Chapter Eight #2
He must not realize the truth of why I’m still untouched, because instead of backing away, disgusted that he’s shared his shower with someone like me, he touches my cheek softly.
“Perfect. So fucking perfect. Fine, we’ll do this another way.
” He drops his fingers and moves them to the belt on his robe, making short work of the knot there.
In one easy glide, the wet crimson velvet pours to his feet, leaving his magnificent form available to my eyes.
Uncanny. He’s a work of art, a sculpture come to life, all broad shoulders, narrow waist and hips, long legs, and muscles—muscles everywhere, as hewn as the bones of his face. And then there’s his cock. It’s indescribable, all ridges and veins and pulsing need.
There’s no way that thing is fitting inside me. It’ll land on my tongue, he’s so long.
“No fear with me, little one. I have excellent control.”
Undoubtedly, he does. “Going to kill me on your cock instead of your points?”
With a small smile, he magicks ghost antlers that spread through the walls on either side of him.
“Show off.”
Fuck! I said that out loud.
A large booming laugh rolls out of him, echoing off the enclosure.
“Ah, little one, there’s some bite in all that trembling.
I like it. I like it far too much. Come closer.
I’m going to wash all your cream and rose petals and see if you’ll be more apt to use that tongue for better purposes than baiting me. ”
I don’t move as he reaches for a lever in the wall. Soap squirts out onto his palm. It smells of him: fir and fire, and in the steamy air, the scent magnifies and wraps around me. Rubbing his palms together, he makes a fine lather.
“We’ll have to have your scent installed in one of the empty containers. But for now, you’ll have to smell like me.” He steps closer again. “I like having you smell like me, little one. Turn around.”
I manage to swallow once before his soapy palms land upon my head, rotating me. He works the scent through my hair, massaging my scalp with his long fingers. A moan leaves my lips as my eyes close. I lean back into him. His cock lies heavy and solid against my upper back, a promise. A warning.
But I’m so lost in the moment and the magick, I don’t care anymore about future pain. I’ve never felt anything half as good as the strokes against my head and all down my long tresses. My shoulders. My arms.
He leans so his hot breath washes against my ear. “I knew you’d touch me sooner than later. I’m going to wreck your world, little one.”
With a start, I realize I’ve wrapped my hands around the outside of his thighs, clinging to him. I turn my head so my lips brush his cheek. “You already have.”
Another growl. This one stabs through me like a blade. His hand starts to travel down my neck, almost to my nipples, when he stops and backtracks. “Trying to make me lose control, little one?”
The notion that I could dream of making the big, bad stag do anything he doesn’t want to do is patently ridiculous. I almost say so. Luckily, a stray strand of wisdom stops my lips.
But nothing can arrest the sounds I make as he gathers more soap on his palms and strokes them around my neck.
For just a moment, he circles my throat and tightens his fingers, a threat that corkscrews my core until he moves down my arms. Each inch, each finger, is given attention.
He pulls at my joints, gently, and with each touch, I melt further.
Over my back, down to my buttocks... he lifts each globe in his palms, the action straining the portion between my legs. I moan. My body shifts closer into his touch, my legs parting in silent invitation.
His fingers answer as they stray into the space revealed in a slow, deep massage. Sensations without name ravage me, and when he glides the soap over my clit, I swear, I die just a little.
I’m shaking by the time he drops to the floor to wash my legs from my thighs to toes from behind.
When I have to lift to allow him access, one foot at a time, I lean against the wall with my palms spread because I lack the strength to stand on my own.
I’m as wobbly as a pate surrounded by aspic.
All the wobbles in my bones, all the sensation in my core. .. I ache. I need.
I can’t even catch my thoughts.
“Turn, little one. Lean your back against the wall while I soap your front.”
I obey, freed from fear, needing everything he’s going to do to me. Needing it now.
I was his before he touched me. Now I’m his because he’s touching me.
Down my front. Over the slope of my breasts, gently, so gently, I bite my lip with the need to scream.
My nipples, already hard and aching, bud further until they feel nigh to bursting.
Over each mound. Over and over. Between his fingers, he catches the hardened buds and tweaks them, pulling slightly, making me cry out.
“Steady, little one. I’ve got you,” he whispers as my body shakes. He soaps down my front, over my hips and belly, and when he reaches the thatch of hair, he rakes his nails through. “And here. Spread your legs further.”
When I do as he demands, he slides through my folds on all the wet that’s eased out of me, once more glancing over my clit. Instantly, I twist, turn, and hollow. A cry leaves me. I press into his palm, but he only gives me a moment’s ease before withdrawing his hand.
“Not yet, love. Not yet.”
After the soaping comes the rinsing. He stands me under a heavier flow, washing away the soap, but not his touch. After, he uses a small towel to wipe me dry. By the time he finishes, I’m not even a person anymore. I’m a thing of need and desire, my will melded to whatever he wants.
He laughs again as I sink to my knees in front of him. The top of my head doesn’t even meet the bottom of his balls. I lay my face into his thighs and sob.
I don’t know why. I’m so shattered by emotions I don’t understand, by touches I’ve never felt, by a future I can’t glean—and by him, always by him—that I’m no longer sensible.
He lifts me into his arms again and, still soaking wet, strides back towards the bedroom. The beautiful crimson velvet covering doesn’t matter as he tosses me to the center of the bed. In the next instant, he hovers over me, shutting out the ceiling lamp, shutting out everything but him.
Slowly, like the meandering waltz of a trickling forest stream, he lowers his lips: to my cheek, my chin, my forehead, and finally to my lips, where he takes me in a brutal, savage kiss.
