaw. She was certainly exquisite, and the small smile that his touch conjured upon her visage merely exemplified that.

Of all the sisters of the Sovereignty she was the one that he saw after the most. Aribet was the one who he considered the most fragile amongst them, and that demanded the mainstream of his focus. Lying there beside him, she appeared as though a porcelain dream, entrenched in the euphoria of slumber, vulnerable and beautiful.

The muscles of his shoulder grew taut as he felt the pressure of satiny lips find them, along with the slither of a small hand around his abdomen. ?You seem bothered.? Jatari said as she nestled in close, the warm swell of her bosom crushed against his back.

Nestled between the two women, Draxcilian had almost forgotten about the Mi-D?mon with his fixation of Aribet, a rare moment of discord for one so normally focused. His touch slipped hesitantly from Aribet?s face, though his eyes remained locked upon her. ?There is no need to worry, Jatari. I am fine. You should get some sleep.?

The path of her lips lead upward, ascending the swell of his shoulder and traveling the span of his neck as her fingers began a teasing caress of his bare navel. ?Do not think I am so easily fooled, Drax. You may be unreadable to many, but not me.? To accentuate her point her fingers began downward. ?I know you well, and recognize your discomfort.?

?I told you.? He said flatly; the tone stern, yet the volume low to keep from waking Aribet. ?I am fine.? He did nothing to prevent her lips from traversing his flesh, though at the descent of her fingers the etching of muscle along his stomach tensed vehemently.

Fingers lowered, weaving around the flaccid length of Drax?s fleshy organ, twining about it to gift him with gentle, long strokes, urging him to hardness. Her lips found the shell of his ear, and within it poured the arousing caress of satiny kisses and ardent breath. ?Let me be certain.? Her words rode a husky plea. ?Let me entertain you.?

The embrace of her hand around him was soothing, there was no denying that. The Mi-d?mon had mastered long ago the art of massage, and she demonstrated it upon him, causing apprehension to dissolve with each tender ministration. He drew in a deep breath at the feel of her naked body against his, winding a path along his masculine back until she found his ear again. Her words, her breath, drew heavy lids over his ghostly stare. ?You should get some sleep.? He said again, though this time the resolve of his conviction was betrayed by the thick and stout instrument summoned within her palm.

The touch, the feel of him growing inside her petite grasp was enough to convene liquid heat within her. She nuzzled against him desperately, grinding nipples taut with arousal against the thick sinew of his shoulder blades. She parted her lips to speak, though no words came out as she claimed the lobe of his ear between her teeth and tugged at it. The rhythm of her hand grew more avid, with the ring that her finger and thumb forged stroking him from base to tip with loving enthusiasm.

Draxcilian breathed out a voiceless moan as her pace became more eager, the torrid exhales that filled his ear while she nipped at it churning carnal hunger at his very core. For one so normally glacial in his regard, those who occupied the Boudoir of the Mistress were often able to bleed from him a more passionate demeanor, and it seemed that Jatari was testament to this. His eyes slowly drew apart, bringing into view at first the sight of sleeping Aribet, who, unbeknownst to him, had rolled over to now face the Sentinel and the demon who seduced him, and then secondly the sinful portrait of Aolani that hung on the far wall. The sight of it was enough to bring most men to erection, and combined with the pleasurable touch of Jatari, the sensation was impossible to deny.

The tender caress along his cock descended beyond the base to take within her hand the heavy sack of his scrotum. She clung to it with a delicate squeeze, feeling the fleshy weight roll across her palm. "I could wake her if you wish." She whispered, noting the attention Draxcilian gave to sweet Aribet. "You've had us both before, but never together." The surge of arousal within him along with the swell of his masculine shaft stirred inside her the natural hunger that set the blood of Naamah -- the blood that flowed in her veins -- aflame. Between her thighs a tantalizing moisture grew, slick preparation in hopes of greeting the instrument she fondled.

Jatari moaned as his strong hands took hold of her breasts, his touch causing her back to arch into him, desperate for the connection. The twilight depths of her eyes became heavy with lust and half-lit as she watched him, plush lips tugging into the most sinful of smiles. She began a languid rocking motion across his hips, dragging the damp slit of her aching sheath along his throbbing length. "I want you, Drax. I want you inside of me. I want to feel you conquer and possess me." She moaned as her thin crimson tail coiled beneath them, the spade tip flickering across his scrotum.

His eyes narrowed as he manipulated the ripe swell of her breasts, kneading the plump flesh with a fiery craving. Splaying his slender fingers, he trapped her nipples between them and pinched them together until the taut little nubs were twisting with pressure, taking her to the precipice of pain before relieving the strain amidst the eager fondle. She was a creature of sin and desire mounted upon him, coaxing his thoughts from the internal struggle of apprehension surrounding Aribet de Montesquieu and ultimately Aolani. "Slake your lust, little demon." He groaned, his gaze shifting from his work to her eyes.

The sound that emitted from her parted lips was something akin to a moaning purr, the torture to her nipples cleansed by the promise of his words. She rocked across his heavy cock a few more times before lifting her hips off of him to reach between her thighs and take hold of the idle instrument. It pulsated in her grip with an anxiety that she echoed in her belly, both eager to have demonic flesh invaded. She lowered her svelte frame as she lifted the tip upward, deliberately angling it a bit too far back so that the tight bud of her anus greeted him instead of her saturated ***. She arched downward so that the seal of her *** was barely breeched, though quickly rose and shot the Sentinel a cunning and mischievous grin. "Oh my, dark guardian. That's not where you should be." She added a wink then. "At least not yet." Shifting him forward just an inch she again lowered, splitting the aching gates of her soaked core so that just the head entered her tight flesh.

