Chapter 6 #2
I took my time. I let her feel every split second, every scrape of my tongue, every measured exhalation.
I lapped at her, slow at first, a ticklish feather of sensation, then deeper, pressing one end of the tongue inside while the other flicked upward to catch her clit.
The possibilities were endless with a tongue that split on command.
She grabbed the sheets, fists twisted tight as tourniquets, her voice punching out of her in these little staccato bursts, not even words at first—just gasps, then my name, then "fuck, Sam, don't stop.
" I didn't. I could have done this for hours.
I wanted to do this for hours. I wanted to know the precise ratio of pressure-to-pleasure that would break her mind, make her forget the long line of mortals and monsters and disappointments before me.
She arched, hips rolling hard, and her hands shot out, one tangling in my hair and the other gripping my horn like she was white-knuckling a roller coaster.
The pain was exquisite—it tipped me into a fever that made my whole body buzz.
I let her use me for leverage, let her ride my face, let her show me exactly how she wanted it. The air was thick with her heat.
Her thighs clamped around my head, a vise of muscle and need, and Annie’s voice lost its sarcasm, lost its edge—it was just pure, keening want.
“Fuck, Samiel, you’re going to kill me,” she gasped, her hand scrabbling at my scalp, nails finding new purchase as she tried to outpace the pleasure.
“Holy fuck, what—what even is that—oh my god—” The words tumbled out, raw and unguarded, and I realized with a pulse of pride that I was the first to make her sound like this.
I doubled down, letting the split ends of my tongue work in tandem—one tip swirling her clit, the other plunging into the sweet, clenching heat of her pussy.
She bucked hard, and her whole body seized, a coiled spring releasing, and she came with a violence that would have embarrassed her if she’d had enough brain left to process it.
She clamped my face tight to her, hips rutting up, a ragged scream scraping out of her throat.
I felt her pulse on my tongue, a slick, shuddering flood, and I drank it in, greedy for every drop.
She tried to pull away, even as her legs locked around my neck like a python, but I wouldn’t let her go.
I pressed her down, hands braced on her hips, and lapped at her through the aftershocks, tongue working as her body shivered and spasmed, her nails raking bloody crescents into my forearms. “Fuck—Sam—god, stop, it’s—” she pleaded, but her cunt fluttered on my tongue, desperate for more even as her brain begged for mercy.
I drew back just enough to breathe and she tried to clamp her thighs shut, but I gripped them, hard enough to leave finger marks.
“Not done.” I growled, and went right back in.
She yelped, a high, shattered sound, and twisted so hard she nearly bucked me off.
But I was stronger, and she knew it, and the shock of my tongue—slick, relentless, unmerciful—sent her into a second wave that crashed over the first, her body convulsing in a way I could only describe as seismic.
This time, the orgasm ripped through her so hard she forgot how to breathe.
I felt her fingers lock on my horn, squeezing until my vision went white at the edges, and I moaned into her, letting the vibration shudder up her spine.
Annie tried to say my name, maybe to beg off, maybe to spur me on, but it was just a strangled vowel, a prayer in a language that only made sense in the dark.
She lay on the bed, legs splayed, arms thrown wide above her head, sweat streaking the hollows of her belly and neck, as I traced my tongue up through the last aftershocks, licking her clean.
And when it was done, when she was wrung out and gasping with her cheek pressed to the pillow, I rose over her, bracing my knees on either side of her hips.
She opened her eyes, dazed and ocean-blue, and reached for me without words.
I let her drag herself up my body, let her catch her breath against my chest, let her kiss me with the wild, spent mouth of a woman who’d been cracked open and found the world on the other side.
I kissed her back, slow and soft. After all that animal want, the simplicity of a kiss—just lips and tongues, just the slow melt of bodies finding their way toward each other—stopped me dead.
"You taste better than anything I've had in forty years," I said.
Her eyes glittered, sharp and delighted. “You’re about to get so sick of hearing me scream your name.”
