Chapter 7: Measuring Devotion
The warmth of the bed was a tangible thing, a heavy blanket of skin and shared breath. Selene woke nestled between Evander and Isolavienne, their limbs a comfortable tangle. For a few blissful heartbeats, the world was simple. Then the memory of Dorian’s words—a mistake—crashed back into her, a cold stone in her gut. The bond to him throbbed like a fresh wound, a dull, aching pull that contrasted sharply with the warm, humming connection to the man whose arm was draped over her waist.
She stirred, and Evander’s eyes opened instantly. He didn’t speak, just watched her, his gaze knowing. Isolavienne slept on, peaceful.
“He knew,” Selene whispered, the words raw. “He knew about you. About the bond being… multiple.”
Evander’s expression didn’t change. “Of course he did. Dorian knows everything. Or he thinks he does.” His hand stroked her hip, a soothing rhythm. “It eats him alive. The lack of control.”
The chamber door swung open without a sound.
Dorian stood there, still in the same clothes from hours before, his hair disheveled, his face a granite mask of cold fury. His eyes scanned the scene—the three of them in the rumpled bed, the intimacy of their positions—and something in his gaze snapped.
“Get out,” he said, his voice dangerously low.
Isolavienne woke with a start, but Evander merely raised an eyebrow, not moving. “This is my chambers, Dorian. You’re the one intruding.”
“This corruption ends now,” Dorian bit out, ignoring him, his stare fixed on Selene. “This… menagerie. It defiles the very nature of the bond. It defiles you.”
Evander laughed, a short, harsh sound. “Corruption? You call this corruption? You, who fucked her raw in your office and then called her a mistake? Your hypocrisy is staggering.” He sat up, the sheet pooling around his waist. “You’re not angry about the bond, old man. You’re jealous.”
Dorian’s magic flared, a wave of oppressive energy that made the air hum. “I am the Head of the Council. I am tasked with upholding the laws of magic, not rutting like a beast with my students and my colleagues!”
“Then leave,” Evander said, his voice dropping to a predatory purr. “No one is forcing you to stay. But you can’t, can you? The bond won’t let you. You’re drawn here. To her. To me. Admit it. You want to know what it feels like.”
The silence was brittle, sharp enough to cut. Dorian’s chest heaved. The conflict in his eyes was a violent storm.
“Fine,” Dorian spat, a cruel, mocking smile twisting his lips. “You want to prove this is some grand, shared connection? Then let’s have a true comparison. Let’s see what the great Evander Draven is really working with.”
With a flick of his wrist, two shimmering, magical constructs materialized in the air—translucent, ruler-like rods etched with glowing runes. They floated towards the bed.
Isolavienne, now fully awake, let out a startled giggle that died in her throat as the tension escalated. Evander’s eyes gleamed with dark amusement. “You want to measure cocks, Dorian? How pathetically mundane.”
“You speak of connection. I speak of fact. Put up or shut up,” Dorian challenged, his voice rough.
Selene watched, her heart hammering, a strange, hot thrill mixing with her shame. This was debasement, a raw stripping away of all pretense.
Evander stood, letting the sheet fall away. He was already half-hard, his cock thick and heavy. He grasped the magical ruler. It glowed, displaying a number in ancient script that made Dorian’s jaw tighten. Evander then turned to Dorian. “Your turn. Unless you’d rather forfeit.”
With a snarl of defiance, Dorian unbuttoned his trousers. He freed his own erection, impressively long and rigid, veined with tension. He snatched the other ruler. The number that glowed was nearly identical, a fraction shorter. A muscle ticked in his cheek.
“Satisfied?” Dorian ground out.
“Not even close,” Evander murmured.
He moved with shocking speed. He grabbed Dorian by the shoulders, spinning him and shoving him face-first against the carved bedpost. Dorian grunted in surprise, his hands slapping against the dark wood.
“What the hell are you—?” Dorian began, but Evander cut him off.
“You wanted a comparison. You’ll get one. From the inside.” Evander spat into his palm, slicking his cock, and without another word, he pressed the broad head against Dorian’s tight entrance.
Dorian froze. “Don’t you dare—”
Evander pushed. It was a brutal, unforgiving invasion. Dorian cried out, a strangled sound of shock and pain, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the bedpost. His body went rigid, resisting.
“Relax, you stubborn bastard,” Evander growled, his hips driving forward another inch, stretching Dorian open. “You wanted to be part of this? This is part of it.”
Selene watched, mesmerized. The sight of the powerful, controlled Professor Dorian being taken so roughly, so completely dominated, sent a jolt of pure lightning through her. Her own need, fed by both bonds, became a screaming imperative.
She moved from the bed, her skin flushing. She came up behind Dorian, pressing her front against his back, her nipples hard against his shirt. She reached around, her fingers tracing the length of his cock, which was still painfully hard despite his predicament.
“He’s inside you,” she whispered into his ear, her voice husky. “Can you feel him, Dorian? Every inch?”
A low groan was torn from Dorian’s throat as Evander finally sheathed himself fully, his hips flush against Dorian’s ass. Evander began to move, a slow, deep, punishing rhythm.
Selene guided Dorian’s cock to her own wetness, sinking down onto him with a gasp. The feeling was overwhelming—filled from both fronts, connected to both men in the most primal way possible. She rode him, her hips meeting the forward thrust of Evander’s body, which pushed Dorian deeper into her.
The room filled with the sounds of their union: the slick, wet slap of skin, ragged breathing, and the creak of the bedpost. Dorian’s protests had dissolved into guttural moans. His head was bowed, his body no longer resisting but moving between them, caught in the rhythm they set.
“That’s it,” Evander grunted, his pace increasing, his hands gripping Dorian’s hips hard enough to bruise. “Take it. Take all of it.”
Selene clutched at Dorian’s shoulders, her cries mingling with his. The pleasure was a coiling serpent in her belly, ready to strike. She looked over Dorian’s shoulder and met Evander’s fierce, triumphant gaze. He was watching her, his eyes telling her this was for them, a claiming of the man who had rejected them both.
The sight of that raw possession, the feel of Dorian completely surrendering to the sensation, broke her. Her climax ripped through her, a silent scream tearing from her lips as her body convulsed around Dorian’s cock.
Her spasms triggered his own. With a shattered roar, Dorian came, his release pumping into her in hot, pulsing jets. The clenching of his body around Evander’s cock was the final push. Evander drove in one last, deep time, his own groan long and satisfied as he emptied himself inside Dorian.
For a moment, they were a frozen, panting statue of spent desire. Then Evander pulled out, and Selene slid off, her legs unable to hold her. She collapsed onto the edge of the bed.
Dorian slumped against the bedpost, his trousers around his ankles, his body trembling. He slowly turned his head, and his eyes met Selene’s. There was no anger left. No condemnation. Only a vast, terrifying emptiness. The look of a man who had just seen the last of his walls crumble to dust.
Without a word, he pulled up his trousers, fastened them with trembling fingers, and walked out. The door closed softly behind him.
Evander wiped himself clean with a corner of the sheet, his expression unreadable. He looked at Selene, then at the door.
“He’ll break,” Evander said quietly. “Or he’ll break everything trying not to.”