76. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Z oey
Perhaps it’s the fireworks’ grand finale, because they’re rapidly bursting overhead. The noise so loud and furious I can feel the concussions through the seat as they vibrate into my flesh. The cacophony of sound is accompanied by the rapidly changing colors on his skin. I can’t decide which is more beautiful, the blues that match his eyes, the greens, or the reds that somehow make him look a bit angry.
I tear my attention from the colors and the noise and focus on something. What was it? Oh, my mate wants to know what I think about when I’m scrubbing pots in the kitchen.
“I can’t help but think of you whenever I have time on my hands,” I admit. “Especially when I’m scouring a big silver pot. It’s natural as breathing to think of silver skin, and the next thing I’m imagining is you, Steele. Not just your skin, but the look in your eyes right before you shutter them in bliss. It’s your best look, you know.”
I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t even know who I am anymore. These words spilling from my lips? I’ve never even allowed myself to think them before, but they’re tumbling out of my mouth so fast it’s as if they were locked inside me and are now making a jailbreak escape.
“Sometimes my hands forget their job and I stop right in the middle of what I’m doing as I picture every inch of you, Steele. And I have favorite inches. Do you want to know which ones they are?”
I want to surprise him. Of course he wants to hear that I love to think of his cock, and that’s certainly true, but that would be such an easy target—so obvious, so mundane.
I turn on the bench to face him, not even bothering to glance around to ensure everyone’s eyes are still cast to the heavens. No, right this moment I don’t really care if every single one of them is staring at Steele and me as if it’s actually the two of us who are the grand finale.
I tear my hand out of his grip and put both hands under his armpits.
“I like these inches, Steele.” I wait to see his eyebrows lift in surprise. “I know, they’re not in the greater pantheon of erogenous zones, but I love this part of you. Right here. It’s masculine and warm and carries your scent. I shave mine so it highlights our differences and I…”
I gasp in shock, my eyes rounding, eyebrows lifting. Before the words pass my lips, I examine them in my mind. Dear God, I was about to say, “I love our differences.”
I freeze. A casual onlooker would certainly think I’m a statue right now. I’m not even blinking. I love our differences. I do.
I’m thunderstruck. My thoughts are louder than the deafening symphony booming above our heads. I test the words by whispering so low I’m certain he won’t hear me, “I love our differences.”
He keeps his face bland, impassive, which emboldens me to say it again, louder, “I love our differences.”
A thousand voices shout in my head, all saying the phrases of hate from my childhood. There were hundreds of beliefs and thousands of phrases, but they all came down to one thought—different equals bad.
And they were all wrong.
Dear God, I love this male not despite his differences, but because of them.
“Take me back to the cottage,” I whisper, my eyes wide in surprise at my forceful tone.
Steele shakes his head as if he’s not hearing me correctly.
When he doesn’t move right away, I say it again with more force, “Take me to our cottage, Steele.” Because he doesn’t move fast enough, I bolt straight up, grab his hand, and pull him to his feet.
I drag him down the steps to the sandy arena and out the arched gateway, heedless of whether all my friends are watching. My feet are flying as I run, gaining speed, pulling him behind me. When we pass the sanctuary, I recall just last night when we hurried in this same direction during the thunderstorm.
I felt urgent then. I was aroused and needy, but it was different. Right now, I feel like a woman on a mission. No. A woman possessed.
I thought I was “over it” yesterday, but there was still so much hidden baggage. With every step, I leave a horrible thought behind. Terrible epithets I grew up hearing a hundred times are left in the dirt under my feet. Hatred and xenophobia have no place in my life anymore. I skid to a stop and turn around so abruptly my mate has trouble following me.
“Lost Zoey?” he asks as he tries to pull me in the direction we were just going. “Our cottage is this—”
“Nope. We have to go to the well,” I say forcefully. Forceful? Is that really in my vocabulary? I’ve always been the youngest, the good girl. The compliant female who never wanted to incur her father’s wrath.
And I succeeded. Most of my life, I managed to stay under the radar. I got good grades in school and carried signs of hate on command, and I escaped my father’s anger and derision long enough to be allowed to hide in my room and read. At least books took me to an alternate life I never had the courage to even imagine in my everyday life.