I grinned and started to answer, but she pressed a finger to my lips, then ducked under my arm and slithered off the bed. She landed in a controlled fall, knees thudding softly into the carpet, and before I could ask what she was doing, she’d already wrapped both hands around the base of my cock.
She looked up at me, eyes bright with reverence and mischief. “My turn,” she said. “Relax or I’ll bite.”
I’d been inside a thousand fantasies, lived out every permutation of pleasure, but nothing came close to the sight of Annie kneeling, hair a mess, gaze daring me to break.
She stroked my cock, one hand working the shaft, the other cupping my balls with a gentle, decisive grip.
She bent her head and licked, slow and deliberate, lapping a line from root to the spade-shaped head, then swirling her tongue around it like she was taste-testing gelato.
She didn’t hesitate—not even as her lips parted to take the head, the flare of it stretching her jaw wide enough that her eyes watered on contact.
She pulled back, breathless, and squinted up at me with a look of mock accusation.
“You’re fucking huge,” she said, voice half-muffled by the still-wet shine on her lips.
“I mean, I saw it, but I didn’t think...
” She wrapped her hand tighter around the base, then squeezed up to the knot, as if confirming its existence with a scientific grip.
“Jesus, Sam, how did you even fit this in me?”
I laughed, helpless against the pride and the hunger in her face. “You’re the one who said not to hold back.”
She bit her lower lip, eyes fixed on the cock in her fist. “I did. And I meant it.” Then she tipped her head, lined up the head of my cock with her mouth, and took me in one slow, steady swallow, her tongue curled around the ridge, savoring the stretch.
She bobbed once—twice—then pulled off with a gasp, eyes wide and wild.
“Holy shit, Samiel,” she said, dazed, “this is going to ruin me for everyone.”
She dove back in, lips sealing around the head, hand working the shaft in perfect counterpoint.
Each time she took me deeper, the muscle in her throat flexed and her eyes fluttered, as if she couldn’t decide between oxygen and the need to be full of me.
Her other hand cupped my ass, nails digging in just enough to make me snarl, and the shock of sensation threatened to send me over the edge before I was ready.
I braced my hand at the back of her head, not guiding, just anchoring her there, and she worked me, hand and mouth, with a patience that was both worship and threat.
I could feel the pleasure coiling up, dangerous and tight, and when I reached the brink, I didn’t want to drown her in it—not yet.
I wrapped my fist in her hair and, without thinking, tugged her off with a snap.
“Stop,” I barked, voice guttural. “Annie—look at me.”
She blinked up, eyes wide, lips glossy and open. “Did I do it wrong?” she asked, the tease in her voice undercut by the need painted across her face.
I shook my head, breath coming ragged. “You did it too well. I want to be inside you, not on your tongue.” I hauled her up, both hands locked around her waist, and tumbled her backward onto the bed, pinning her wrists above her head.
She squirmed, delighted, and spread her legs without hesitation, the invitation so clear it would shame the devil.
I lined myself up, dragging the slick head of my cock through her folds, circling her clit with slow, deliberate passes.
The heat of her was unreal—hotter than the Nevada night, hotter than the core of a star.
I watched her face, watched the way her eyes pinched shut and her jaw went slack when I teased her, the way she arched her back, hips canting toward me, greedy for friction.
"Ready for round two?" I asked, voice thick.
She didn't even open her eyes, just reached down and grabbed my ass, nails digging in. "If you don't fuck me right now, I will start screaming until the mayor comes to evict us."
I laughed, but she was dead serious. I pressed the head against her, not entering, just holding there until the anticipation made her whole body tremble.
"Please, Sam," she said, voice gone hoarse and hungry. "Please."
That did it. I pushed inside, slow at first, then with a steady, brutal pressure that made her gasp and claw at my arms. She was so slick and tight, my cock fit like it was made for her, every inch a victory over the emptiness I'd carried for centuries.
I let her feel every pulse, every twitch, every stretch.
Her legs locked around my waist, urging me deeper, her heels digging into my back; the pain was lightning, pure and sweet, and I fed on it.
I set a rhythm, hips pistoning so hard the bed frame slammed against the wall.
