11. Lyric
Lyric
I twist the rope in my hands as I walk up the few steps and onto my porch. It was such a whirlwind of a day. A lot of scouring books, trying to find answers where there are none. A lot of Story talking me off the ledge, trying to make me calm down.
But how can I calm down when my fictional boyfriend is disappearing?
We found a solution, though. I need to fuck him. That’s what true love’s jizz truly means—and isn’t that romantic?
True love’s jizz means fuckin’. It means milking that big prickle until that delicious baby batter coats my womb.
Just the thought of him sheathing his big pork sword inside my tight little snatch makes my clitty tingle.
With my engines fully revved, I unlock the door and shove it open. I trip over myself as I stare at Ian on the couch, naked and sprawled out with his pussy pocket on his dick.
It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
A sheen of sweat coats his sun-kissed skin, and his curls, red and fiery, are wild around his chiseled face. His gaze is glued to the laptop screen before him, and a part of me wants to stay hidden and watch him jack it a little while longer.
But a bigger part of me wants to jump his bones and let him take me straight to pound town.
“Hey, baby cakes,” I coo, shutting the door and tucking the rope into my purse. He glances my way, his eyes glazed.
“I’ve been filling the jar,” he breathes, his voice raw. “There’s so much in it.”
“Aw, that’s such a good little boy.” I ruffle his hair as I walk past him, peeking at the screen. It stops me in my tracks.
An old woman—and I mean old woman—is bent over a walker, a man behind her and another in front of her. There’s a room full of guys waiting their turns, all watching her get Eiffel towered by these two young men, her Life Alert necklace swinging in front of her deflated titties.
At one point, she pops her mouth off the man’s one-eyed monster and turns toward the camera, her gums on full display as she smiles, saliva spilling down her chin.
“What are you watching?” I breathe, slumping onto the couch beside him, unable to take my eyes off the video.
“I dinna ken,” he pants. He looks traumatized. Which I don’t blame him. I would, too. There’s no telling how long he’s been watching shit like this or how he even ended up here.
“Let’s just shut this off, hm?” He nods absently, his hand still dragging the fake pussy up and down his pecker. “You can stop, Ian.” As soon as I say the words, he blinks, and the spell is gone.
I hate how see-through he still is. It’s making me fucking anxious. But he’s still here enough to have filled that mason jar with his semen.
“Walk with me, talk with me,” I say, jerking my head toward the kitchen. On the way, I grab the jar, and my mouth immediately starts watering as I stare down at the viscous white liquid sloshing around.
Pulling the drawer open, I grab a large boba straw and stick it inside. There’s a thin layer of dried cum on top, almost like a crust has formed, so I stir it around, mixing it all together. Turning toward Ian, I prop my hip on the counter, bring the straw to my lips, and suck down his cream like it’s the best-tasting milkshake I’ve ever had.
A dried chunk hits the back of my throat, and I cough, feeling it float around my mouth. It settles between my back teeth, and I gnaw on it until it’s soft enough to swallow. Ian says nothing. He just watches me slurp his population paste down my gullet with a pride in his eyes I’ve never seen in anyone’s before.
“I’ve figured out how to stop you from disappearing,” I say, and he perks up at that, straightening to his full height.
“Did ye? How?” He steps closer, his hands rubbing together in front of him.
I slurp some more baby gravy before setting the jar down. “Do you want to stay here forever? I don’t think you’ll ever be able to go back to your world.”
There’s not a moment of hesitation as he says, “Yes. I want to be by ye side until my dying breath. Ye own me, body and soul. In this life and every life after, I am yours to command. I am yours to love.”
My heart hammers in my chest at his words, and my throat tightens so much, I swear it’s about to close. Tears burn my eyes as I reach for him, letting him gather me in a tight, comforting hug.
“I’m in love with ye, lass. Have been since the second I laid eyes on ye.”
“I love you too, Ian.” I nuzzle against his furry chest, his hair tickling my nose until I have to sneeze. He gives me no time to recover before his mouth presses against mine in a bruising kiss.
Our tongues battle for dominance, the taste of his salty release still coating my tongue. He groans at his musky flavor and wraps his lips around my tongue, sucking the last of his juices off it.