Steele’s hand is warm in mine as we arrive at the well. It’s the oldest structure on Sanctuary. I imagine people gathering water here for generations. It’s stood the test of time. I grip the thick, stone lip and calm my panting, as I try to decide what to do here.
It has to be big. A grand gesture. Something in complete defiance of my upbringing—so huge and bold and life-affirming that even the most resistant and primitive part of my mind gets the message.
If I’d planned ahead, I would have written a letter, perhaps. A proclamation to my father, telling him how wrong he was and that I’m officially not in his church anymore. Telling him that hate doesn’t solve anything. I would tell him love is the answer.
But I didn’t plan ahead and it absolutely positively must be done right this minute.
Something needs to be thrown into the well as a declaration of independence. That’s funny. I’m not the first one to think of those words. But this is just as weighty, just as important.
All I have are my clothes and my shoes and my mate standing next to me. He’s a few inches away, saying nothing, but his gaze hasn’t left me. He’s standing in support. I’ll forever love him for that because he has no idea what’s going on in this head of mine, but he’s here for me. As he always has been.
My friends’ laughter is ringing in my ears. They’re strolling up the incline from the arena. I imagine they see us here in the middle of the compound. Their voices go silent, but I know they are all still there. I feel a wave of their love and support wash over me as they stand in solidarity to witness whatever I’m about to do.
The terrified little girl who became the painfully introverted woman, wants to turn and run away. I stay because I desperately want to be the mate that Steele deserves. But more than that, I want to be the woman I was meant to be. The woman who can reach for and attain every one of my dreams. I deserve it.
Something must be thrown into the well right this moment. The little girl who still lives in the back of my head has to see it to get the message loud and clear that she can let go. That she must let go.
And unless I want to throw my mate down the well, all I have are my clothes. It’s them or nothing, and nothing is not an option. I want to throw them down the well and I don’t simply want to take them off.
“Rip off my clothes,” I order my astonished silver mate.
He stands paralyzed, dumbfounded as every second that passes means more eyes are focused on the two of us standing at the well.
“Rip. Them. Off,” I repeat more forcefully.
Steele knows me, of course. So it’s no surprise when he puts his hand on the auto-zip at the back of my neck.
“No!” I thunder. “Rip!”
He may not know what is going on, but he knows it’s big and he knows what he just heard. I hear the fabric rip and feel it rend from my body, then the cool breeze kisses my skin.
He hands me the dress and takes a small step back, so I have to instruct, “All of it!” in a low, forceful tone.
He yanks my panties off and hands them to me, then pauses at my bra. I feel him unclasp it, I guess ripping wouldn’t work.
I can hear the people murmuring now, but I shake my head. The old me would imagine all of their shocked—or worse—disapproving faces. I still feel the acceptance they are sending, so I shove all of that out of my mind and focus on me and the voices in my head and the strong, loving male at my side.
“Fuck you!” I shout as I tip my head down the well. Its walls are tall and I’m short and the words result in an echo that reverberates into the depths and ricochets back to my ears.
“Fuck you, papa. Fuck you Hematite Church. Fuck you to every person in this entire universe who thinks that hate should trump love. Fuck slavery. Fuck hatred. Fuck making little girls carry signs designed to hurt people’s feelings. Fuck making me afraid of strangers. Fuck the very idea of strangers! A stranger is simply a friend you haven’t made yet.
“I’m over it! I’m moving on! You taught me the wrong things. You got your facts wrong. Wrong! I will not spend one more week or day or hour or minute believing your… shit!”
I’m panting, my chest is heaving. My naked chest! My naked chest is heaving in the cool, pale light of Fairea’s moons.
My hands are fisted around the ripped clothes I’m holding and a thousand emotions are swirling inside me and I’m in outer space with this silver Anderonian male who is looking at me in astonishment. Astonishment and so much love it’s as if he thinks I personally hung those moons.
