Chapter Twenty-three
SERENITY VEYLOR-KORVEN
I’d been tossing and turning in my bed for nearly an hour, sleep completely out of reach.
I kept telling myself it was for some other reason, but the truth was obvious—ever since I’d slept in his arms that afternoon, being alone in my own bed just felt wrong.
It was as if I’d sampled some premium version of sleep, and now my body refused to accept anything less.
I couldn’t explain it. All I knew was I’d never slept as deeply or peacefully as I had with my head on Konflict’s chest, his arms wrapped around me.
There was something about the steady beat of his heart that made me relax, let my guard down, and finally feel safe.
So here I was, chasing that same feeling again.
I knocked softly on Konflict’s door, giving in to a sudden impulse that pulled me out of bed and sent me looking for him.
I couldn’t say what came over me, and honestly, I didn’t want to analyze it.
I didn’t want my fears to creep in and talk me out of what I needed.
I just knew I wanted to be wrapped up in him again, so I let myself follow that longing.
But he didn’t answer. And that killed my mood.
Heading back to my room, I caught the faint sound of music drifting up from below deck.
Curiosity tugged at me, so I followed it downstairs.
When I pushed open the door where the music was coming from, I was surprised to step into a pottery studio.
Konflict sat at the wheel, his bare arm slick with clay, sculpting something out of the spinning earth with focused, steady hands.
He looked up when he noticed me coming in and my breath caught instantly.
“I—I can’t sleep,” I whispered, shy, not really sure what to say. “Can I stay with you?”
His gaze traveled over me, lingering on every inch, and I didn’t miss the spark of heat that flickered in his eyes.
I was wearing a sheer nighty and nothing but a thong underneath, leaving little to the imagination.
My nipples were already hard, my skin practically aching for his touch, and he could see all of it.
I was certain he could sense my arousal from across the room, the way my body responded to him, my pussy already wet with anticipation.
“Come here,” he said, holding out his hand.
I moved to him, took his hand, and let him pull me close.
He slid back so I could sit right in front of him on the bench.
Instantly, his body heat wrapped around my back.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt, just sweatpants, so I could feel the bare skin of his abs pressed to my spine through the thin fabric of my nighty.
His clean hand slid across my stomach, pulling me in even tighter. I felt his hard dick, grinding into me, and I knew then I wasn’t the only one losing sleep over this uncontrollable need to feel each other.
He leaned forward, his head right at the curve of my neck. His breaths were warm and soft next to my ear setting me on fire.
“What are you doing down here?” I asked, trying to break the tension between us.
I felt him slowly breathe me in, nose dragging across my skin and lips grazing the side of my neck. I shivered at his gentle touch. And when he spoke against my ear, it got worse.
“I couldn’t sleep either.”
I sucked in a breath, trying to steady my heartbeat.
“So you decided to do pottery to find sleep? I didn’t even know you did this.”
He pressed a light kiss to my neck, his hand on my stomach caressing me gently. My body was burning up.
“It’s one of the only things that helps me escape, besides cooking.” He whispered it so quietly in my ear, it almost sounded like a confession of love.
I swallowed, suddenly even more aware of just how much I wanted him.
“Can you teach me?” I asked.
His clay-smeared hand slid slowly down my arm, his fingertips barely skimming my skin until they found my hand. Konflict intertwined his fingers with mine then guided our joined hands to the spinning cone of clay.
“It begins with a gentle touch on the clay, like this,” he whispered in my ear.
His hand guided mine on the clay, both of us letting the soft, cool earth slide under our fingers, smoothing as we went.
“The clay has to be wet, so it glides in your hand easily,” he said again, breath warm at my ear before he inhaled deep.
His dick hardened against my lower back, and my pussy just kept getting wetter, matching the slick feel of the clay in our hands. Slowly, his hand moved down from my stomach, lower, much lower, until his hand cupped my pussy, with only a thong between us.
“It has to be wet, just like this pussy is wet for me. Soaking through this thin fabric.”
His lips found my neck again, then parted as his teeth grazed and caught my skin.
Then he went down to kiss my shoulder, right where I got my new tattoo—my crown of flowers with a K in the middle.
His silent kisses on my tattoo told me everything I needed to know.
