Strange Cravings #2
He grabbed the crown of her head and sent a neuroinhibitory pulse through her, snatching her from this fucking panic.
He sent a second pulse behind it, layering it with quantum parameters that would prevent her from accessing her gift accidentally.
Or while emotionally unstable. Or fucking pregnant.
God help me. Help me fucking help her!
He scooped her limp body up, his breaths ragged as he carried her to the bed. He held her close to him, staring at his beautiful angel now safe from the ugly fears and lies in her pretty head.
He laid her gently down, remembering she preferred being on her side. He slid his fingers along her forehead, moving a single ebony lock over her shoulder. He drew her hand to his mouth and kissed the palm, his eyes drifting shut as he captured her exact essence of her with his lips.
He placed her hand on her womb and pulled the covers up, tucking them around her.
The notepad caught his gaze. He dragged it to him, still not wanting to know.
He took it to the desk and sat.
The first words hit him in the chest. Outrageously emotional.
His sweet angel.
Lately, my hunger and nausea seem to have emotions.
Or my emotions have hungers and nausea? So weird.
When I get angry, I get very hungry and nauseated at the same time.
Like my mind and body are fighting. When I get sad, I get nauseated and hungry but in the opposite order.
I can’t eat and I can’t not eat. I decided I needed to eat, but then I threw up.
Thankfully this only happened once. Maybe it’s a pregnancy glitch.
Probably not a thing. But nothing happening is really a thing. Except our son.
Bishop stared at those amazing words till tears blurred them.
He blinked, clearing his vision. Since I’ve been back home, my sense of smell has changed.
Back home. He stared at those two words, realizing how real they were. How real she was. He still couldn’t believe she’d chosen him. His life, his land, all of it. Thank you God.
I know this will sound like something out of a dirty book but I’m pretty sure I can smell your arousal. And it smells like warm, spicy, sweet oil and… other things I have no word for.
His eternal lust for her immediately boiled.
The term ‘turned on’ is so-so accurate.
He smiled at the so-so. She was becoming Cajun.
My body literally ‘turns on’. I remember reading about a mother’s milk letting down in nursing when the baby cries. Her milk ‘lets down’ or enters her breasts and even leaks out! How cool is that! Unless you’re in public and your clothes start blooming with wet circles on your tits!
Fuck, even that aroused him. Wonder what her milk would taste like? He’d surely find out. Maybe sweet. Like her. Could be dessert. After he ate her pussy.
This arousal thing reminds me of that. I smell you and my eyes water, my mouth waters, my pores sweat and my… you know what does you know what!
“Fucking angel,” he whispered, his entire being aching for her.
I know sore nipples is normal but with you, they hurt when you walk in the room or when your eyes meet mine.
Fuck, her tits were surely a thing all by themselves. He needed to lick them more often. She was fucking neglected.
Peeing. My God, it’s getting crazy. Remember how I said my hungers are emotional? Well, so is my bladder. I get angry, I need to pee. I get sad, I need to pee. I get scared—pee. I can drink a gallon of water and not pee, not until some emotion happens. So so weird!
Yes, he agreed. He needed to know the why to every one of these even if they didn’t sound dangerous.
Smells. That’s a whole category lately. Death in wood, metal in blood. Decay. Even in living things. I smelled Katrina’s lie yesterday. It smelled like burning rubber.
Bishop raised his gaze to the bed a few seconds. If that bitch wasn’t his daughter’s mother, she’d be so so long fucking gone.
Now he needed to find out what she lied about.
Pretty sure our son is going to be a dancer. He has rhythm! When I get the hiccups, he kicks me in these… patterns, I guess. But they feel intentional and specific. Intelligent. Maybe not a dancer but a music composer?
Bishop’s smile was huge now. Also at realizing why her list was five pages long. More like a sweet, rambling diary that seemed to be written to him.
Oh, what if it’s not rhythm but Morse Code!
I should test that theory. He could be trying to talk to me!
Or you! Wouldn’t it be cool? I could transcribe these hiccup notes and pass them to you when nobody is looking.
Maybe they’re formulas. Or blueprints! I could get jealous and you would write me notes so I’m not sad-sad?
Bishop chuckled quietly while his Petite joy made its way to the head of his dick.
He read through the rest of her list, finding nothing terribly wrong but nothing terribly right. But every bit was terribly fucking sweet.
