Chapter 12 Suriel
Since Charlie passed out after taking her medicine, I have a short amount of time to check the generator and to ensure that we’ll have a comfortable few days. The punishing cold rain that soaks me is a balm for the lusty thoughts I had while Charlie tried to seduce me.
Her hopeful gaze, the lust sizzling in her eyes. The taste of her warm skin and the whimper that slipped between her lips when I kissed her knee. Each second has branded itself on me more intensely than any of Heaven’s orders.
Which is all the more reason to stay out here, under the lashing rain, while she’s secure in bed.
I can’t want her like this.
Not with so much time left.
I spend an hour indulging in self-flagellation with the weather’s help (while considering finding a thin stick to do the real thing), then head back inside.
Charlie is stretched out on the bed, awake, with the now empty cup next to her.
Some of the water rolls over her throat towards her breasts and my eyes follow the bead while I swallow tightly.
She lifts her chin, continuing to watch the ceiling. “If I can’t escape the apocalypse, does that mean I have to suffer? Are you part of that suffering?”
I don’t want to be her comfort.
It’s too dangerous.
My hand itches towards the sword I wear as an earring. It would be so easy to end all my confusion now. I could spare myself the discomfort of being around her, the confusion that mounts by the hour, the want that multiplies in her presence.
“Is that why you don’t want to touch me or be close to me? Is it why you won’t talk to me? The perfect man – a literal angel – that’s here to remind me of exactly how much I fucked up?” She asks, finally looking at me.
“My presence is about protection.”
“From what? From actually enjoying something? God, angels are morbid, masochistic fuckers.”
“I already told you, I will take care of all your needs … except one,” I say, even though my eyes drift over her as she shifts. She spreads her legs, so the shirt rides up, nearly showing her round, inviting rear.
Bare skin shouldn’t have this effect on me. It can only be because she’s shied away from letting me see her. Only because she’s shockingly soft and seeing her so pliable makes me pay more attention. To her curves, the softness of her body, the warmth that rolls off her.
So many humans dive into corruption for sex.
Why?
I could learn, she’s willing to show me, but sinning isn’t a part of my orders.
“Can I fuck myself?” She asks, eyes sharpening. “Is that allowed as long as I stay right here? Will knowing I’m touching myself offend your cleanliness?”
“Does my answer matter?” I ask through my teeth, not wanting to give her leverage either way.
“Does your silence matter?” She counters. “If I could, I’d …” she tugs on her restraints, twisting and fighting with them until she lets out a gasp, either because she’s rubbing her skin raw against the rope or because she’s tweaked her ankle. “I deserve to touch myself!”
“Settle down,” I order, my voice thicker than it should be.
“Is pleasure only awarded in fucking Heaven?” she demands. “I just want to cum. In fact, I’m feeling really famished for it. Really angry about it. Maybe the horsemen will sense it and get close. Maybe if I don’t get satisfaction, we’ll both be royally fucked in the worst way.”
I shake my head. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re the only man who would say no to a woman begging, especially considering you’re hard for me,” she hisses, eyes dipping to my obvious bulge.
It’s not easy.
This is a harsher test of devotion to Heaven’s plan than anything I’ve dealt with.
She pouts and her eyes water. “I deserve something good, Suriel. I’ll be good. Let me touch myself.”
“You’re overwhelmed, Charlie,” I soothe. “Overwhelmed and full of lust.”
“Fix it.”
“That isn’t happening,” I say, stroking her hair.
She tries to pull herself up, to get me to really touch her. Her desire rolls off her. “Look, you’re a stranger. You’re my fucking captor. The least you can do is make this hostage situation a little worth it. Please,” she leans towards me. “Please.”
My resolve cracks.
I have no reason not to let her touch herself, so I slowly free one of her wrists.
The other stays firmly tied to the headboard.
I’ll stand at the doorway and wait for her to finish.
She squirms. “Give me something. Help me, Suriel. Talk to me. Something innocently dirty. Consider it bonding. Trust building.”
I scoff, but feel the itch to look back at her.
“If you don’t watch me like you’ve been for the last twenty-four hours, I’m going to untie myself and go out the window.
Maybe a demon will catch me and fuck me right in front of you,” she hisses.
“I bet it’ll be dirty and raw. Do you think he’ll finger my ass while punishing my pussy?
Do you think that will convince me to believe? ”
Immediately, I turn to glare at her, only to watch her hand moving between her spread legs. I watch her fingers push into her pussy, can see the way she curls them inside her as her body arches. Her thumb keeps working between her pussy lips, circling her clit.
“That’s right. Eyes right here. Can’t look away or I’ll be gone. You get to be the voyeur, just like you’re meant to be,” she moans.
My dick twitches. I’m so tempted to touch myself, to walk towards her, lick between the two fingers she’s using on herself, just to taste her sweetness.
It might be the only sweetness she has left.
“Such a shame I can’t show you how those toys are meant to be used. How loud they’d make me. How they make Heaven pointless because I can create my own ecstasy.”
Then she moans and spreads her legs wider, lifting her hips as she fucks her own fingers.
It’s torture.
It’s astounding.
