Chapter Seven #2
He watched me decide as I stood there looking at him.
He was waiting, and I wondered in an almost detached kind of way what he would do if I declined.
I knew he wouldn’t force me, but he’d have been…
disappointed in me? Was that the right word?
He’d have thought I was braver than that, wouldn’t he?
I wasn’t na?ve enough to believe this was any more than it was.
I was a bargain he’d made with my natural father, and Faeries took bargains very seriously.
Not as much as the Elves, but still seriously indeed.
I’d never thought of myself as any kind of bargain or prize, but if that was truly what he thought I was, then he had a far better opinion of me than I did of myself.
And why would I not want that in my life?
He watched me closely, as I revealed my upper body to him by pulling off my tunic and again as I slipped down the linen trousers underneath.
Since I wasn’t wearing anything under them, I was now fully exposed to him, and a little shiver of excitement ran through me as he looked up and down my moon pale body, and it was then that I saw him notice my scars.
They were pretty hard to miss, come to think of it, especially standing here in the firelight.
He came closer until he was almost touching me and his hand reached out to lightly trace the ghostly, silver lines on my chest. They’d been there since I was five years old, so they were faded to the point that they could only be seen if a person were to be standing close, like Fionn was, and there was light shining directly on me. He glanced up at my face.
“What happened here, mo stór?”
“My mother killed herself when I was a little boy, and she wanted to take me with her. She tried to cut out my heart.”
He literally flinched, but very slightly as if not to frighten me, and his eyes widened. They became so dark they turned almost black, or maybe that was a trick of the light. It took him a moment to process what I’d said, and probably to know how to respond, but finally he looked up into my eyes.
“Why would your mother try to kill her own child?”
“She wasn’t like other people. She was truly moonstruck, and I think she wasn’t really responsible for all the things that she said and did.
She was determined to die that day and wanted to take me with her.
I don’t know if anyone ever really knew why or will ever know.
She said it was because we were both evil.
But I was only five and when I refused to go into the river with her, she pulled out her athame and struck me in the chest. I fell down and she fell on top of me and tried to dig my heart out of my chest, but her weapon was mostly ceremonial and wouldn’t cut deeply enough.
A woodcutter working nearby in the forest heard my screams and came to investigate.
He stopped her attack, and he kicked her away from me.
She flung herself into the river then, and he picked me up and ran for help. ”
“You were lucky he was nearby.”
I gave him a sad, little smile. “Perhaps if I’d been truly lucky, it wouldn’t have happened in the first place. I remember how much it hurt and how ill I was for a really long time afterward.”
He surprised me by leaning over to gently brush his lips over the scars on my chest, tracing the faint, white markings with his tongue. I was shocked that he seemed to so easily tear down all my defenses and leave me breathing hard and reveling in his every touch.
He began kissing me, not on my lips but all over my neck and chest and eventually trailing down even lower. When he reached down to take my balls and hold them in his hand as he stared directly into my eyes, I was far too gone to protest.
“You belong to me now, Braden,” he told me. “Make no mistake about that. And no one will ever hurt you again.”
“Then you belong to me too,” I whispered back to him, a little shocked that I had the nerve to say it. He surprised me by smiling, though, and finally he kissed me full on the lips. It was brief, but he’d done it.
“It seems as if I might, at that. What should we do about it?”
“I-I don’t know.” I looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “I’ve never really been with anyone before. Not like this, I mean.”
His hand stopped the undeniably pleasurable thing it was doing, and he stared down into my face. “Not even with a woman?”
I shook my head. “No. Not really. I’ve had women put their mouths on me a few times.
Down there on my... you know. At taverns where I stopped on my trade routes.
But nothing more. It was always transactional and just their mouths.
I’m not bold in that way and my uncle Leofric warned me about what he called St. Anthony’s Fire, and the burning and the rashes I could get from sex with strangers.
And I was always afraid of it, so I never did it much.
Leofric said I should get myself a good, clean girl as my wife and I’d be safe.
He said that what I was doing should be all right in the meantime. ”
“Perhaps, though not always. Still, it was good of your uncle to try and watch out for you.” He began to stroke my naked pintel, which was what my uncle had taught me to call it—other men I knew called it a cock.
I squirmed under his attention, not knowing if I wanted him to leave me alone or keep going and going and never, ever stop.
He brushed his thumb over the slit on top, and I almost cried out.
He swallowed my gasps of shock along with my breath and pulled his head back long enough to allow me to breathe a little.
“You’re all right, a chuisle. Try to relax.
” He eased me back on the bed and resumed kissing me, destroying my last defenses and sweeping them away like playing cards laid out on a table.
He told me to turn over after a while and get on my knees.
He said it would be more comfortable for me, though I was embarrassed by that position, and I didn’t like it one bit.
Then he did something incredible by licking his tongue right over my exposed hole.
I thought I would faint or die or something, and I opened my mouth to protest or scream—I wasn’t sure which—but it came out a moan.
He followed that up by rubbing oil on me there and making me hold that position until I thought I’d truly die from embarrassment and along about that time was probably when I truly lost my mind.
He had a whole bottle of oil that he got from the dresser beside me and used on his fingers.
He even dribbled some down over me back there.
I moaned again, long and loud, and tried to hide my face on the pillow.
There was a great deal of mindless begging, and it wasn’t that he should stop either.
I felt him slip his free hand under my stomach as if to hold me in place if I tried to get away.
I didn’t, and never even thought of doing it, to be honest. There was nowhere I’d rather be.
He pushed one finger up inside me, crooking it slightly.
That burned even with the oil, but as he found the place he was looking for and swept his long finger over it, a final and devastating assault, I gave a long, loud cry.
My body began to do the thing it did when I was alone in my bed and I touched myself down there—only this time the straining and shaking were more intense, and I truly thought I might die from it.
He stroked me on my pintel again and I begged him to stop—or keep going.
Or to do both at the same time. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
Then, as my head fell down on the pillow again, he pulled his hand away, cupping my chin and turning up my face to kiss his lips.
I think I swooned, though I’d never done that in my life before this.
He leaned up beside me on the bed and continued to massage me down there at my back entrance and he put more oil on me too, though I thought I might slip off the bed if he used much more.
And then I felt him nudging something hot, hard and covered with the oil against me.
Was it his fingers again? No, this felt different—and much larger—but I surrendered and relaxed into whatever he wanted to do to me.
He asked if I was all right, and I nodded yes, though that was a total lie.
He kept on massaging and caressing me, even rubbing my ass and telling me how “pretty and round it was.” I prayed to a god I didn’t really believe in that this bed I was on might turn into a hole and open to swallow me up.
I tried to calm down, but I was feeling things I’d never felt before.
And never even imagined. He told me to spread my legs a bit and pulled me up closer to him.
I could imagine finally what that nudge had meant and what he was about to do, and I figured it would hurt.
I’d gotten a glimpse of his cock, and it was big.
But I would do this for him, because he’d given me so much pleasure already, and it was only right that I return the favor.
Another oily finger slipped inside me, still preparing me, and I groaned.
How could that feel so good and bad at the same time?
At the same time, Fionn took my hard and aching cock in his other hand and began to slide his fist up and down over it.
I thought I’d be too sensitive, but instead I started leaking harder.
I heard myself make a whimpering noise I didn’t think I’d ever made before and relaxed totally in his arms. I groaned at the burn and the feeling of being too full of his fingers.
He increased the speed of his hand on me and since the fingers in my ass weren’t moving for the moment, I allowed myself to relax again and concentrate on what was happening elsewhere.