Chapter 2 Daesra #3
I can sense no one coming, but I step to the side with a flourishing gesture as if to put her on display.
“Daesra!” she cries, writhing in protest, trying and failing to hide her nakedness even as I hear the desire rise in her voice. The sound of my name in that timbre makes me ever harder.
I click my tongue at her. “We can’t have you shouting for help now, can we?
” I stalk back over to her, a strip of cloth materializing in my hand.
Other than my sword, which is my birthright, I can no longer make objects appear from thin air in exchange for my daemonic blood.
Now my godly blood, despite being gold, is seemingly worthless.
My pain, useless. For this trick, I pull the material from my own tunic, but at least without leaving a ragged edge.
“Not before this god has his way with you. I wouldn’t want to have to kill anyone who interrupts. ”
True worry flickers over her features, but they sink into a heady look of dazed submission when I force the strip of cloth into her mouth and bind it tightly behind her head, snagging her hair and making her groan.
A finely tuned lyre plucked by expert hands couldn’t make a more exquisite sound. And I’m not done yet. I want to hear her scream behind her gag.
Normally I would feast between her thighs first, but I truly don’t want anyone seeing me in my godly form like this, never mind Sadaré’s nakedness, and my desire is nearly splitting my skin. So I jerk one of her legs up, tucking my arm under her knee, and part my tunic with my other hand.
I let her get a full look at me as I stroke myself. Her eyes widen as I stretch and widen.
“Yes, this is for you,” I growl. “And you’re going to take it, all of it, like the good little witch you are.”
I position myself at her opening and ease into her slowly, finding her ready and waiting.
Still, her eyes pop ever wider as I fit myself inside.
The ridges along my length didn’t change with the rest of me when I became a god.
But I can change myself. Those ridges start to move within her.
She lets out a choked, stuttering sound before I’ve even shifted my hips again.
When I thrust for the first time, she gives me the scream I was waiting for.
The sound only goads me, and I thrust harder, making her throw her head back and strain against her immovable bonds, the tendons in her slender arms standing out against her skin.
Her body in tension is one of the most beautiful sights on earth.
So I make it ever tenser, winding her tighter and tighter with each thrust, until she breaks around me, shuddering, her eyes rolling back in her head as she falls limp against her bonds.
Her head lolls, her chin coated in a lovely shine below the cloth wedged between her teeth, when we both hear it. The sound of hoofbeats. Her head jerks up, her eyes focusing in alarm.
When the horse rounds the bend, coming from the direction we were headed, the rider finds us standing near the tree, entirely composed.
At least Sadaré is free from the tree and the gag, her tunic whole and properly in place, complete with the rope harness around her chest, and I look like a mortal again.
She leans heavily against my arm, her shaky legs only evident to me as I support her.
She’s also shaking with silent laughter.
He pulls up short when he spots us, and Sadaré and I share a last heavy-lidded, knowing glance, a smile playing on her lips, before we face him.
“Sire,” he calls. “You have a visitor.”
He’s one of our harvesters. Even though he addressed me, it’s Sadaré who responds, mustering volume into her words with some effort. Her throat sounds parched. “Who? Who has come?”
He shrugs, more casual with her than he was with me. “No one I know, but he’s awaiting your arrival.”
“Then dismount,” I snap at him, and gesture to the cart and waiting donkeys. “You can take this home, behind us.” I smile down at Sadaré and whisper for her ears only, “Riding with me will hurt, I hope.”
INDEED, SADARé WINCES AS SHE dismounts from the saddle in front of our small stable.
She still crouches down for Pogli, who is already outside, waiting to greet us as he always has the few times we’ve ventured away.
He’s nervous, whining, his piggy tail wiggling madly and his stubby wings puffed out, but I attribute that to being left alone.
When she’s finished, I give him my own attentions, rubbing my thumbs over his silky ears and flat, wrinkly face to soothe him, smoothing his little lion’s mane under my palms. His wings flutter but eventually tuck back against his sides.
“You go,” I say, looking up at Sadaré. “You greet our guest, and I’ll follow after I take care of the horse. You and I both know who runs this place, and it’s time everyone else knew it.”
Her smile is easy and confident, bright in the afternoon sunlight. “As you wish.”
The words make hunger stir in my belly once more—but there will be time to satisfy my wishes later.
I take the proper care unsaddling and brushing the horse, Pogli leaping around my feet as if to get my attention. Still, I don’t head for the house immediately, stopping first by our outdoor cellar for a jug of wine. I’m sure our guest would like some, whoever he is.
When I open the door and cross the threshold of our home, Sadaré’s smiling kisses still fresh on my lips, I find no guest.
Only her, on the floor, blanketed in shadow and silence beneath the window.
The clay handle slips from my fingers, and the jug shatters at my feet, splattering wine like blood.
There’s no blood where she lies sprawled over the stone, as if she has merely fainted. Her skin appears unblemished, perfect as if in sleep. But her green eyes are open and fixed on the roof beams, unseeing. Her chest, unbreathing.
My own eyes see what I refuse to believe.
Sadaré is dead.