8. Surrender #3
“Give me your cum,” I said. “I want to feel it flooding my throat. I want to swallow every drop while you watch me take it.”
I leaned closer, lips brushing teasingly against the flushed head as I continued stroking him firmly.
“Give it to me, my High Commander,” I begged, eyes still locked on his. “Flood my throat with your hot cum.”
I held his gaze for one heartbeat longer, then leaned forward and took him back into my mouth, wrapping my lips around the throbbing head and sliding down as far as I could. I sucked him with slow, wet pulls, my tongue swirling along the underside while my hands continued stroking the heavy length.
My fingers soon wandered higher, sliding up over his hips and onto the hard ridges of his abs. I could feel every ripple and cut of muscle flexing and tightening under my palms with each ragged breath he took, the power in his body making my own pulse throb even harder.
His breathing turned rough and uneven.
A low, guttural groan escaped him as his hand slid deeper into my hair. His cock pulsed once, twice, then he came hard. Hot salty spurts flooded my mouth as he throbbed against my tongue.
I moaned around him and swallowed, taking every drop while I kept sucking gently through his release, savoring the salty taste of him until the last tremor faded.
He drew me to my feet.
We stood in front of the fire, both of us naked and breathing hard, the heat of the hearth at my back and the heat of him in front of me.
One arm went beneath my thighs, the other firm across my back, and suddenly the floor was gone.
I made a small, involuntary sound against his shoulder.
He carried me the few steps to the bed, naked against his chest, his hands firm beneath me, and the effortless certainty of it made several parts of me begin preparing for a second engagement.
He laid me down on the sheets and settled beside me, the hearth still roaring warmly beside us, casting flickering gold across our bare skin.
I curled against his side, my hand resting on his muscled chest, fingers gently tracing the hard ridges and the faint scars that marked his body.
His hand covered mine. His thumb moved slowly over my knuckles.
After a long moment, he spoke.
“Before we go further than this, there is something you need to understand.”
Skip looked up at the ceiling and went still as he assembled his thoughts.
“In Mytharo,” he said carefully, “a man should not fully take a woman until she has been claimed. The claiming begins when I give you my ring—the kind given to every man on his eighteenth birthday, consecrated by a mage. When I place it on your finger, the bond opens between us. Present, alive, already transmitting. But it does not seal until I am buried inside you and give you everything. Until you feel me finish, completely, deep inside you. That is the moment Yravel witnesses it. That is the moment it becomes permanent. That is the moment the claiming is consummated. From that moment, I will feel what you feel—your joy, your grief, your desire—and you will feel mine. For the rest of our lives, without end.”
Until you feel me finish, completely, deep inside you.
Something happened in my body at those words. It had nothing to do with theology. It had everything to do with the fact that I was lying on his chest with nothing between us, while he described a sacred bond that would be sealed by him finishing deep inside me.
Irrevocably. A bond that would last for the rest of our lives.
Yravel, I was beginning to suspect, had seen my search history. This explained several things.
“That act is also the moment a child may be conceived. You should understand something about this world. We do not consider desire shameful. What you want, what your body wants, what you reach for in the dark. These are not things Mytharo asks you to hide or manage or apologize for. Desire is Yravel’s first principle. ”
His thumb moved once against my skin, slow and thoughtful, as if he were choosing the next words with care.
“But fertility is Yravel’s second principle, and it is equally sacred. Life itself. The capacity to create it. The act that can bring a child into the world is the most sacred act there is, which is why it must be the act that seals the bond. Not despite the desire involved. Because of it.”
His eyes held mine then, steady and serious.
“That is why it cannot be casual. That is why I am telling you now.”
His hand rested at my waist, warm and still.
“Others choose differently. Some take lovers without the bond. Some wait. Some do not. Their choices are their own, and I do not judge them for it.”
His eyes stayed on mine.
“But I am a man of tradition. For me, to enter a woman in that way is not only pleasure. It is a vow made with the body. I do not take that step unless I mean to bind my life to hers.”
I blinked, still lazily tracing the ridges of his chest.
No penetration before the claiming. But everything else is permitted.
I could work with that. I could absolutely work with that.
“I respect your traditions,” I said solemnly.
His eyes narrowed slightly, which suggested he was learning to identify when I was about to become a problem.
I let my hand drift lower.
“In the interest of cultural accuracy,” I continued, “I do need a comprehensive list of permitted acts.”
Skip laughed then, low and warm, his hand closing around my wrist.
“A list would take too long,” he said.
His thumb moved once against my pulse.
“And I would rather show you.”
Then he kissed me.
Slowly. Deeply. With patience that suggested the list was, in fact, extensive, and he intended to be very thorough.
When he finally let me breathe again, my thoughts returned, unfortunately, to the theological implications.
I registered, in the practical corner of my mind that never fully clocks out, the reason for the restriction.
It was reproductive. The claiming provided the sanctioned context for conception.
The act that could create life was reserved for the bond that made it sacred.
This was, theologically speaking, internally consistent.
It also meant that the one variable I would normally manage with a small white pill, taken every morning since 2010, was now being managed by ancient Mytharo custom.