Her moans silence the storm outside as she pants, telling me to be a good angel and watch. Her dilated eyes, the way she licks her lips before cursing, her increasing pace that lets me hear how wet she is stirs my body in a new way.
My orders and need to avoid temptation demand I look away, but my eyes are glued to her hand working, pleasing, spelling out temptation in new ways. When she adds a third finger, my hips flex slightly and my arms tense.
Four steps to get to her.
One knee on the bed, then I could explore her with my mouth that’s suddenly watering, my fingers that buzz as I cut off circulation in my clenched fist, or another part of my anatomy that’s never had so much of my attention. I’ve never been hard before, not like this.
“Dirty angel. I see how hard you are. Are you going to cum from watching me fuck myself? Don’t you wish you could taste me, touch me, enjoy me? It’s so much better than demon talk, so much better than Revelations. It’s real and fuck … fuck …”
She comes apart, panting and moaning, her legs shaking and finally closing to hide the view. Charlie slumps onto the bed, then slowly lifts her hand from between her thighs. She licks each wet finger while watching me until breathing, moving, even thinking feels like a trap.
I bite my tongue so hard that it should fall out of my mouth, then force myself to walk to her and retie her hands.
She makes a soft sound and lets her eyes close. “That’s the best solo-session I’ve had in a long time. I want more, need more … so many toys, please.”
I want to tell her no, but if this will exhaust her and keep her calm, perhaps it’s worth it. I find a phallic ‘toy’ that’s thick, ridged, and close to my size. I move towards her and she shifts back towards the headboard, putting pressure on her knee.
Her injuries are getting better.
The second I set the toy in place, she drops down on it, moaning loudly. “Yes. Hold it right there. Let your fingers wander. Fuck, I like you watching like this.”
My face burns.
I’m not touching her, so it’s fine.
It’s not giving in to lust just to watch the toy …
Every inch down to just above my fingers disappear inside her, then reappear so shiny and wet and …
“You should touch me. Enjoy me. I know you want to. I see it in your eyes. A - fuck, so full - A lusty angel could be a … a … a problem,” she says, head falling back as her hips roll and her breasts bounce.
She’s getting louder, more blasphemous and I have to stop it. Glancing at the floor, I find another toy. It’s smaller, but it will work all the same. I shove it into her mouth when she opens wide to moan. Her eyes widen as I push it deep, but she welcomes it, sucking it.
It’s not because I want to enjoy the view.
It’s simply to keep her quiet, to keep her from tempting me or inviting demons closer.
She rides the toy faster and harder, moans muffled by the toy that’s in her mouth. The thick base nearly hides her lips, but not the ecstasy in her eyes.
I adjust the toy under her again, since it’s changed angles and feel her warm, wetness roll over my fingers. I almost groan, almost touch her just to feel more of her, to feel her better, to see if she tastes as good as she made it seem…
I pull the toy away and toss it to the side so it’s out of sight and can no longer tempt me. Charlie lets out a frustrated, strangled sound. “What the fuck!? I was so close!”
Shaking my head, I force myself to walk away without looking at her.
“Come back here and let me finish!” She yells as I reach the stairs.
I don’t turn around. I need to be away from her demands, her goading, and my own failing restraint. I need to take care of the lust building up before it’s all that’s in my head.
“Forgive me father, for the sin I’m about to commit,” I hiss as I go downstairs and take care of myself.
I hate that my hand moves over my cock at the same pace she used. I love that she demanded my attention. I hate that I savor the memory of her moans and every slick sound of her fingers pumping into her dripping pussy.
As my hand moves faster, I wonder what she’d do with those toys, how I’d be able to use them on her. I wonder if it would count as a sin if I don’t touch her, don’t kiss her, don’t use my own flesh to satisfy the desire that swirls beneath and heats me from the inside out.
Every option plays out before me. Walking upstairs, having her teach me pleasure the same way I was taught obedience, getting her to praise God in some way. It’s manipulation, it’s coercion, but the idea of her praising me while moaning ‘angel’ does me in.
“Charlie,” I groan as I cum in my hand, stroking slowly as if I can milk every drop of lust I’ve ever known from my system.
She called me a masochist and that was the right word. The second I’m truly done, the guilt and shame rolls through me like a tidal wave that I revel in because it makes me feel like I did the right thing. Shivering, I glance down at the cum filling my hand and pant.
An obedient life would be easier if I were cock-less.
I’m not supposed to unravel like this. None of this is going according to the plan. She doesn’t believe. She’s only ruining my control. I shouldn’t be staring at the cum in my hand and wondering exactly how angelic I am anymore.
Considering my humanity is spreading, my power is ebbing, my resolve weakening, so I’m more open to influence and questioning …
Can I hold out for the remaining four and a half days necessary?
Will I be able to wield my sword at all, even once I pluck it from my ear and brandish it in my palm?
Is there any reason to tell Charlie no when I have a feeling redemption is beyond either of us?
Something like logic itches at the back of my mind, just under the lust and pleasure that keeps teasing my nerves.
After blinking a few times and cleaning off my hand, I realize the problem: Charlie’s alone. She can’t be trusted alone, even if she is tied. A curse almost slips between my lips as I hurry back up the stairs, half preparing for a physical fight with the woman that I just debased myself for.