Chapter Fourteen • Gift Wrap • Lillith
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My skin feels electric. It’s not a new sensation exactly.
The auras of my seizures usually come with a similar sensation—a sort of activation that makes every nerve ending overly sensitive and brings with it a grating, overstimulating sensation that curls uncomfortably in my stomach. But this is... a bit different.
Aphrodisiacal is how I’d describe the feeling of getting undressed in my tiny walk-in closet, the feeling of the cool air peaking my nipples like they’ve been caressed or licked.
The image of Damien sitting in the center of my sofa like he owns it hangs in my mind.
The enticing swells and divots of his muscular arms on display as they stretch across the back of couch, almost dominating the entire length of it.
The prop of his foot against the opposite knee.
The outline of his thickening cock caught in the constrictive leg of his skinny jeans that he didn’t bother feigning embarrassment about.
He caught me staring and simply quirked a notched brow, daring me to tease him for it when I’d been the one ogling him.
It’s almost embarrassing. How my firm nipples strain against the rough lace of my lingerie as I adjust the swell of my breasts between the straps and clasps and underwire.
It’s almost embarrassing how nice it feels as I adjust the seat of the panties I picked out just for him—how it brushes against my already swelling clit, tempting me to slide my fingers through my center.
Tempting me to learn just how eager I am to put on this little performance for him.
It takes a couple extra moments for me to choose a tantalizing outfit.
The assessment comes with the same giddy rush that accompanies wrapping up a gift for someone to tear open.
I feel like I’m wrapping up a gift for him, knowing that whatever paper I choose to cover myself in pales compared to what he’ll find beneath it.
This is... new. This feeling of being desired in a way that goes beyond a fae mood or a haphazardly stirred appetite.
I’ve only shared experiences with a few people.
Bastion always slips in and out of arousal so easily I forget he’s seen me naked at all.
The onset can be exciting, sure. To suddenly find myself caged between him and a dark corner, to feel his drugging kisses on the sensitive skin of my throat.
But the absence of that attention carries the same pain and disorientation of whiplash. I’m always left feeling achy and dizzy.
But Damien...
Damien’s desire is the ocean. Endless, constant and deceptive. I’ve grown complacent with the tender ease of domesticity we’ve fallen into. But now I’ve swum out too far and I’ve lost the shoreline. The riptide of his need pulls me further out of my depths, forcing me to tread water.
Only, I want to drown. I want to let him pull me under.
I just need to be careful.
So. So. Careful.
I don’t want to blow it and lose control. I don’t want to get so keyed up that I forget about my curse and wind up impaled on his cock. I don’t want Damien to get hurt. I just need to remember that.
I need to remember not to hurt Damien. Not to transfer this curse to him.
So, no penetration. No swapping of taglocks or bodily fluids. And the underthings stay on.
I should probably back out. Fuck, this is dangerous.
But I just... don’t want to. Haven’t I spent enough time being overly cautious? Haven’t I spent enough time surviving on scraps? So fuck it. I’m going to try.