Epilogue
MERCY
“Run, Witchling…”
My chest heaves with exertion, air sharp and chilled stitching my lungs as branches crackle and pop under my frantic steps.
Adrenaline spikes my blood, and I can't tell if the shake in my knees is from all the running or the dozen or so denied orgasms I've been lovingly subjected to.
The taste of his pre-cum still lingers on my lips, all spiced pumpkin and cinnamon and clove, a Cast he weaves every year for this very event.
In the darkness, I hear him, my hunter, my Silas, his laughter chasing my progression through the wood.
He plays with me, coiled shadows reaching from the darkness. He knows exactly where I will go.
Drives me there with every step.
I bust through the thickets into a moonlit field heavy with gourds and pumpkins sprawling fat on their vines and nearly sob with relief.
Hours of catch and release, of extreme pleasure and crushing denial leads to this.
Mist curls around my bare ankles, clinging low to the ground, the air rich with earth and rot, a sweet perfume of autumn's death.
I skid to a stop, the patch vast and far spread, the perfect trap to ensnare my body for the hunter waiting in the shadows.
A chill runs down my spine, thighs slick and sticky from being fucked against the trees, the forest floor, heightening my anticipation, my body thrilled with the inevitability of it.
Of him.
Before I can change course, arms wrap tightly around me, tackling my body to the soft earth, an enormous weight pinning me down.
I struggle, laughing breathlessly even as my pulse races, but Silas' mouth finds mine and the fight bleeds quickly into fire.
Our tongues dance, and he feeds me my own taste, kissing me with fervor until I'm nearly breathless.
Consuming.
His fingers tangle in my tresses, my nails scrape over his skin, the night pressing around us as we devour the wild pull of our Bond, of the connection anchored between us.
Fog swirls and blankets our entwined bodies as Silas shifts, positioning himself between my legs.
His chest is bare, and sculpted, covered in colorful inks.
He is art, and my eyes drink him down as my hands push the half-buttoned jeans down and over his hips.
He knows what I want, what my body needs, and he breaks me of it, piece by piece, until I'm little more than a blissful mess of pleasure.
I love pushing his resolve, seeing how much it takes to break Silas' control, and he loves to let me dig my own grave.
He's nearly fucked the fight from me, but I give him what little I've got left.
"You cheated," I accuse as he blankets my body, capturing my lips and condemnations. I moan against him, his hand curling around my thigh, lifting to press my knee against my chest.
"I did no such thing, I've heard elephants sneak better than you just did," he fires back, lifting up the black, milkmaid style dress I'm wearing.
He groans, biting his lip when he finds me bare beneath it, as though his hands hand't ripped my panties off hours ago.
"Yes, it's looking more and more like you weren't trying to run at all," he murmurs.
"Fuck you," I roll my eyes, and his jaw ticks, catching my attitude. His grip turns to stone in my hair, tugging at the root and I arch for him, exposing my neck as his eyes narrow.
"Oh, you're about to," he growls, low and deadly. He teases the head of his cock over my clit, and warmth spreads through my body as my core clenches around nothing. I'm empty and aching for him, but he takes his time teasing, drawing it out.
My legs tremble, thighs twitching, my ass still smarting from a parting slap that sent me on my way drenched for him.
"Do you need a map to figure out where it all goes?" I snap.
His eyebrow arches as he slides down and rocks his hips up, filling me in a single, brutal thrust that curls my toes and sends me gasping against him.
"You were saying, Witchling?" he says, so gentle and condescending all at once, and Gods, I forget that I'm supposed to be pushing his buttons.
All I can feel is how full of him I am, the pull and drag of his cock as he settles home.
His free hand wanders up, pulling down the hem of my dress, exposing my breasts to the cold air and his hot, waiting mouth.
His tongue traces around the peak and I moan, clenching around the length still buried inside of me.
Silas doesn't move, just stays buried, flesh to flesh and I need more. I try to buck my hips, but he growls, teeth biting against the swell of my breast. I cry out, and he swirls his tongue around the hurt, soothing it.
"I should keep you like this, warming my cock, until the sun rises." He muses, contemplating his options and the threat of it alone has me desperate. A deluge of arousal gushes around his cock from me, the fit too tight, too perfect, not nearly enough.
"No!" I whine, staring up into the depths of his green eyes. His handsome face contorts into a mocking pout, hips swiveling in shallow thrusts.
"Should have thought about that before your mouth decided to test me today," both hands slide up and over my nipples, squeezing, scraping.
He's so deep, too rooted, every part of him pressed against the most sensitive parts of me.
I whimper, and he shushes me, sweet words falling against my cheek and temple, dragging along my jaw with drugging kisses.
"You'll take what I give you, Witchling.
You'll take it, and you'll thank me for it," he instructs, and I nod, because I will.
I willingly break for him, knowing that he will absolutely edge me all night like this.
"P-please," I pant the fight extinguishing completely, and I'm rewarded with a long, torturously slow thrust. His lips tip in a smirk as my body responds, arching and chasing as he pulls out to the thick head, leaving me hollow as he holds himself there.
My mind stills, quiets, the power of him an extended hand, patiently waiting for my submission.
I hand it to him, full of trust and adoration.
"There she is," he praises, "See how good it feels when you let go?
" Silas moves, his thrusts the perfect depth, the most balanced pressure, our bodies fitting together in their most natural state.
His fingers twine with me, and he pins my hand with his near my head, giving me more of what I need with every pant and moan.
I feel the fire warm deep and low in my belly, muscles tensing as the wave crests inside of me, but I don't chase it.
I let it build, with every breath we share, sweat and skin and magic binding us together.
"My perfect Witchling. Come, wife, show me how prettily you shatter. "
His words are an ignition, a divine rite as I shake apart beneath him, safe in his care as he whispers how precious I am, how lovely and powerful I feel around his cock.
Outside, there's a big, loud world, the loudest it's ever been, but in here, there is only Silas and me, only the moon and connection as ancient as the realms. He waits for my body to ease back to earth before finding his own pleasure.
Warmth floods me, soothing comfort that bolsters my power, his offering to me.
He stills, then flips us so I'm resting, a boneless mess with my ear pressed to his heartbeat.
Silas strokes my hair, our ankles twisted in vines, and we settle there, nestled naked between the pumpkins with soil-streaked skin.
We soak up the magic and sanctity of this moment. Soak up the essence of our enduring connection.
We are Bound to one another, roots of blood and sacrifice and bone under the Harvest Moon.