Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ETHAN
My heart nearly cracks in two as I see the utter misery on her face.
Granted, I’m pretty sure it’s not about me.
This is definitely not something I could have brought about in the short span of time I’ve been here.
Though I have no way of knowing much of anything happening behind the scenes on this odd planet, I can easily see the sheer exhaustion as it ripples through her body.
Hell, even now that I’m clean, it still beats at me as well. Not nearly as strong, but it’s that phantom longing for nothingness, that desire to slip into oblivion. Like recognizes like. Yearning recognizes yearning.
You’ll never be clean.
Still the voice torments me. Not nearly as loud, but it’s an itch under my skin, a delirium that haunts me with every breath I take. Even here on this pristine land that feels so much like home yet so different it physically hurts, I find myself wanting that pill, just one more slip into nothing.
With Zilara in my hands, however, it feels almost manageable.
The raw, sizzling need shining through her eyes is almost enough to make me forget that gut-clenching desire.
Maybe with her, it will finally be enough.
Not that I believe in fated mates or some such shit, but maybe, just maybe, the ragged edges of my soul can mesh with hers until we’re a semblance of a whole.
Not forever.
Certainly not as long as the government conspires to keep us apart.
But for now. We can be each other’s need, each other’s drug of choice.
Pulling her curvy body into mine, I crush her underneath as I lower us both to the ground. As I close my eyes, fragmented memories pour through my skull, threatening to yank me back under. It’s not the drug. It’s something else.
Hunger.
I’m so desperate to taste her, to fuck away the pain and anguish, that I can’t think straight.
It’s all too familiar, all too close to that core wound.
Every breath is laced with that familiar scent of home.
Every deep inhale drugs me on the land until I finally let her go and lay my palm against the earth.
There. Just under the surface. No one else would probably feel it. No one else would even know it’s there. But there’s a hum, a vibration, an energy that surges through me, connecting me to the dirt and further below where roots scream out, begging for water.
It isn’t literal, of course. Those who live in the Appalachians, especially the older people, always say the land has a hum… an old pulse you feel more than hear. Maybe I’m just one of the people who can feel it. Maybe Icora hits the same damn frequency.
In this one moment, I’m back at the feet of the elders, listening to their stories, feeling the earth as it sways and pulls around me. It’s mystical, almost, as if in this brief span of time, we’re all one—me, the elders, my family, Earth, and Icora.
The land has always called to me, even as a child. It honestly hurt worse to be apart from the dirt, the grasses, the plants, the produce, than it was to be parted from my parents. They never listened to me, never heard me.
But the trees did. They listened to every cry, every scream, every whispered secret that couldn’t stay locked in my heart. They took my words deep into the ground and buried them for me.
In New York, it wasn’t the same, not until I was able to leave the confines of the city. Even then, the trees were different. They didn’t hear me, didn’t care. Maybe it’s the Appalachia. Maybe it’s the magic that’s drenched the land.
Honestly, until now, until touching the ground and feeling it sing, I never thought I’d find it again. I never thought I’d feel the magic flowing through me, never thought I’d hear the grasses whisper to me in words no modern tongue can understand. Until now, I had forgotten what it was to belong.
In all the shoots and gigs, in all the fashion shows, on all the runways I’ve walked, I never felt it. Steel doesn’t whisper; it rages. Concrete doesn’t sing; it screams. Plaster doesn’t hum; it seethes.
Closing my eyes, I sink into the earth and let it ground me. It’s as if invisible roots slither out and wind about my wrists and up my arm, anchoring me, soothing me, filling my mind with a cool breeze, one that wipes away every bit of longing for the drugs.
This. This is what I’ve needed. This is what I’ve wanted.
Home.
Earth.
Icora
Zilara.
This goddess underneath me, screaming as I command her body, as I force her to give in and give herself to me. Taking her pain and transmuting it into agonizing pleasure. Forcing her to bend to my will as I morph her worry into shards of delirium more potent than any drug could ever be.
Some days might be hard again. I know I’ll always crave that slip into oblivion, that quietness that only narcotics, opioids, alcohol, and random, meaningless sex can provide. My body knows it now, greets it like a friend that I know will stab me in the back at a moment’s notice.
But today, right now, this instant, I find I have everything I need, everything I crave, all wrapped up in a silver suit hugging every delectable inch that I cannot wait to commit to memory.
“Submit to me,” I growl against her parted lips.
“Let me have you. All of you. Give me the parts that no one else sees, that no one else wants. Let me be your safety, your anchor, because, baby, I see the hurt. I see the pain. I feel it as deeply as my own. Give it all to me. Let me carry this burden. Even if it’s for this one stolen moment. ”
Her lashes flutter for a second as she looks away, but I won’t abide those actions. I won’t let her hide. Not when I’m so close to seeing who she really is.
Reaching out, I grip her chin and turn her face toward me, noting the shifting in her expression. She’s guarded, formidable, an impenetrable force. She needs someone to scale her walls and tear them down brick by fucking brick.
“Come on, baby,” I coax as I tighten my grip. “Submit to me. You can do it.”