“I love you,” I say as I turn and gaze deeply into those gorgeous blue eyes. “I love you,” I repeat even louder. “I love you, Steele!” I scream, making sure every eye in the compound is focused on me as if there were any doubt as to the seriousness of my assertion.
Is this what it feels like to be drunk? Because for the first time in my life, I don’t give a shit. I don’t give a shit that I’ve just said a hundred curse words. I don’t give a shit that I just cursed my father even though he couldn’t hear it because he’s a million miles away.
Isn’t that the point? He is a million miles away. All his shit doesn’t matter anymore.
“I’ll kill you if you let me fall,” I threaten my beloved mate as I urge him to help me up onto the lip of the well. As if standing on level ground wasn’t enough of a statement, I jump up and face my friends as I’m held in my beloved’s sturdy grip, him holding tightly to my calves. I shout to everyone in the compound, “I am my own person! I can have my own thoughts! I’m free!”
Every single person here tonight in Sanctuary, all of whom are my friends, cheer and whistle and stamp their feet so that I’m surrounded by the sound of their acclamation of support, acceptance, and love.
I turn my back to them and toss the clothes and shoes I’m still clutching, waiting for the satisfying splash to greet my ears, then give Steele the widest smile that’s ever stretched my face and say, “I’ll race you to the cottage.”
He helps me down and we run to the cottage. I only spend a moment picturing my white backside as all my friends are watching it streak away. My boobs are bouncing and my feet are pounding the dirt pathway and I’m giggling—giggling!
Steele doesn’t ask. He lifts me up and throws me onto his back piggyback style and hightails it to our little cottage.
I’m glad he did that, because the rocks on the path were killing me. Usually, though, he would ask before he did such a thing because that’s who he is. He’s the same male I refused when he reached out to me in that cell what feels like a decade ago. The same male who has been rejected by me a thousand times in a thousand different ways. The same male who treats me like glass because I’ve allowed it—no, demanded it.
My hands are draped around his neck and I hold my wrists tighter as I mentally throw that down the well, too. I don’t want to be glass anymore. I’m tired of not only feeling breakable, but my mate treating me like I am. I want to be rubber. No, I want to be steel!
We’re mere steps from our front door, and Steele is going to want to finish what we started on those stone benches in the arena. He’s not just going to want it, he’ll deserve it.
And dammit, I’m going to give it to him. I don’t give a shit if I come or don’t come. My days of moping are over. I just want to share with him. I want to give him pleasure without caring what I get in return. I want intimacy with him. I want every wall between us—the ones I and I alone erected—to be decimated.
And dear God, I am so tired of feeling like a failure. No matter what happens in our bed, I’m a success. To have a male as good as Steele love me no matter how sad or broken or fucked up I am? That’s a success!
Leaning down to whisper in his ear, I realize my boobs are like earmuffs on him. Modesty be damned, I wish I had a picture.
“I’m going to suck that beautiful cock of yours, Steele. I’m not going to sleep tonight until you’ve come so many times you can’t get hard again. Do you hear me? I’m going to wring you out until you’re spent.”
Even though we’re scant steps from our doorway, he stops running, pulls me from his back and with one smooth move twists me, lifts me onto his shoulders, and pulls me close until his mouth is on my pussy.
Pussy! I don’t say that word. I never even think it. But my mate Steele has my legs draped over his back and my pussy at his mouth and he is eating me out in our front yard.
The Zoey who would have scolded him a day ago, then hidden in shame and never left her home again is laughing. Great big deep guffaws start from my chest and barrel out of my mouth as my mate licks me with gusto.
My laughter stops abruptly as the amusement fades and sparks of lust shoot to every fiber of my body, reminding me I’m a sexual being.
“Steele,” I groan on a sigh. “Dear God that feels way too good.” A moment later I correct myself, “Not way too good. Nothing can feel too good. Don’t stop.”
Every cell in my body is on high alert after the running and the screaming and the exhibitionism and the hysterical laughter. Maybe it’s that my feet are off the ground, or that right now, his tongue is buried in my pussy, his head shaking and his gentle lips tugging on my clit. He’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen on this or any other planet.
I don’t recognize it when it comes because it feels nothing like the puny orgasm I had the other night with that pathetic pink vibrator.
