Chapter 41 #2
“I don’t think so,” I whisper breathlessly, reaching for his belt. Before Michi, I had only taken human lovers. Michi and I never made it past intense kissing. Now I’m glad for that. Fuck him.
“We need safe words,” Kian moans as he bites a trail down to my collarbone.
“Traffic light system?” I ask. “Red for stop. Yellow to slow down?”
“Perfect.” He looks up at me with an eyebrow raised knowingly. “What do you get up to, Miss Solis?”
“I guess you’ll just have to find out,” I say, smirking mischievously, before adding, “Sir.” His eyes darken at the moniker. I thought he might like that.
“Yes, traffic lights,” he whispers against my chest, before dragging his tongue over one of my nipples, circling it once, twice, and then he bites. Hard. My back arches into it, craving the vicious pleasure. “Lie back.” His strong hand firmly pushes my chest.
“Yes, sir.” I whimper as my back hits the desk.
A growl rumbles in his chest as he stands over me, palming his substantial length through his pants, gorging himself on my naked quivering body.
I tangle my unbodied fingers through the golden vines connecting us, plucking them like an instrument.
His head falls back in pleasure before he sinks to his knees.
He grabs one of my legs and nips a trail from the inside of my knee up my thigh.
I want more, I need him higher. I grab hold of one of the golden living ribbons and give it a gentle tug.
He lunges forward slightly before lifting his eyes to mine.
“Miss Solis, you can feed from me. But do not forget, for one moment, who is in control here.” His warm breath sends a jolt of pleasure through my core.
“Yes, sir. I understand.” I bite my lip to stifle the needy whine that wants to wiggle its way out from between my lips at his words.
“Good girl,” he whispers, before forcefully grabbing my thighs and pulling me to the very edge of the desk. “Open.”
My legs spread at his command.
“Wider,” he orders, and I stretch my thighs further apart, unfolding all of me, as my legs hang over the side of the desk. “Look at you all spread out for me, like the wanton succubus you are.”
I nod my agreement and am rewarded with his strong tongue sliding up my center.
I gasp as my beast relishes his attention, devouring his pleasure as he devours mine.
More coils burst from my chest, connecting with him, in various shades of gold, and iridescent black, shimmering like an oil spill.
The living ribbons connecting us twist in a mesmerizing play of colors that dance in shifting patterns and hues, from deep purples and blues to vivid greens and golds, each color blending seamlessly into the next.
I pant as the effect of Kian’s efficient tongue pulls the cords tighter. “Please…please.”
“What do you need? Ask me for what you want.” His smooth voice snakes through my body, sending the cords connecting us into a tizzy of vibrations. He crawls up my body as I try to verbalize my needs.
“I want more, sir.” I look up into his eyes. “Please, fuck me.”
He slides his thumb over my bottom lip. “You will take what I give you.” It’s a luscious command, a succulent promise.
“Yes, sir, with eagerness,” I pant, caressing our iridescent vines to stoke the desire burning behind his eyes.
“Then it would be my pleasure.” He undoes his belt and zipper.
I sit up on my elbow, reaching for him, sliding my hand over his thick length.
I indulge in the feel of him in my palm, silky, heavy, and unyielding.
He groans as I stroke him, guiding him toward my entrance.
His hands skate up my thighs to my hips, lifting me to position me at the angle he wants.
He slowly and sedulously pushes his head inside my center, stretching me.
He gives me a moment to adjust to his considerable size before continuing his exploration of my body.
I am untamed, lasciviously drinking him in, panting for more.
I roll my hips, pulling him deeper inside me, as he bottoms out.
“Fuck, you’re so tight. That’s right, take all of me,” he whispers with satisfaction.
The creature in my body purrs at his praise.
The cords tethering us become more vibrant and glossy, seeming like liquid, like living, breathing streams. They ripple with each hard thrust of his hips.
I run my immaterial fingers through them, spurring on Kian’s pleasure.
