Chapter Twenty-Seven
In which there is fire, and skin, and sex.
Scarlett…
The platform under me is solid and immobile as I climb on to it, stretching out face down, the leather cool against my cheek. There are straps there for restraints, but Wallace unhooks them, throwing them aside.
“Do ye remember your safe word?”
“Fever.” It comes out as more of a croak, but he accepts it.
“Good. So good for me.”
He soothes me for a while, the way you would a spooked horse, gentling me.
His calloused fingertips run down my spine, gently smoothing over my ass and down my legs.
I can hear him dipping something in the water, and the rustle of a glove, the process repeated twice more, and then I smell the acrid scent of rubbing alcohol.
The warmth of a candle close to my skin.
Wallace leans down to kiss my neck, gently nipping at the taut tendon there, betraying my anxiety.
“Do ye trust me, Little Cinder?”
I know he’s giving me one last chance to back out, so I turn my head, giving him a smile that is part shaky, part sultry.
Kissing his hand not wearing the glove, I force myself to be still.
There’s a small “whoosh!” as the candle sets the glove on Wallace’s hand aflame.
My muscles turn to concrete as he runs it up my spine, just as he’d done with his bare hand.
I could feel the heat of the fire, almost feel the pores on my skin slam shut in anxiety.
But as he runs the fiery glove over the globes of my ass, the feverish bite on my skin feels strangely arousing, my hips move slightly on their own accord as the glove passes by.
Gently parting my legs, he chuckles as my knees try to slam shut on their own.
A brisk slap on the thin skin of my inner thigh spreads them back open.
I trust him... I trust him- AH!
My frantic inner monologue is cut short as the glove is re-lit and swoops its way up my calf and over the delicate skin leading to my center. I bite my lower lip hard, trying to stop my sputtering nerve endings from twitching away from the sweep of the glove.
This pass of Wallace’s blazing hand hurts a little more. Not terribly, but enough to feel a bite, the sting of the alcohol, the brief spreading heat of the flame. I remember how it looked on the table that night on the terrace, dancing and swirling its way onto Wallace’s arm.
He’s hugely hard, his cock pressing against my hip as the blaze lingers just over my pussy, then vanishes.
“Take a breath. Do ye need to stop?” He’s crouched down by my face, pushing little, sweaty strands of hair off my forehead.
“Is there more?”
“Dark places,” he says, like he did in the tunnels. “For doing dark deeds.” Oh, that smile. It promises the most dangerous, delicious things, his full lips drawn over even white teeth. His incisors are pointier, more like a wolf’s grin.
Wallace puts his hand just under the crease of my ass and squeezes. “I dinnae think ye have ever looked more beautiful, my sweet, perfect lass. The light of the flame on your body makes ye… incandescent.” He kisses me appreciatively as his hands move to my hips.
Not understanding, I move to stand up, and he shakes his head.
His eyes glow with an utterly diabolical light.
“Oh, we’re not done, love. Roll over onto your back.
” He chuckles darkly as my eyes widen, and I slowly roll over, trying to arrange suddenly shaky arms and legs to stretch over the platform, looking and feeling more like some pagan sacrifice.
“Look to your left.”
I do look like a pagan sacrifice.
There’s a mirror stretching across that side of the room, angled so I can see everything, the long line of my body over the platform, my pale skin. Wallace is beautifully, brazenly naked and his gaze meets mine.
“Dinnae take your eyes off your reflection. Do ye understand me?” he says, stroking the soft skin of my stomach.
“I understand,” I say, mouth dry.
He sheds the gloves, and I watch as he picks up a thick piece of gauze and applies the rubbing alcohol to the fabric.
A thin, high-pitched shriek nearly leaves my lips as Wallace gracefully runs a long streak of the liquid down my thigh, instantly touching the candle to it.
The blue flame leaps from my leg and dies down almost instantly with a swipe of his hand.
This way definitely leaves more of a sting with the heat, and I’m strangely fascinated with the glow that moves over my bare skin.
Running a longer streak down the length of my other leg, the flame touches again.
“Ah!”
It is more of a whisper, but he hears me. He pauses, staring at our reflection, at my face in the mirror. I know he’s waiting for the word. I lick my dry lips and manage to moan, “No. Keep- keep going.”
The feel of his calloused fingers on my sensitive belly has me clenching every muscle, and then again as he moves my hands above my head.
“Dinnae move your hands,” his voice rasps like sandpaper. He crosses my wrists and kisses them.
The skin on the inside of my arms is thin, delicate. The gauze sends a cool streak of alcohol along them.
Then the flame of the candle.
A guttural sound leaves my lips. The blaze streaks up my arms, like flaming wings.
The long, rough sweeps of his hand snuff the flame almost instantly, allowing just enough time for me to gasp.
I feel the chilly swish of the wet cotton against my left breast, and my eyes shoot wide open, gazing at Wallace.
He’s wildly aroused, his stiff cock pressing against my arm.