He loved it, being inked on my skin, being a permanent part of me.
It was the same feeling I had every time I thought about the Venus over his heart.
It was as if I’d marked his body with my seal, so everyone would know he belonged to me.
He moved back up to my neck, covering it with more kisses. At the same time, his hand stroked my pussy through the delicate fabric, while his other hand kept guiding mine over the clay. A surge of sensation crashed over me, so intense I couldn’t hold back a moan.
“Hmmm… Konflict…”
“We go up and down… Real slow… To stretch out the shape of the clay.”
He moved my hand slowly up and down, mimicking the motion on my body at the same time. His hand slid between my thighs, parting my lower lips and slipping between them. Just his touch made me even wetter.
“Hmmm… fuck…”
“Then,” he whispered against my ear, pausing, “we shape the top of the cone and ease in a finger.”
Our palms rose together as he guided my hand up and together, we slowly and carefully slipped our fingers into the clay.
“Do you feel how hot and wet the clay is?” he said, gently pulling my thong aside to slip his middle finger into my pussy.
“Oh God… fuck… yes…”
“Now we need to thrust in and out… nice… and… real slow…” he murmured.
His breath drifted over my skin.
Our fingers moved in and out of the clay, working it in long, deep strokes. His finger did the exact same thing inside me, going all the way inside then dragging back out, slow, only to sink back in.
“Fuuuckkkk… Konflict… baby…” I moaned, my voice shaky.
“Yes, Mama… You feel it, right? The more you work the clay, the hotter, wetter, and better it gets… So fucking good.”
He sucked my earlobe into his mouth and bit down, all while his finger worked my pussy. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst through my chest.
“Now, we need to add a second finger inside, to stretch the clay walls and start shaping it how we want.”
He guided me with his ring finger, pressing it against mine, and together we eased our hands into the clay. Our movements slowly lingered, caressing both the soft earth and each other at the same time.
“The clay is delicate… so no sudden moves…” Konflict said again.
At the same time, he slipped his ring finger inside me, matching the slow, patient rhythm of our fingers in the clay.
“Up…”
We moved our fingers up in the clay, and he did the same with his fingers in my pussy.
“And down… yes… just like that… nice and slow… up… and down. And we do it again… and again… and again… until the clay is hotter… until it’s wetter for us…”
Every word he spoke pulsed through the clay and my pussy. God, I didn’t know how I was still managing to take all of this. It was too much and not enough all at once.
“Konflict… it’s… Jesus… I can’t…”
“Breathe with me…” he kept moving patiently. “Breathe when I go up… and breathe when I go down… You’re taking these fingers so well, baby. You want to know what your pussy looks like when she takes my fingers? Just look at the clay. Look how we’re working it. You can feel it in your pussy, right?”
“Hmmmm… y-yes… I can feel it,” I whimpered, barely holding on.
“What do we do next? What does the clay need now? Tell me… I know your pussy wants the same thing.”
“Fuuuuck… she wants another finger.”
“Hmmm… she wants a third finger, huh? Then let’s give her what she wants.”
He slipped a third finger inside me and I thought I might explode from pleasure.
“God… fuck… baby, it feels so good…”
“Yeah? It feels good, Serenity?”
“So good…” I moaned even louder.
Our joined hands were sinking into the clay, while Konflict kept thrusting in and out of me, slow then a little faster, and for the next few minutes the whole room filled with my moans.
“Yes… Mama… you’re so wet for me.”
In and out, in and out.
Thrust… thrust… thrust.
“You like it, baby? When I touch your pussy like this?”
He kept going, in and out, his voice low and full of need.
He kissed my neck again, soft lips making their way up to my collarbone, then down again.
“I fucking want you so bad… Serenity… so bad… Please let me love you…” he breathed me in, and I swear my heart stopped right there.
“Konflict…”
“Yeah… baby… you know what comes next with this clay? We need to put our whole hand inside. We need to stretch it good, thrust in nice and slow. Just like my dick wants to be buried deep inside you…”
“Fuck… I… I want that…” I almost cried.
“You want that, Mama? But do you want me? Can you let me take care of your heart? Can you trust that I won’t hurt you anymore… Can you love me one more time?”