Each thrust drove a grunt from my chest, a moan from hers, the sound of us rising like a tide and drowning out everything else.
She met every drive, every withdrawal, her body greedy for the collision, arms wound around my neck like she was never going to let go.
Her hands found my horns, and when she gripped there, using them for leverage, something snapped inside me.
I buried myself to the knot, pinning her to the bed by the weight of my hips, and watched her scream my name into the crook of her arm.
I rode her, relentless, one hand braced on her throat—not squeezing, just holding the flutter of her pulse under my palm, a tactile reminder that she was real and alive and mine for the taking.
The other hand clamped her hip hard enough to leave a print.
Her whole body bowed up to meet me, a perfect tension, and when I rammed in again, the knot forced its way inside with a wet, obscene pop.
She convulsed around me, legs trembling, mouth open in a silent howl.
I felt her come, the pulsing rhythm of her cunt milking my cock, desperate to wring out every drop.
It knocked the breath from my lungs; I broke, slammed once, twice, and then exploded inside her, wave after wave until my vision starbursted and my whole body locked up.
I pressed her to the bed, both of us shaking, and held there, unwilling to move, unwilling to let go even as the knot swelled and locked us together again.
She clawed at my shoulder, nails biting deep, and when I finally looked down, eyes focusing past the blur, she was watching me with a kind of triumph I’d never seen before.
Her cheeks flushed, lips bruised, hair wild and tangled around my handprint on her throat.
She looked ruined in the best possible way—like a temple after the right god had come through, all the walls knocked down and the air full of lightning.
"That," she managed, after forever. "That was worth it."
I tried to laugh, but all that came out was a ragged pant. I thought about every moment of loneliness I’d ever hoarded, and every empty comfort I'd ever settled for, and felt them all burn away in the heat of her body. If I could have poured myself into her, bones and memory and all, I would have.
We lay there for a long time, fused at the hips, skin creating new constellations of sweat. I rolled to one side, careful not to wrench the knot that tied us together, and Annie went with me, still breathing hard, her heartbeat pounding an insistent counterpoint against my chest.
She pressed her face to my throat, her breath feathering the skin, then licked a sweat-salty stripe up my jaw. “I think you broke the bed,” she observed, voice gummy with endorphins. “I definitely heard something snap.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, and the movement low in my diaphragm made the knot twitch inside her, drawing a whimper and a giggle up her spine. “Sorry,” I said, though I wasn’t, really. "I can fix it in the morning."
"I'll hold you to that," she said, curling tighter into my side.
There was nothing defensive or self-protective in the way she tucked beneath my wing, nothing held back.
We lay like that, the lake splayed out in starlight just past the balcony glass, her breaths feathering soft and slow against my skin.
Her hand found mine, fingers weaving through like she was braiding string.
I closed my eyes and let myself memorize the smallness of her grip, the way her thumb circled my knuckle, over and over, as if trying to polish it smooth.
What a gift, I thought, to simply be held, to have someone anchor me to the world.
For a long time, we didn't speak. Annie's pulse slowed and her breaths evened, but I could feel the ache in her hips where the muscles still fluttered in aftershocks.
I watched the moon roll across the lake, listened to the scratch of her breathing as it tangled with my own, and let the world outside shrink to the radius of her embrace.
Somewhere in that hush, her hand fell slack.
Her breaths evened out and turned weightless, an animal surrender, and I realized with a strange pride that she trusted me to hold her as she faded.
I tucked her closer, one wing draped fully over both of us now, making a tent of velvet and shadow.
It was the safest I’d ever felt. I wondered if Annie would say the same, or if she’d wake in the morning and realize it had all been a game.
I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to watch her through the night, guard the perimeter of this fragile new world we’d built.
Instead, I reached for my phone on the nightstand, careful not to disturb her, and texted Mara.
“She's staying if I have any say in it. Prepare my house.
Office space for her work. Women's pajamas.
Whatever humans need." I caught the last of Annie's breath in my lungs and let go, finally, of the last discipline and vigilance that had kept me upright for four decades, my phone still warm in my palm.