But he waits until I wet my lips and gasp, “I’m okay. ”
My back arches involuntarily as the bluish blaze rises from the tender skin of my breast, I watch it all in the mirror, disbelief that there are flames on my body.
I feel his rough palm rubbing my nipple and taking the burn away.
He does the same to the other breast, and I’m boneless.
Floating. My eyes close and my mouth opens in a silent moan as he plays with my breasts, my nipples hard and pressing against his hand.
The blue flame leaps and twirls over the soft skin of my belly and briefly along the inside of my thighs, almost touching my pussy.
I’m wet, desperately wet and my clitoris is throbbing.
One heated bite blurs into the next blazing sting, my entire body feels alight as he gently strokes my breasts with a streak of fire once more.
The blaze dies down, flickering away and we’re left alone in this darkened room.
My hands go up, gripping his biceps and I attack his mouth.
I’m on fire on the inside, the heat burning through me, I’m needy, desperate.
Wallace seems to understand, sliding his arms under my thighs, lightly lifting me into the air, balancing me carefully so not an inch of my reddened skin touches anything.
My blissful moan is cut off abruptly as he impales me on his cock, one brutal thrust, buried inside me deep, bouncing me up and down, pushing harder on the downstroke to slide all the way to the end of my channel, the wide head of his shaft pushing insistently against me, wanting to dig in deeper, burrow further.
“Oh! Oh, God! You’re thick tonight-”
“Did ye miss my fat cock?” he grunts against my neck. “Missing me split this tight cunny in two?”
“Yes,” I groan.
“Ye take me so well, wrapped around me like hot, wet velvet.”
Wallace is strong, incredibly so, his arms are huge, steely with muscle.
The ease with which he bounces me on his cock, as if I weigh nothing, is wildly, painfully arousing.
Even though the sting of his cock shoving deeper with each stroke definitely makes itself known, I’m shocked to feel my thighs are slick, making his dick shiny and adding to the sting as his narrow hips slap against me.
My orgasm is right on top of me, swelling, bursting like ripe fruit, wet and soft. Helplessly, I clamp down on Wallace’s cock. He groans, blond head dropping to my shoulder for a moment, trapped inside my desperate spasms.
“I dinnae dare move, my filthy, sweet lass. You’re going to rip my cock off.
” When the pulsing slows, he thrusts inside me again, rubbing my clitoris against his pubic bone, enjoying my whimpers as my thighs tighten around his hips.
“Do ye think that’s the only time you’ll come tonight, Luaith Bheag? Oh, no. Ye won’t be resting until-”
Wallace’s murky threats stop as he adjusts my thighs higher over his arms and begins thrusting faster than before. “Nae,” he continues, licking a stripe over my reddened collarbone. “I won’t let ye down from my arms or off my cock until you’ve come twice again.”
Arching his hips sharply, the slide of his shaft changes inside me, almost scraping my sensitive, swollen walls as the hard press of him keeps firing off every nerve ending I have. “Come, my singed wee goddess, I feel those red-hot thighs against me. Work them!”
It’s almost as if he startles me into coming again, I shriek and do as he demands, trembling and clutching at his arms to hold myself upright.
Without giving me a moment to recover, he bites my shoulder, hard enough to bruise as his thrusts become faster, heartlessly rough inside me as his hips snap back and forth.
“One more. One more and I’ll let ye rest.” It’s a blur- his skin slapping against mine, fucking me in this harsh, greedy way, all I can do is link my hands behind his neck and moan, arching and keening against him mindlessly.
When an especially savage bounce sends him impossibly, cruelly deep, something breaks in me.
I throw back my head and wail my joy, shaking as if this time, my insides had been set on fire, the burn and the sting just as powerful.
Feeling me collapse against him, Wallace growls, teeth clenched as he spurts inside me, shoving his cock in over and over, both of us wet and slick.
Yelping as we fall back, I breathlessly giggle as he presses his shaking knees against the wall, trying to hold us there.
When we finally feel like we can stand without falling over, he carefully pulls out, smiling in an annoying male way as his come drips from me, slicking over my thighs and his.
We tidy each other between kisses and careful strokes over sore skin and rest on the red satin-covered bed on the other side of the room.
I stare at that platform I will never forget.
Bottles of isopropyl alcohol litter the table next to it, candles still lit and dripping, gloves and all the things he used on me abandoned.
I’m still dazed from this confusing intersection of pain and arousal that only Wallace could make me feel, something so intense that at any other time I would refuse to endure it, I’d be screaming “Fever!” at the top of my lungs.
“Drink, love.” He slips an arm under my shoulders, holding a glass of water for me. There’s a pitcher of it on the table next to us, along with a tray of food and some small jars.
“Salve,” he explains when he sees me look at them. “I dinnae think you’ll need them.”
“I don’t want them,” I mumble sleepily, feeling like I’ve just finished a triathlon. “If there’s marks, I want to see them tomorrow and remember how I got them.”
“My courageous lass,” he says, kissing my forehead. “Ye are a dream. A wish. The perfect fantasy.”