Page 7 of Rago

Infuriatingly, Rago withdrew.

I hardly had time to whine before he positioned himself behind me, his chest glued to my back, tickling my nape with ragged breaths. The hot head of his cock brushed my arse crack a couple of times, then slipped in between my thighs.

Ooh.

He puffed, “Squeeze it for me, darling.” His teeth sunk into that meaty spot where the neck meets the shoulder.

Quivering, I wedged my legs together as tight as I could around him. Three thrusts in, and I fully supported the concept. More so when Rago’s large palm kneaded my hip and sneaked to the front to wrap itself around my pulsing hard-on.

From the get-go, he pumped it good and proper. Forget finesse, think crude proficiency. At the same time, his hips rammed into me, announcing we were done fooling around.

Sweet gods, I didn’t complain—it was high time we got right to it.

I shoved back against his groin, humping once, twice… until I came all over his hand just as he heaved a hoarse groan and marked the inside of my thighs with his warm slickness.

My heart pounded. I trembled, utterly spent. Exhausted yet invigorated.

I felt Rago’s little shudders against me.

Neither of us moved nor spoke for a bit. We rested, breathing in slower and slower intervals.

Rago must’ve rolled me over at some point, because I found myself lying face to face with him, entangled in his arms, his gleaming eyes locked on me.

We grinned at each other.

After a while, the loud growl of my empty stomach punctuated the companionable silence.

He made an amused sound.

“I’m starved,” I admitted. “I missed the evening meal last night.”

Rago rubbed at my abdomen, caressing my scar with gentle fingers. “One day I’m going to ask you about this,” he murmured.

“And one day I’m going to tell you,” I replied, shocking myself with that answer. I’d never talked about Ghadarra. Not to anyone, apart from relaying dry military details to my commanding officer, who’d cared about my ordeal purely from the strategic perspective. “So, what are we going to do now?” I said, echoing my words from yesterday.

“Now?” Rago’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Visit the food hall, of course. And eat.”

“Right. Course.” I snorted. More and more, I’d come to appreciate Rago’s practical streak. Nothing seemed to ruffle him and I—being the complete opposite—considered that one hell of an attractive trait.

All of a sudden Rago stilled, his head turning towards the door. I could’ve sworn his left ear flicked a couple of times. “Perfect timing. Someone’s coming,” he said.

I’d heard diddly squat, but taking his word for it, I got up and scrambled to reach for the crumpled heap that was my trousers, rushing to pull them on.

Rago stood, too.

Considering the terrible racket the intruder made while unlatching the gate, I’d say he wished to alert us to his arrival.

Dakoi’s bird nest of a hairdo appeared in the doorway first, followed by his bearded face. His lanky body emerged last. He held an unfolded uniform, waving it around like one would a white flag in request for negotiation.

“Mo-morning,” he said with a crooked smirk and entered the hall. “All good in here, lads?”

He soon halted to stare, his mouth going slack.

Granted, we must’ve painted quite a scene, standing around our makeshift bed like a couple of statues with a pair of trousers between us.

Dakoi’s eyes bulged out of their sockets, wandering back and forth from me to Rago. “Having f-fun, I see?”

I squirmed with unease at being observed in such a dishevelled state.