“What must we do for me to stay here forever?” he asks, breathing heavily. He rests his forehead against mine, and I squeeze my eyes shut as I sink into his comfort and warmth.
“We must make love,” I whisper. He stiffens and pulls away. I already know what he’s going to say, so I continue before he can get a word out. “We can do a handfast ceremony right now. No need to wait for the courthouse Monday. We can do this right here, right this second, and you can be inside me in a few minutes.”
Again, no hesitation, as he gives me a firm nod, full of determination. He steps back, his chest expanding as he takes a deep breath. “Let’s do it now, then.” He waves his arm toward the living room, and I look around.
I never thought my little, messy home would one day be the place I got married. It was never supposed to be. But here I am, ready to kneel on the stained carpet, tie a rope around our wrists, recite some ancient words, and marry this man.
This perfect, fictional man.
No, not fictional. Not anymore.
He’s real .
And he’s mine .
We take a few minutes separately to get dressed in something appropriate. Even though it doesn’t matter, because we won’t be wearing the clothes for long, we still want to look our best for such a monumental moment.
I find a dress in the back of my closet—one that barely zips up but makes my tits look incredible. After dressing, I make my way to the living room and sink onto the couch, looking around the room like it’s the first time I’ve ever seen it.
The rope now sits on the coffee table, the same colors as his tartan. Blues, greens, reds, and whites intertwine together, much like our bodies will later.
Then the door opens, and Ian emerges. He’s dressed how I first saw him—how I fell in love with him. In his billowing white shirt, that’s slightly dirty and stained, and smells rank, but is perfect. However, it’s his kilt that takes my breath away. The way it makes him look impossibly taller, and somehow even more gorgeous is mind-boggling.
He steps into the center of the room and extends his hand to me. There’s just a moment of hesitation on my part, and of course he notices. “What is it?” he murmurs, his voice a lover’s whisper.
“You’re sure about this?” I softly ask. “About us?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
His words are fierce; they’re full of all the undying love this miraculous man has for me, and butterflies erupt in my belly.
How did I get so lucky?
With a deep breath, I slide my palm against his, letting him pull me to my feet. I stand just a few inches in front of him, following his lead for once. In this moment, I feel lost. I feel unsure. I don’t know what to do—but he does.
Gently, he guides me to my knees. As I kneel, I watch him light the few candles around the room before turning the big light off. A soft orange glow dances across his features as he drops to his knees before me.
His hands find mine, and he gives me the gentlest squeeze, as if asking, “ Are you ready? ”
I lean forward and press my lips against his in response. The flavor of his spunk still lingers on my tongue—it’s a flavor I hope will always fill my mouth.
Without a word, he grabs the rope from the table and lifts our hands between us. “Repeat after me,” he mutters. My heart thunders against my ribcage as I watch him unwrap the rope.
In a language I don’t know, he begins to speak. His voice is low, nothing but a soft rumble deep in his chest. My mouth forms the words as if I’ve spoken them a million times, but in reality, it’s the first time they’ve ever left my lips.
But every word, every roll of the R’s, every sound made in the back of my throat…everything feels right. It all feels perfect. Like it’s a language I’ve known all along.
It’s him I’ve known all along, though. Even if I never dreamed of having my book boyfriend come to life, he’s always been a part of me. He’s always been inside me. He’s always been a part of my soul.
My soulmate.
A long blade pierces my skin, and a bead of crimson flows to the surface. He does the same to his wrist before pressing our wounds against each other, our lifeblood flowing together until we’re one. The silky, multi-colored strands glide against my skin as he wraps the rope around our combined hands.
Again, his deep, rumbling voice hits highs and lows, like the rolling hills of the Highlands. I say the words as if I’m in a trance. They settle over me, through me.
I’ve never felt more whole in my life.
He finally stops speaking, and silence falls over the room like a thick blanket. We stare at each other, his glowing green orbs spearing me right in the heart.
“Is that it?” I breathe, my chest heaving with every whispered word.
“That’s it.”
There’s just a brief second of pause, a moment where we’re suspended in time, letting our new reality settle over us. Then I grip the rope and yank it off our wrists.
“Finally,” I groan, my lips crashing against his. “You can shag me now.”