C H A P T E R 39
WILLING SURRENDER
Puppet
I can barely think, shaking on the end of her fingers trying to keep myself together but I'm cracking. This feeling is so overwhelming and I don't know what to do with it. This burning pressure is trying to claw its way out and my mouth is uncontrollable, moaning like a pathetic little bitch. I know she is loving every second of this. This is exactly what she wanted and I don't know what I hate more. That she most likely planned this, or that I finally fell straight into it but this need has been niggling ever since that night in the woods. The throb I felt, the way my body willingly surrendered without my consent. I want that again. I need that again.
She rubs my sensitive flower until I am quivering against her, wanting so desperately to say her name. What is wrong with me?
Suddenly she slows to a halt. Resting her parted lips against my shoulder blade.
“Hayden…” The palm of her hand finds my mouth in the stillness of the night.
“The only way you will be cumming, is on my tongue. Are you prepared for that?” My entire face heats up as her vulgar words hiss down my ear. There is no way I am ready for that. I shake my head and shrug my shoulders against her grip remembering how soft her tongue was against my inner thigh.“Well, you know what I said. And I will happily wait. You’re a delicacy Alora. I want all of you when you willingly surrender yourself to me.” A delicacy? I swallow my insecurities, clinging to her words like my lifeline. She will not give me this until I spell it out, but I am not ready and somehow she knows that, wrapping me back up in my blanket, pulling me into her body for comfort.
“What if I'm never ready?” Her arms wrap around my chest, squeezing me into a bear hug as she fiddles with my hair.
“Then never, I'll wait.”
??
“ A nything?” I yell, as she crawls in from outside, completely drenched, her shirt see through and her hair a messy mop on her head, running her hands through it to squeeze out the excess water before she drips all over the floor. We're in the middle of a thunderstorm and I am petrified of them, hiding under the blanket with Shep like a baby while she went to check the power lines. She'd already attempted the power and it's completely dead.
“Nope.”
“Great.” I fiddle with my hair, trying to ignore the thunder rattling the house but my heart is pounding so vigorously it might just penetrate my chest.“As if I wasn't bored enough already.” I burrow underneath the blanket.
Play - ‘Shameless – Camila Cabello’
“I'm sure we can kill time.” Rumbles echo through the entire building, shaking the foundations making me flinch.“What's the matter Puppet ? Are you scared?” I've never enjoyed these. They hold a magnitude of darkness that consumes your entire being. You can feel it in your core. It's destructive, dangerous.
“I don’t like thunderstorms.”
“You've dealt with scarier things than this Love .” Yeah. I've dealt with her. She's more like a tornado, flattening my life and destroying everything in its path purely out of spite.
“You're not funny.” She licks her lips. Locking eyes with me as she walks towards me, leaning over me with her hands on the back of the couch and I can smell the damp on her clothes.
“ Lie again . And I'll shove it back down your throat.” My heart stops. It's practically pitch-black with only a few candles dotted around the room and her face flickers in the horrors of the storm, lighting up the sharp features in her facial structure.
“I'm not lying.” I would like to say I'm not, but the hurricane inside of me is heavily contradicting my words.
“ And I'm a saint.” Her head tilts, studying my eyes through the depth of the room and I want to smack her for being so sarcastic as much as I want to press my mouth against hers. She's far from a saint but her actions contradict the monster she lets control her.
“Is that what you tell yourself?” I hiss, scowling up at her but my eyes won't stop fixating on her lips. She thinks that because she holds my heart in her hands, that makes her powerful?
“No. That's what you tell yourself, so you feel less guilty about that pulse between your legs.” My legs instinctively squeeze together, chewing my bottom lip as my pulse reacts to her words like a call.
“I don't know what you're talking about.” Why did I say that? She smirks like the devil in carnage, letting go of the couch to stroke the flush in my cheeks with her fingers as she finds my face in the dark.
“Are you ready to swallow that?” My body flares like fire beneath my flesh as her thumb slides its way inside my mouth, easing against my tongue before her middle and index finger enter, pushing until they hit the back of my throat making me choke and my eyes leak along with my decorum.
My legs creep apart so naturally, gagging on my purity as I invite the devil in. Unable to see her until light breaks through the shadows.
My Nightmare.
“You take me so well, Doll .” Her words ring through me like white noise, salivating around her fingers, now dribbling down the centre of my lip, grinding against the apparition of her as she stands between my legs and I’m about to break. I cling onto this compulsion, feeling my tongue glue to her fingers as she draws them out, using my spit as lubricant as she smears it over my bottom lip. Her forehead rests against mine, wetting my face with her damp locks, her hot breath warming my cheek. I’m concentrating on her body weighted against me and the pounding between my inner thighs to shut out the clouds crashing above us, mimicking the sound of the thunder in my chest. How my heart is telling me to lean in and steal a kiss.
My breathing is irregular, trying to keep it steady but the more I move the closer we become until I can practically feel her bottom lip graze mine with need . She’s fighting this just as much as I am but this gravitational pull is sucking me in like a tidal wave, drawing me in until I crash against the shore and I realise her mouth is my shore, sucking in a sharp breath as our lips meet, drowning in this rapture as my nerves dissipate. Her warmth imprisons mine cautiously, gradually breaking this wall we’ve both built. I feel her resistance through the trembling of her mouth, merely connecting through severed vibration, trying to figure out if I meant to make a move, teasing my decision as she pulls away, still holding herself back. But I don't want her to.
I want this. I want her .
“Please… Don’t stop.” She’s been dipping my feet into the shallow end of the pool, but the truth is. I’m tired of testing waters. I’m tired of being careful. Of being afraid. I want her to pull me under and let me drown in this guilt I carry for wanting to willingly surrender myself to the very woman who made me want to die . She vowed to take my life but the problem is. She already has. She had it the moment she saved my life. My perception of life and death, it’s all about the part you play. The story you learn. Not all villains are born that way. She was not born a monster. She was brought up to believe that pain was love , and love was punishable .
I can see in her eyes that she’s just as scared as I am. To let herself feel. To let go . But I nuzzle my head against hers, playing with her desires to take what is hers until she folds, lapping up the taste of my surrender, quenching her thirst as her tongue slides inside my mouth dancing in rhythm with mine. I’ve never kissed anyone. I don’t know what I’m doing but this feels natural. Instinctive . If sinning is as bad as they say then I'm already shunned.
This heavy weight on my chest is lifting the harder she thrashes against me, digging me into the couch as her fingers reach for my throat, cupping it gently with malice, holding my innocence in the palm of her hand with intentions punishable by death but my pussy aches for retribution.
I’ve learnt more about myself these past few months than I have my entire life. Our kiss is heavier. Sloppier. Sweat is building against my lower back and my hands reach up for her shoulders, hanging onto her as her knee pushes between my thighs, gasping into her mouth with desperation, melting into her grip as she tugs the scruff of my neck. She tastes like the last piece of cake you left for yourself after a long day, just beaming to let it melt in your mouth. To savour its taste and drown in the sweet satisfaction. A delicacy . She told me I’m a delicacy. Is that what she meant? My cheeks bloom at the very thought and I speak without thinking.
“Please…” I mutter against her parted mouth, too afraid to tell her exactly what I want. But I know what I want, and so does she.
“Tell me… I want to hear you say it.” It’s like mother nature knows my confession as the thunder pauses to let me speak, whispering against her sticky cheek with nothing but confidence casing my tongue.
“I’m ready…”