Kian slides one hand from my hip to the center of my chest, pushing my body into the hard desk, holding me in place as he drives into me deeper, faster, harder.
My salacious serpents and I meet him thrust for thrust. We consume his desire.
His other hand massages the mound of my pelvis, and his thumb circles my clit.
“Fuck, please!” I scream. I hold onto the edge of the desk and brace myself with my other hand against the wall.
Kian doesn’t just fuck, he’s an artist, painting a masterpiece from his aerial perspective over my body.
His hands are dexterous virtuosos. His form and strokes, impastoed. And dominance, his composition.
“So good for me,” he growls, his artistry shifts from fast and firm strokes to gestural abstraction. Throwing everything he’s got at me like Pollock or Kline or de Kooning. “I want to feel you clench around my cock. Come for me.”
“Yes!” I scream, as the magical cords between us stretch and pull taut, ready to snap. He arches one eyebrow at me and abruptly stops his thrusting. A gasping sob leaves my lips in protest. “Sir. I meant, yes, sir.”
“That’s better, so pretty when you call me sir,” he praises and returns to his brutal rhythm, forcing me closer and closer to a breathtaking precipice.
The room, the outside world, the entire realm fades away into nothingness.
All that is left is Kian, me, and a million little iridescent snaking ribbons hurtling into the abyss.
In the center of all this pleasure flows one lustrous prismatic strand, standing out from the others in the way it refracts rainbow light.
I reach for it, with a deep primal knowing.
This thread, different from the others, craves to be claimed.
Before I can touch it, my attention snaps back to Kian as he commands, “Now. Come.”
I grip our slithering golden ribbons closest to me, giving a quick pull.
They snap taut, sending a swell of pleasure in both directions, crashing through both of our bodies.
Pushing us both over the edge, plunging into a vast ocean of ecstasy.
Our bodies, maybe our souls, are swept up into the undulating, surging currents.
I feel him swell inside me, his liquid warmth mixing with mine, creating a riptide of euphoria so strong that I have no choice but to allow myself to be tossed in pleasure by the sweeping tide.
So I drink deep, consuming wave after wave of body-shaking ecstasy.
Kian falls on top of me, breathing heavily and burying his face in my neck, planting kisses along my jaw. “Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck, you’re so good…Yellow,” he says, calling out our safe word. “Don’t drink too deeply. I need to be able to walk down the stairs.” He lets out a shuddering breath.
“Oh.” I let go of the incorporeal threads that I realize I was still tightly clutching, and they slowly fade. “Is that better? Did I stop?”
“Yes, you stopped, good girl.” He chuckles into my neck as we both catch our breaths.
Fuck. I’ve never felt anything like that.
I’ve had good sex, great sex even, but this was pure, unadulterated, intoxicating rhapsody.
He raises up on his elbows so that he’s looking down at me.
As he pushes my wet hair from my forehead, his lips turn up into a crooked smile.
It strikes me as odd that this isn’t a smile I’ve seen from him before.
Everything about Kian is stone perfection, his chiseled body, his buttoned-up demeanor.
But here with his face open, filled with something almost tender, his grin is slightly, almost imperceptibly, lopsided.
“You’re going to have to be a little bit more gentle when you take more novice partners.” His brows pinch together. I tilt my head in question. “You really didn’t know before tonight, did you?” he asks.
I shake my head. Coming to know my insignis, at least what I’ve inherited from my mother’s side, was gradual.
The realization unfolding over this evening, the pieces slotting into place: the stirring of my magic when I’m passionately kissed, the hunger writhing in my core, and the anticipation and subsequent relief I felt at the promise of finally feeding.
“Let’s just say not all your lovers will be seasoned 128-year-old fallens with experience bedding pleasure feeders,” he says wistfully.
This version of Kian—the Kian with the barely crooked smile—is carefree, playful even.
This isn’t Kian the king, or Kian the disciplinarian.
This is just him, naked and completely beautiful.