9 - Ariadne #3
The vine withers the moment Iona’s hips move again in earnest, reducing her to a constrained mess of conflicting desires.
She is so sensitive now, her heartbeat pulsing between her legs.
She tries breathing through her nose, but it quickly proves impossible when Iona abruptly slows her movements yet again, ruining both of their pleasure mere moments before they can reach it.
“Iona,” Ariadne grits out.
“Yield!”
“I will not-” She moans when Iona presses into her again, mercilessly, until she can no longer hide her state of exquisite torment. Gasping and pulling against her bindings, a sheen of sweat beads on her chest, her forehead, as she scrunches her eyes shut.
On a lark, she slips into Iona’s thoughts, finding a mixture of enthusiastic fascination and acute frustration at the forefront, along with the hazy recollection of Ariadne whimpering on her knees at Rebekka’s party.
Seeing how she’d looked through Iona’s eyes makes her cheeks heat, hating how helpless she’d been, but some small part of her loves it, too.
Iona knows well that she is the only one who can relieve the burning ache inside, can draw this out for hours and leave Ariadne wanting in the end.
If Iona weren’t so desperate herself, her little moans growing increasingly wanton, Ariadne may have feared that outcome.
She leaves Iona’s mind and puts on a provoking grin.
“Not so easy, depriving yourself, is it, nymph?” Ariadne asks. “Insatiable thing that you are.”
Iona whimpers, her hips swiveling wildly, until she groans as she forces herself to slow yet again. “I can… I won’t stop until you yield.”
“I suspect you shall before I do,” Ariadne mocks her, making her voice low and sensual.
Iona shakes her head stubbornly. Even Ariadne has never waited this long without letting her have her pleasure. When next Iona forces herself to draw back, she pants heavily, her cheeks flushed, then slumps her shoulders, and stops.
For a fleeting moment, Ariadne thinks she may have gotten to her, but Iona lifts her hips and flips herself around. Iona’s cunt, glistening with her unmet desire, hovers above Ariadne’s head, bared to her avaricious gaze.
She cries out at the first drag of Iona’s tongue against her core, her inner muscles clenching deliciously, but a new sort of tantalization begins when she realizes that Iona has no intention of lowering her pelvis down, electing to keep her bottom raised high in the air, so that Ariadne can see her, but cannot touch or lick her.
“For fuck’s sake,” Ariadne mutters, painfully aware of how near she is to her breaking point.
You taste divine. Iona moans against her.
Ariadne strains against the vines, momentarily distracted when she realizes that they haven’t withered one single time, while her meager vine is brown and shriveled on the forest floor.
Iona suckles and licks at her without recourse, her hardened nipples almost tickling as they drag against Ariadne’s lower stomach. She looks down the length of Iona’s freckled body, trying to avoid looking up, but when Ariadne does hazard a glance, her mouth goes dry.
Iona’s arousal seeps from within her, a drop of it slipping from her folds and dripping down her inner thigh, leaving a glistening trail of wetness in its wake.
Transfixed, Ariadne's eyes follow the droplet, overcome with the need to lick it up, just as Iona sucks her pulsing flesh deep into her mouth.
“I… I…” Ariadne gasps, so close it will take her seconds before she…
Iona withdraws, teasing her with soft kisses and tender licks, and Ariadne’s exhalation is closer to a sob.
In a final, desperate attempt at pulling the wand free from Iona’s hair, Ariadne’s head begins to ache from the exertion, but no matter how hard she tries, she cannot position the vine at the right angle to latch on and pull the wand free.
It’s like threading a needle, but she is too far gone, beside herself with want, her concentration like a bowstring ready to snap.
“Ari,” Iona whimpers, pleading for a respite despite already having the power to do anything she wants, but she can still feel Ariadne’s pleasure through the bond, is only capable of depriving herself for so long, and Ariadne cannot deny her.
“Fine!” she says through gritted teeth, letting her furtive vine fall as she accepts defeat. “I yield! I surrender!”
Iona moans, a wild, exultant sound, as she eats Ariadne with abandon, and her own vines go slack. Ariadne wrenches her wrists free of them, reaching up to grip Iona’s hips and pull them down to her waiting mouth, as she’s so longed to do.
She can feel Iona trying to keep her pelvis suspended slightly, not willing to press her full weight down, but Ariadne will have none of it. She buries her face in Iona’s flood of desire, uncaring if Iona might smother her, for it would be a glorious death indeed.
She feasts, drinking deeply of her essence, and Iona cries out her pleasure, a few strokes of her tongue setting her off like a powder keg, taking Ariadne with her, and they let loose their passionate cries of utter relief as overwhelming sensations wash over them at last, leaving them boneless and sated.