No, what happens right here in front of God and everyone is a cataclysm of seismic proportions. It strikes like a rattlesnake, giving no warning at all. It’s fast and hard and so surprising it pulls a scream from me I’m certain all my friends can hear even though they’re city blocks away.
Just for good measure, with the only few functioning brain cells I have left, I call his name. As long as I’m going to announce it, I might as well let everyone know who is responsible.
“Steele!” It’s a proclamation of passion and surprise and lust and genuine heartfelt love.
The pleasure fills and overflows and spills through me, then pools and eddies and repeats.
I’m certain my fingernails must be digging into his shoulders as I hang on for dear life, but I don’t release my grip. If anything, I clutch harder.
Steele finally comes up for air, his blue pupils blown. If he wasn’t holding me so solidly, I’d worry he would wobble and fall because the male is in shock.
“Doitagain,” I urge as I tip my bottom closer to his face and lean back knowing the silver male has me. He has me like he’s always had me since the day we met.
Being the male he is, he doesn’t need another invitation. He holds me, both his arms supporting my back, his strong, masculine palms gripping my shoulders, as he dips his head and goes at me again.
The back of my mind cautions that no one could come again after an orgasm like that at the same moment the front of my mind is wondering if I could have even more than two.
Steele is unaware of the petty accounting going on in my head as he gets to work, taking my clit between his lips and lapping, then tugging.
This time he’s not as frenzied. Or maybe it’s me. I pay attention to what he’s doing. When he tried this right after the insurrection and it freaked me out, I believe I called it aberrant. Silly, silly me.
It still feels naughty, though. And by naughty, I mean nice.
I never noticed how long and thick his tongue was before, but it slides inside me, then pulls out with a delicious lick up to my clit, then slips inside again.
His tongue is flicking my clit so hard and fast there should be an Olympic competition for this.
“Silver gets the gold,” I giggle drunkenly as I decide that it’s definitely the funniest thing I’ve ever said.
Then my mirth disappears as I realize orgasms are serious business. My mind must be messing with me again because I’m right on the edge but can’t fall off the cliff. Don’t fuck with me now , I order myself.
Steele realizes I need more, but his arms are otherwise occupied, so he hums, which ratchets things up a notch. Then he sucks my clit hard while pulling with his lips and my body now follows the path of least resistance and I tumble into bliss.
Orgasms aren’t all the same! They can be different! I’m learning new things every minute. This one isn’t a screaming-Steele’s-name-into-the-cool-night-air orgasm. No. This is a smiling-like-I-have-a-wonderful-secret orgasm as I buck against him and moan long and low as my inner walls spasm against themselves, fluttering like butterfly wings.
He pulls his mouth off me with a wet smack, sets me down, flings open our door and yanks me inside.
For a moment I’d worried he’d become the orgasm arbiter and had decided that two was the limit. I was wrong.
All he’s wearing is his loincloth, and I realize absently that he must have left his clothes in the arena when I yanked him off our bench. He’s not complaining, though. No, he’s multitasking as he stalks toward the bed untwisting his loincloth while he pulls me with him.
Smart male knows better than to ask me what’s going on with me. It would be a tactical error to get me into my head right now. When we’re a couple feet from the bed, he lifts me and tosses me onto it.
My lids slam closed in happiness. Steele somehow got the message. Perhaps I telegraphed that I didn’t want to be treated like fine china anymore, or maybe it was one of the myriad things I babbled as I shouted down that well tonight. However he knows, he got the message.
“Nothing is going to be the same tonight, Zoey. Nothing. I’m not asking. I’m telling. Say the word red if you want me to stop. Otherwise, I’m in charge.”
My clit quivers in response to his words. Well, maybe his words or maybe the look in his eyes. For the first time since I met him, there’s a dangerous look on his face and it’s making my pussy clench.
His rough palms grab my ankles, flip me onto my stomach, and pull me to the foot of the bed. “Don’t. Move.”
Who is this Steele? Did I unleash him when I unleashed Zoey? Whoever he is, I love him.
