A Court Of Love And Lies {ACOTAR ~ Azriel's mate}

21

Azriel's hand was already on her hips, his other bracing himself against the bed. Kit slipped her arms around his shoulders, holding on tight, her fingers stroking the base of his wings. He bit back a groan, instead producing several muffled grunts.
She opened her mouth to him and his tongue slipped in, caressing her own. She bit down, hard enough to taste his blood then sucked it. She could feel him throbbing inside her. The warm honeydew feeling spreading throughout her entire body.

He ripped his lips from her mouth sliding down to her neck, when he dragged his teeth and tongue down her skin his hands roaming, bold as brass, pure primal ownership coating her with his every touch. She arched into his touch, rocking against him. He groaned, his breathing turning ragged as her mouth lowered to his pectoral and sucked, her tongue flicking against his nipple.
"Shit," he cussed pushing himself deeper into her, thrusting further, deeper. Azriel roared, slamming himself in fully, before withdrawing and slumping onto the bed. She could feel his warmth dripping down her thighs like warm honey.

She shut her eyes, allowing her breathing to slow, returning to it's normal rate. Azriel's ragged breathing turned into a shakey laugh as he held her hand, running the scarred pad of his thumb over the back of her hand. She knew he'd been holding back— not using his toys, or choking her as he once had— it had been enjoyable all the same..... but it was lacking. She wanted it to hurt, to feel. She needed it, craved it.

She smiled at him as he dozed, blinking as the first rays of sunlight flooded the room, illuminating her glorious mate. He was so handsome, so pure, so... so everything she'd ever wanted. The smile fell from her face, her body burning. He was everything she'd never had and never would deserve. 
Azriel knew her well enough to know there was a problem, but he hadn't bought it up. The problem wasn't him, it wasn't her.

It was them.

Them and their filthy, wanting hands, forcing her down. Making her unclean. And it was every time she shut her eyes, every time she blinked she could see them, could feel them touching and demanding. Forcing her down, drugging her, taking her against her will.
And everytime, she'd feel dirty, like she was unclean and she'd let them, like it was her fault.
She needed him— her glorious, perfect mate— needed to worship him, to hope he could purify her.... because when his hands were on her, when she was being used by him, she didn't feel so useless.

Kit sat up, clambered on top of him and pinned his hands above his head.
"Again?" He asked, a breathless chuckle escaping from his lips.

She raised a brow, leaning in close and biting his lip. He was hard again in an instant. "You gotta poblem with that?"

"The sun's up."

"And?" She grinned, stealing a kiss.

"And we haven't slept yet." He mumbled, sitting up. She hummed in response, climbing off his lap and kneeling on the floor, between his legs.
"Mother above," he groaned, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "You're going to be the end of me."

She smirked at him, letting her fingers wander— to trace the outline of his abs, his hip bones, his v-line. His breath hitched as she reached lower and when her hand wrapped round his hardness, he groaned. She shot him a sultry look, pumping him in her hand, and setting her lips on his tip.
"Let me worship you."

•~*~•~*~•~*~•~*~•

"Keep your back straight– and hold!" Devlon barked, circling her. He shouted more instructions, about posture and precision. Kit held for as long as she could, her muscles straining under his gruelling training.
The weights dug into Kit's wings as she followed order after order, maneuver after maneuver, taking everything Devlon threw at her.
A thick wooden pole struck, bouncing off her stomach.  "What the fuck was that for?"

"Hold your tounge." He growled. "You should already know why, or is a hundred years all it takes to forget everything you learned?" Kit rolled her eyes but bit her tounge. She wasn't stupid, she knew it was because she could be struck by branches while flying, it was just she'd forgotten how gruelling his training methods could be.

Her knees shook, almost buckling beneath her as she tried to stand with the weighted belt he'd given her. She couldn't see much in the darkness, but she knew, without a doubt, his stoney face would be unreadable. She gulped, pushing herself from the floor with a final shove.
Mother above it was heavy, and her hips hurt where the leather had dug in at an awkward angle.
It weighed almost as much as she did— was he proud she could carry them? Or was he disappointed that she'd made it look so difficult? He had made it look easy. He'd just slung them over his shoulder like they were nothing. 

"What next?" The child asked, desperate to get it over with.

"Jump and hang on." He said, nodding to the branch above her head. "Count to ten then drop."
She did as she was told, shaking as she landed. Her sweat had made it hard to hang on to the branch for long— she thought she was going to drop at six— but eventually the eternity of Ten seconds passed.
"Touch your toes and keep your back straight." She did, the blood rushing to her head and the underside of her wings strained as the weight pulled on her skin. "Press up, and keep your wings straight."
Her whole body ached, the weight yanking her toward the ground. "Again."

"All of it?"

"All of it."
She did as she was told; jumped, held, touched her toes, pressed herself to the floor again.
And again; Jumped, dangled for ten, touched her toes, pressed herself to the floor again, and back up.
And again; jumped, counted to ten, touched her toes, pressed down, got up.
And again; jumped, counted, touched her toes, pressed up, got up.
Again; jumped, dangled, touched her toes, pressed up, got up.

Again; she jumped, dangled— her fingers slipped and the floor slapped her, stabbing twigs and rocks into her skin. She got up, touched her toes and nearly fell back down.
The press up was mercy, it was close to the ground and—  and then it wasn't. Her father's boot was on her back, on that spot between her wings, pressing her down. "That one was sloppy. Keep your vack straight and do it again."
This time he kept his boot on her back, forcing her back to stay straight. Her muscles strained, arms shaking, sweat beading down her forehead despite the cold wind.

They'd already been out two hours, stretching and running. She'd barely managed to keep up— he never slowed and never stopped to help her. But she'd made progress. In three months, she'd gone from being left in the dust, to barely keeping up. From being pushed of a cliff, repeatedly, to soaring high.

She repeated her sequence, again and again, until her movements grew sloppy and everything went dark.
And when she woke, she was in her own bed. Warm and aching. The weighted belt was still on and on her bedside was a note. —'Keep it on till it feels as natural as your own skin.'—

And she did, wearing it daily until the cuts it left felt like her stripes, and when it was part of her, he added more weights.

When she was a child he'd trained her till she dropped. As an adult, he trained her to point of dropping, and beyond. 
Between her father, Cassian and Az it was a miracle Kit had anytime to herself. The passed two weeks were filled of aches and pains but, at last, the muscle was packing on quickly, and now, she could fly and soar and fight almost as well as she had before the mountain.

{A/N- Chapter 21 is done and dusted, what do ya think?

I did warn you it was gonna be a tad jumpy, but hopefully it's all still making sense. We have currently been out of the mountain for about a month and a few weeks ish and I will start adding hints of future bits and peices in soon.
Any theories as to what's going to happen later on? Or is there anything anyone desperately wants to see? If so, let me know.

As always, thank you for reading and don't forget to vote and comment.}