With great effort, Iona lifts herself up just long enough to right herself and collapse against Ariadne’s chest. She trembles, burrowing in close as Ariadne wraps her arms around her, until their breathing slows and the only sound is the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze.
“I suppose… that was worth the effort,” Iona pants, her voice small but triumphant.
Ariadne lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’ve been a horrid influence on you.”
Iona giggles, and soon Ariadne cannot help but join her, their laughter peeling out into the lush forest. Curled up in a twisted pile of limbs, Iona presses her head to Ariadne’s chest to listen to her heart, which still beats slightly faster than normal, her limbs too heavy to lift just yet.
Silence lingers, and Ariadne’s muscles grow tense with displeasure, her bliss fading away far too soon. She waits for Iona to speak, knowing what she will ask.
“Shall we discuss the invitation? Or are we still avoiding the subject?” Iona asks, hesitant.
“No,” Ariadne says.
“No, we are not avoiding the subject or-”
“I do not wish to speak of it.”
The branches above them thin to show the position of the sun low in the sky.
“It is nearly nightfall,” Iona says softly.
“I’m aware of that,” Ariadne says.
Lifting herself onto her elbow, Iona says, “Look at me.”
But she cannot bear to, instead keeping her eyes on the sky and the clouds slowly moving overhead.
“We could ignore it,” Iona says with uncertainty. “Or invent some excuse to postpone. We could claim that I needed to prepare for the solstice tomorrow and could not spare the time.”
“That would be unwise,” Ariadne says.
“Why?” Iona asks. “I do not wish to set the precedent that we are at their beck and call.”
A smile threatens to form on Ariadne’s lips. “It is a dinner invitation, not a summons.”
Iona slumps on top of her. “It is more than that, and you know it.”
Pressing her lips against her fire touched hair, she holds Iona close, running fingertips along the ridges of her spine.
“This is an opportunity for you to foster a strategic alliance with a powerful sempiterna family,” Ariadne says, resenting how formal she sounds, but knowing well the truth of her words.
“I am not convinced that I should want them as allies,” Iona says.
“You do not want them as enemies,” Ariadne says solemnly. “You should not offend them.”
“I thought they were already offended by your refusal of the pendant,” Iona says.
“They aren’t aware that I refused it,” Ariadne reminds her. “They only know that I did not manage to claim it. I should like to keep it that way.”
“What difference does it make?” Iona asks.
“If they know that I willingly gave the pendant away, it will add insult to injury. If they only think you were stronger than I am, it would be better for both our reputations,” Ariadne says.
“Then we are attending the dinner?” Iona asks.
“Yes,” Ariadne says. “We must.”
“Very well,” Iona says. “I should like to bathe before we leave.”
“I think that would be best,” Ariadne says, pulling a twig from Iona’s tangled hair, then chuckles when she shoves her shoulder, and stands on shaky legs.
In the hall of Crescentia’s home, they find her just getting out of bed, her door opening just a crack as she pokes her head outside.
“Crescentia,” Iona says.
“Oh!” she jumps, pressing a hand to her heart, then immediately brings it to her head and winces. “There is no need to shout.”
“Where did you disappear to last night?” Iona asks.
“Nowhere,” she says with something akin to guilt crossing her face, though Ariadne cannot imagine why.
“Euphemia mentioned a handsome man,” Iona waggles her eyebrows. “You must tell me everything later.”
“Yes, later,” Crescentia agrees, waving them off.
“He’s still here, isn’t he?” Ariadne asks, smirking when Crescentia blushes crimson.
“Oh,” Iona laughs. “Why did you not say? We shan’t keep you. Or would you prefer us to leave? It is your home after all, and I would not wish to overstay our welcome-”
“No, no. Stay as long as you wish. I am glad for the company,” Crescentia says, cutting a glance at Ariadne.
“We will be gone for supper soon anyhow. At Moira’s invitation, we are to dine with Ariadne’s family in Rome,” Iona informs her.
“Oh…” Crescentia sobers instantly. “How curious.”
“Isn’t it?” Ariadne shares a knowing look with her, which escapes Iona’s notice.
“Shall I… Would it be helpful if I came with you?” Crescentia asks, more to Ariadne than Iona.
Ariadne quickly says, “That won’t be necessary.”
“Alright,” Crescentia says, averting her eyes. “Well, um… Have a pleasant time, I suppose.”
“Likewise.” Ariadne winks at her, and grins when Crescentia’s blush returns and she escapes inside her room.
“Do not tease her,” Iona whispers.
“Why?” Ariadne asks.