My balls ache as they swell back up with cum, but I do my best to ignore it. Every graze of her body against me is agony, making my cock leap forward and twitch with need. Still, she stares at me, unmoving, unyielding.
“I’m not an infant, bull,” she snaps as her body finally jerks under mine. “And for you to imply as such is a humiliation I won’t bear.”
My lips quirk into a smile as I shake my head. “On Earth, it’s a term of endearment. I was never calling you a child.” Such funny differences between our planets. But none of that will deter me from coaxing her to yield to me. “Are you going to submit? Or am I going to have to force you?”
Her nostrils flare as her lovely eyes go a touch dark.
Oh, oh yes. That’s exactly what this little hellcat wants.
Whether it’s because she wants to feel me overcome her or if it’s because she needs that out, she needs that plausible deniability, doesn’t matter.
The end result is still and always will be the same.
Arousal pricks my skin as I find her wrists and hold them high above her head.
It’s then that she bursts into a flurry of motion.
Her legs kick out as her hips buck up against me, nearly slamming into my engorged cock again.
Easing to the side, I ram my knee up between her thighs, stopping just short of her pussy. It spreads her out, but not enough.
Bringing the other knee inside her legs, I wrench her open even more as she thrashes about. Tears stream down her face, but deep down, I know it’s not because she wants me to stop. She’s a big girl with a smart mouth. She would have said something.
Just in case, I transfer her left wrist over to my other hand and grab her chin again.
“Tell me to stop. Tell me to not take you, to not fuck you, to not own you completely. Tell me you don’t want this.
Tell me your pussy isn’t fucking soaked from the way I handle you, from the way I make you so fucking helpless under me. ”
Instead of words, a frustrated moan rips from her lips as she continues to fight me. Never once does she order me to stop. Never once does she even breathe the words conveying she doesn’t want this. A wolfish grin widens my lips as I slide my legs out even further, spreading her even wider.
With the suit on, I can’t tell at all if she’s wet or not. Time to find out. I grip the silver tab and bring it down again. In my other hand, her delicate wrists squirm and slide about as she struggles to be free of me. Is this a token resistance? Is she actually trying? I detest that I can’t tell.
My forearms and delts scream as she wrenches her arms about, but I hold on.
Despite the way the small muscles in my neck cry out for relief, I don’t let go.
For her, I have to be strong. She’s testing me, seeing my limits, seeing if I can handle her.
Though I’m weaker than normal right now, I know it won’t last forever.
A few weeks tending this farm and she’ll never feel a quiver of struggle in my muscles again.
“Tell me, Zilara,” I practically purr as I bring the zipper all the way down to expose that delightful bit of flesh just above her mound.
“Are you wet for me? Does your pussy want to be filled by my cock? I promise you, I may not be as large as what you’re used to, but I have more than enough cum to make you leak for hours after I get through with you.
Either way, my cock needs to be milked, and this time, I want it to be by your pussy clenching around so tight I can’t help but let it all go. ”
Her lips tighten up, and still she doesn’t answer. Not a problem. I can still make her scream even if she doesn’t want to talk to me. Easing my hand into her suit, I slide my fingers down the slick lower lips.
“Ahhhhh. You are wet for me, sweetheart. Fucking soaked. Just how I thought you’d be. Why deny yourself the pleasure any longer?”
Bringing my hand up to my lips, I force her to watch as I lap her pale, light blue, almost pearlescent arousal from each fingertip.
An odd flavor explodes on my tongue. It’s one that has no words.
It’s like every good memory wrapped up into one indefinable flavor—tart apples, water from the creek down from the house, brown sugar, crust so flakey it crumbles as you bite into it, and cherries stolen from Leo’s farm under the dead of night and light of a full moon.
Addicting. The word slithers through my head.
You will never be clean, follows soon after.
But I don’t care. I’ll let her be my addiction. I’ll drink from her until I’m satisfied and come crawling back for more.
“Blasphemy,” she whispers as she jerks about again, disrupting my thoughts.
Blasphemy? What could be blasphemous about tasting her? If anything, it should be against every known religion not to devour her pussy.
“To taste you?” I clarify, still not sure which aspect she’s finding so concerning. “In that case, bring me to church and pry this confession from my lips because I’ll never stop feasting on your body.”
“Y- you can’t. It’s an act for the Ranchers to their cows in order to produce delicious milk. I- I can’t. It’s not for me.”
Rising, my lips turn down into a frown. “Who’s going to stop me? You? Are you going to keep fighting me, little Icorian?”
Her expression is nearly unreadable, but from what little bits I can identify, there’s fear, arousal, anger, and terror all wrapped into one quivering bundle.
Still, even when I called her little, she didn’t flinch; she didn’t correct me.
Unless I’m completely wrong, she let go just a little, enough that I felt the muscles relax under my touch.
Pulling back, I let go of her wrists to see what she will do. As anticipated, she scrambles up from the ground and runs again. This time, I know the score. This time, neither of us is leaving until I’m balls deep in her pussy and milked until dry.