As the honeyed seal of her cleft was parted by his intruding member, Drax clenched his teeth together in growing anticipation of impaling her fully. The sensual anguish of having only the tip of his aching shaft inserted tightened the muscles across his shoulders, chest and thighs into thick cords. Her amorous jest about the location of his invasion did stir a prurient fiendishness in his loins, though there was no sign of his internal wickedness save for the darker hue found at the center of his ashen gaze. He squeezed her breasts again, a firm enticement to proceed.

Jatari rolled her hips so that the instilled tip stirred the tight gates of her womanhood apart, the width of the salacious circles growing wider and wider with every hot revelation. She whimpered as he again punished her breasts with his touch, her twilight eyes falling behind the heavy weight of lust-soaked lids once more. Cotton-candy soft lips slowly stretched into an eager grin as she watched him beneath heavy black lashes, clenching the moist membranes that surrounded his invited cock-tip as though drawing him in centimeters at a time. It was a patient torture that, in an attempt to overwhelm him, merely capitulated her own desire, and without mercy she dropped and was brutishly skewered by the entire length of him.

Shoulders snapped taut as she drove him deep inside of her, his back instinctively arching with the constriction of muscle that ultimately increased the angle in which she was lanced. The hands that fondled her breasts fell to take her by the hips, holding her there so that the narrow channel of her sex had to mold around the invasion of an instrument that dominated her tight capacity. Jatari tried to fight him, tried to escape, though he held her there firmly, forcing her to adapt to his presence inside of her.

She struggled, her fingernails clawing across the pallet of his tensed chest, forced to hold every painful inch inside while she acclimated to his girth. She drew in a deep breath that sent pert breasts arching high, and slowly pushed it out pursed lips -- that simple technique sending with it the fiery pain of her stretching flesh. She settled upon him, spreading her straddled thighs so that she nestled him completely inside of her. "I'd forgotten how punishing you are, Drax. How much you make me want to scream."

Draxcilian didn't respond, he only watched her. So seductive in all of her innocence, which was ironic considering that such a term -- innocent -- wasn't normally related to a creature possessing horns, wings, and a tail. But somehow, this creature managed to pull it off flawlessly. She was a demon of sin and a sister of Aolani, a dangerous mixture that lead to a rather potent and undeniable allurement.

With a dancer's grace she rolled her hips again, stirring him once more inside of her, though now his entire length rather than just the head. The pace was lazy and slow, milking every inch of him with her wide cycles, though that speed didn't last for very long. An insatiable need to be slammed into by a wave of climax and release surged through her, driving her on faster and faster until she rolled over him with a furious swivel. She braced herself on his masculine chest, the graze of her nails an afterthought as she hurled herself closer and closer to her prize. "Oh yes, Drax! *** me! Never stop!"

His moans were indecipherable; primordial snarls of pleasure and ecstasy. Deadly hands rode the vibrant rhythm of her hips, in no way guiding, merely hanging on for the ride. The length of his engorged shaft was tightly embraced by her velvet sheath, and stroked with a determination that bordered on devout worship. With heavy eyes he watched the bounce of her naked bosom, one of the many cruder rituals that he found incredibly pleasing, as the rousing in his loins began to swell.

The first orgasm in a trio of such releases hit her with a shocking quickness, coming and going within a matter of moments. Before she had a chance to fully recover from it, however, the second hit with the same blinding speed, and then the third, each arriving with a much more potent impact than the previous one. Throwing back her head, Jatari cried out in utter rapture as she was suddenly haunted by the power of liberation. The orgasms did little to slow her speed, in fact, if anything they quickened her pace. She wanted another and another and a half dozen more after that, and knew that the only way to get them was to be beaten from within by his savage shaft. She rode him hard, grinding down onto him, her damp chasm devouring him quickly over and over again.

His mind was ravaged by a torrid storm of lust and desire that grew more violent with each passing moment. The power of the Mi-d?mon washed over him, and engulfed his soul with the same intensity as her body did his shaft. He could feel the tingling across his pallid flesh, a raw energy that spurred him onward. He tightened his thighs and rolled his hips against her momentum, driving up to meet her downward plunge. The slap of flesh as bodies lasciviously collided grew louder and louder, filling the Boudoir with a symphony of violence and sex that seemed to grow with each passing moment. The internal seething of his release grew stronger, racing toward the verge of eruption.

The city was his canvas to be painted by darkness and secrecy. From one end to the other he had left his mark, fleeting steps and vanishing silhouettes, always searching for some hint of her return. Yearning had thickened to desperation as fingers and palms quivered in need of her flesh and her love.

Eyes housed a keen sight and yet her shape they could not find. Questions needed answered though it seemed words were absent that could begin to describe her disappearance.

She would return, he knew that she would, though he could not contain his desire. She had infected him like a sensual plague, boiling the blood that ran beneath his pallid flesh and casting his mind into tornadic chaos.

He had tried to replace her, tried to fill that void that stretched along his darkened soul, and yet had found those he chose lacking in the ways he wanted, that he needed. Fawne and Jatari, Sisters of the Sovereignty, siblings to the power that she held and yet...

...they lacked.

Perched upon the gothic architecture that marred the outskirts of the Market Place, the Sentinel simply watched. Patience was a brother to him and yet he could feel it swaying between control and contempt, each swing of that pendulum of placidity nearing it toward the walls of control, threatening to break through.

My Mistress...

The words were nearly foreign to his lips, so long since their use, and yet he craved to speak them once again. To see her eyes, shadowed emeralds, alight with the sound of him...with the sight of him.

Leather creaked and cracked as fingers tightened into fists.

He had gone to the star seer, Tasha Van Blaudin and had left with as many questions as he had arrived with. He could sense something about her, something twisted and alluring. Perhaps she was simply channeling that which he coveted.

Aolani.

With his tortured soul he waited...

...he always would.