He opened the drawer and paused. He pulled out the Kama Sutra book and returned her notepad. He set the book on the desk, wanting it where he could see it. A reminder of what their life was supposed to be about. Their road map back to normal.
He got up and found his phone in his jeans and texted the group chat.
Gonna be an hour late. Let the Kings know.
He turned the lights out, his all-year-long-Christmas ones casting a warm glow on his now favorite place in the world.
His childhood bedroom with his beautiful, sweet wife he was so fucking crazy about.
His shack was his other favorite place with her.
He needed to bring her back there, away from everything.
Pick up exactly where they’d left off in that heaven.
Him cooking every meal for her, feeding her.
Fucking her all day and all fucking night in every single place possible in their private paradise.
He wanted to raise their son there. Just the three of them.
Ninety percent of the time. He’d teach him to fish.
And hunt. Survive off the land. Teach him how to love and take care of nature so that it loved and took care of him.
He’d show him how to love a woman. And his Mah-Mah would show him how a woman should love a man. He’d become the very best of them.
And if he was a she…. Bishop’s heart smiled at the idea of a tiny Beth, climbing in bed and carefully wrapping himself around his wife then pulling the covers over them.
“Mmmmm.” She moaned, pulling his arm against her chest and tucking his fist under her chin. The memory of her doing that their first nights together stoked his ravenous hunger.
He stared at her. Every inch of glowing skin in the Christmas lights. “I love you Beth,” he whispered, moving her hair away from her ear with his mouth then kissing the shell. “You’re my angel, you know that?”
“Mmmm.”
The tiny moan unleashed a bone-deep hunger in him.
He stroked her womb and she covered his hand with hers and moved it to her pussy, grinding her ass into his cock.
Fuck, here they go.
He needed to help her control her gifts. She was capable. He remembered her little fantasies of him bossing her around. He slid his fingers between her folds, his breaths shuddering out with her nasty moan. “I want you to be my good girl and do exactly what I tell you.”
“Oh God yes,” she gushed, hooking her leg over his hip, opening for him.
He stroked her inner thigh, pulling her leg higher over his hip, opening her wider. “What do you say to me, Angel?”
“Oh Bishop! Yes, yes! Make me be so nasty just for you.”
Mmmmmmm fuck.
“I want to do whatever you tell me. Fuck my pussy with your fingers, I need to fuck so bad.”
“Lay on me,” he urged. “Your back against my chest.”
He helped her straddle his body, guiding her pretty ass to his hips and pulling her back against him. He drew his knees up and placed her legs on either side of them then opened wide.
“Oh Bishop,” she gasped at the position, her hand between their legs, pressing the length of his cock against her pussy.
“Play with those fucking tits,” he ordered, palming her inner thighs then holding his cock against her.
“Bishop,” she moaned, flicking her hips, fingers squeezing her full breasts.
“Use your right hand to finger your pussy,” he whispered at her ear. “Let me fucking hear how wet I’ve made you.”
She didn’t waste a second, sinking her sweet fingers into her slick heat, hips flicking as she fucked it. “It’s so wet.”
“Let me fucking taste,” he breathed, opening his legs wider as she brought her wet fingers to his mouth.
He grabbed her hand and sucked, his lust hard and thick with his groan.
“Oh God,” she whimpered, sliding her fingers along the tips of his canines, bringing a hungry growl in his chest. “I need it,” she panted as he lowered her hand back between her legs.
“Do it again,” he ordered, his breaths unsteady. “Fuck it deep for me.”
He held his cock against her again, feeling her tiny hand jabbing while covering her hand with his other one, helping her go deeper. “I want to fuck you,” she pled, her need battering his self-control.
“I want you to do as you’re told,” he shuddered at her ear. “Use your other hand on the head of my dick.”
Her immediate obedience drew his seethe with the roll of his hips.
“Fuck, angel,” he strained, pulling her fingers back to his mouth and sucking her pussy off with a thick moan. “Ride my fucking cock,” he ordered, winded and out of his fucking mind.
He helped her up and moved her into position, her knees straddling his hips. He held his cock tall for her, shoving the pillow under his head. “Don’t be sweet about it baby,” he ordered. “Fuck my cock like it needs to be fucked, like I want it fucked.”
“Bishop!”
She positioned him at her entrance and pumped.
“Yeah baby, suck the head with your pussy just like that.” He moved onto his elbows, watching her fuck the tip of his dick. He flicked his hips and her head fell back with a gasp. “Squeeze those fucking tits while you fuck me.”