I hear him move, then feel him rummage under the bed. He moves to the foot of the bed again, and lifts me by my hips so I’m on all fours.
“I’m going to fuck you hard, Zoey. Say red if I hurt you, otherwise I’m not going to stop until I’ve had my fill.” Arousal flickers through me like wildfire. It pools in my pricked nipples and floods my pelvis with heat.
“Take this,” he says as he tosses something on the bed next to my hand.
It’s the little pink vibrator. At first, I’m filled with shame, but he cuts it off at the pass.
“If you don’t use it, Zoey, I’m going to punish you. You choose.”
Well, if he puts it like that, I guess I’ll use it.
He shimmies me, getting my ass at the exact right angle. I blush as I picture the sight I must present to him. Before my mind can take me down the wrong alley, he starts talking. At least I think it’s Steele. I’ve never heard his voice have the same rough edge or deep timbre as the male who’s standing behind me.
“Spread your legs,” he orders.
My eyes flare wide. Really?
“I want to see more of you,” his tone is dark, merciless.
When I hesitate a second, he does it for me, yanking my knees farther apart. It’s so arousing I wonder if I’ll swoon like women used to do in the olden days.
“Mine!” he says as he cups my sex with his palm.
Oh my God, it’s too sexy, too arousing.
“Say it!”
I’m obviously not following his orders fast enough because he cups me harder, lifting me off the bed by an inch as he hisses, “Say this is mine.” It’s an order.
“Yours, Steele.”
“Again.”
“Yours.”
“More. I want to hear sentences and paragraphs,” he grits.
“This is yours. It belongs to you.”
“That’s right.” He lifts me by my crotch again, then one thick finger slides between my folds. Where before, in front of our cottage, everything was frantic and rushed, now he acts as if we have all the time in the world.
“And this. This is mine.”
Oh, that finger, what it does to me as it trails along the seam of my sex.
“Say it, Zoey. Don’t make me tell you again.”
“This. This is yours.”
“Right. And this.” His invasion is sudden as that one plump digit spears into me so quick and hot and deep it pulls a hiss of pleasure from me.
I’ve always been a good girl, so I immediately follow his instructions and tell him, “This is yours, Steele.”
“Good girl,” he rumbles.
Pleasure shocks through me. Not physical pleasure like an orgasm, but the catlike pleasure of a good stretch. I pulled a “good girl” from his lips. It’s immensely satisfying.
“Good girls get rewarded,” he says as he fingers me in long, deep thrusts. Just one finger sliding in and sliding out. It’s gratification and torment at the same time because, as wonderful as it feels, it just makes me yearn for more.
“I want to hear it again, Zoey. Whose. Is. This?” he says one word on every stab.
“Yours.”
“What’s mine?” he hisses.
I freeze for a moment, not sure what he wants, but then I get it. He wants me to talk dirty. I can do it. I figured it out the other night.
“My core is yours,” I tell him, my voice so deep and raw I couldn’t swear it was mine.
“Again,” he coaxes, his strokes slowing until I comply.
“My channel is yours.”
“The others use another word. Say it.” It’s an order.
His hand has stopped. He’s taking control, showing mastery. I couldn’t be hotter if he poured gasoline on me and set me on fire.
“My pussy is yours,” I tell him, then use the Universal word the males use. “My xyzca’s yours, Steele. All of me is yours.”
He relents and begins slowly pumping into me again, but he’s not done. I can tell.
Another finger joins the first, until I moan in bliss and press against him to push him even deeper inside me. But something else is coming. I just can’t figure out what.
“And this?” he asks as the pad of his thumb circles my back hole. He’s never trespassed here before. If he had, I might have thrown him out of our shared cabin. But that was the old Zoey. I threw her down the well along with my clothes.
“Yours,” I say, knowing he wants more. It’s as if part of me wants him to force it out of me.
“Say it!” his voice is tight, hard, forceful. I think I love him more this instant than I ever have before.
“My ass is yours Steele.”
For a moment I assume he’ll relent, that he got what he wanted, but he pushes me harder even as his thumb respects the boundary and doesn’t press inside me.
“Tell me it’s mine to do with what I want, to touch you anywhere I want. Any way I want. Any time I want.” He pulls his hand from me so I’m not distracted. What he asked is big. He wants me to think about it, but how can I think when my pussy is drenched, dripping for him?
“Yes! I’m yours, Steele. I’m all yours. I always have been and I always will be.” I just crossed a line. I can’t come back from here. My plans to abandon him? Those have to be history. Did I really think I could live without him? That my lungs could continue to suck air when I couldn’t reach out and touch him in the middle of the night?
“One more thing,” he says, his voice more serious than anything he said before.
What? What could he possibly want? I can’t think of anything more intimate I can give him than his thick cock in my ass.
“Promise me anything, my Zoey,” his voice is softer now. “Promise me now and I’ll collect later.”
He’s not touching me now, and I’m glad. I need all my faculties to think. I have no idea what he could possibly want. I’ve offered him the deepest part of me. But I love him more than life itself and I would do anything he asks.
“I… can say red?” I ask, unable to keep the fear out of my voice.
He pauses for so long I begin to feel hot jolts of panic spiral up from the base of my spine. He knows me so well his hand sweeps up and down my back as he gentles me.
His voice reverts to the regular Steele when he says, “I wish you wouldn’t, Zoey. I pray you don’t, but yes. You can always say red.”
“Then yes, Steele,” I say without having to think. “Yes. I’ll give you anything.”
As if this last part of our conversation never happened, his hands resume their tender torment as he fingers me again, quickly bringing me back to the heights of passion I’d been dancing at moments before.
He slides his cock along my folds, coating us both in my cream as his hands cup my breasts, rolling my nipples between his fingers until my back arches and my head pitches back.
“Use the vibrator,” he orders as he slips the tip of his cock at my entrance.
“Good girl, Zoey,” he croons when I turn it on.
“Pay attention to your clit,” he says with authority, as if he’d been commanding me since the day we met. I follow his instruction.
“And this,” he says as he presses into me. “Just these two things.”
I have no idea what I used to pay attention to when he entered me before, but it was never like this. I feel every inch, the slow slide, the widening of my channel as my body welcomes him into my wet heat. Perhaps I’m cheating, because I hear his soft grunt of pleasure as he enters me.
Steele
“Like coming home, Zoey,” my voice is softer now. I’ve forced Zoey into the moment. Now all I have to do is play her body like an instrument. That’s easy to do, I’ve been practicing for annums .
There’s something about the instant of entering her. The warmth of it. The wetness that I coaxed her to produce. The way her muscles have to relax to admit me. I love this moment.
I sink in to the hilt, then snap my hips to ensure I’m as far into her body as I can get. All the way out on another slow slide, and then all the way in with another snap.
She’s different. Her body’s moving in a way she never has before. This. This is what happens when my mate is fully present for our mating. She presses back, wanting more of me. Wanting all of me.
Nothing could make a male feel more virile, more alive, more loved, than being desired by his mate.
She’s moaning, her thighs quivering. Her back arches, then rounds like a feline as she works to get the best angle. For the first time, she’s let go enough to take enjoyment from our mating.
“That’s right, my love. Take your pleasure,” I urge as I grip her hips and tuck her even closer.
I increase my rhythm, shuttling in and out of her more swiftly. She feels so good as she thrusts back onto my cock, but it’s more than that. It’s her joy in the moment that is contagious.
Her moans are loud, keening, desperate. She’s never let herself go like this before, so I slam into her harder, no longer afraid of breaking her.
She lifts her head back and I see her throat straining, her face tightening, contorting, and then I feel the pulses of her contractions milking me as she screams my name over and over. It’s so powerful I can’t control my urge to spill inside of her. I release in hard jets as I feel the liquid spurt from my body and fill her.
Just as I’m finishing, she slumps onto the bed, careful to keep her ass in the air so I can finish, but she’s too spent to stay on all fours.
I chuckle, so happy to see my female with a feline smile on her face, her sweaty hair stuck to her forehead and cheeks.
“You’re beautiful, my love,” I croon into her ear as I fall into a heap next to her on the bed.