He tastes of mead and something uniquely him.
His tongue fits against my teeth, forcing me to open for him, so I do.
He sucks my spirit from my body and lodges it square within his.
His tongue dances again, pulling and sucking until my own darts out to join his.
Tentatively, I force my way between his full, lush lips into the cavern of his mouth.
I’m awkward. I don’t have his rhythm, but his groan of appreciation gives me hope he’s enjoying our joust as much as I am. His hands clasp my hair, tugging me closer. I can’t pull away. I can’t breathe except for his breath. And it feels right.
Finally, when I’m nothing but sweet and salty treacle, not even sure of my own name, he pulls back and looks deep into my eyes. “Ayala Treadborn, I’ve never felt this way. What is this you do to me?”
I don’t know. I don’t have an answer. Instead, I groan, pushing my hips up so I can touch some part of his hard length hovering above me.
For the first time in my life, I feel my body. I don’t just inhabit it like a shell, I live in each tiny part, pulsing with the magick of life. I’m like a flower finally finding the sun, blooming for him and needing more heat.
As if he understands, his lips slide to the side of my mouth, down my throat in open-mouthed kisses, sucking, licking, tempting, until I writhe beneath him, needing more. Wanting more.
Down my chest, between my breasts. I struggle to move my nipple closer to his lips, needing him there, and with a chuckle-groan, he complies.
My hips leave the bed again as I arch into him at the pull upon the tender bud. Spirals of sensation whirlwind through me. I never knew such feelings were possible. I never knew my skin could tingle over every last inch, like I’ve swallowed lightning and it’s trying to escape.
With a popping sound, he removes his mouth from my needy nipple, only to transfer to the other one.
He’s killing me. I’m going to die from the heat and the need.
“Please. Please!” I beg, trying to grasp him closer. If he’d just slide his body along mine, maybe he’d ease some of these cravings.
“Sshh. In good time.” His breath is hot against the flesh he just sucked. But he trails his lips down, over my belly, tasting my skin, licking me like northern ice, sucking at me like... like...
Like nothing I ever imagined.
And then he finds my clit, the button of happiness I’ve touched in the dark of night when I couldn’t sleep for being too excited in my mind. But touching myself never felt like the feel of his lips pulling me into his hot mouth, or the way his tongue rings circles, and... oh! Goddess, I can’t...
I’m lightning, crashing upon a still pond, arcing back into myself. I’m fire, blitzing and burning. My core tightens to a hard acorn within a shell grown too tight for the expanding meat inside. He’s roasting me on his fire, and I’m bursting... bursting...
And with a sharp cry, I well up so far, so fast, that when I truly explode, I’m flung into the clouds, there to hang in one long, exuberant flow of weightless bliss.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathes, looking dazed when I finally manage to open my eyes. He grasps my thighs and drags them over his arms, spreading me wider. Positioning his mammoth cock against my entrance, he pauses. “Now, love. Are you ready?”
And though I’m not sure, though I’m still insensate with pulsing pleasure that comes over me in waves, I nod.
Slowly, he pushes into me. Pain unfurls immediately, sharp and hot like a dagger raked on coals. I gasp, practically sitting up in an effort to dislodge him. My hands push against his chest, but he’s immobile.
“Sshh, love. Relax around me. The worst is done.”
But it’s a lie, because he pushes a little further, gliding on all the honey I produce, frictionless because I’m so wet, and I hear or sense a pop.
I know what it is. I’m innocent, not stupid. My maidenhood.
“Trust me, Ayala.” He smooths my cheekbone with his fingers, forcing me to look into his eyes. “I’ve got you.”
“Y-you lied. It’s not better.”
“Because you need to relax your muscles.”
“You’re too big. You’re going to rip me apart.”
A gleam enters his black eyes. Inside me, I feel his cock pulse. “Words like music. But you’ll stretch to me, little one. Your body will mold to my shape, and then you’ll see what pleasures I can give you. Relax, for me. Relax.”
And under his persuasion, I do—a little.
He presses in deeper, stretching me, as he says. He stops again, but he’s a relentless force with possessive eyes. I grit my teeth against the stinging pain, but a sob escapes me anyway.
In response, he gathers me into his arms, hugging me close. He whispers comforting sounds against my ear, stroking my hair. Inside, he glides deeper, but the way he holds me steals some of my fear, and with the fear gone, the pain... transforms.
“Ohhhh,” I groan, once I’m seated fully on him.
His lips cover mine, sucking at my soul again, pulling me into him as he’s inside me. I barely even notice at first how he lifts me back to the end of his cock, only to impale me again.
Something flutters inside me. A butterfly. A trace of lightning again on the pond.
He pulls his lips away, his dark eyes demanding. “Mine,” he growls. “Tell me you’re mine.”
“Of course, I’m yours. Only yours.”
Which is the truth. Whatever tomorrow might bring, I was born to be nothing but his. I see that now. He’ll burn me like a pyre of wood, and I’ll keep reaching for him.
My fingers stroke over his skin, so much softer than it should be. Muscles bulge like perfectly placed stones. He’s built like a temple, made to be worshipped, though it feels like he’s worshipping me.
Dragging himself in and out, lifting me without the least sign of struggle over his iron cock, he sends out sparks. I feel fuller than I’ve ever felt, like I was born with a hollow core and only needed this part of him inside me to be complete.
And his eyes, his hands, his lips and tongue... he moves over me like water, seeking out parts as if he’s memorizing my terrain. And I’m doing the same, almost feral now.
In—out. In—out.
Touch, stroke, lick, suckle. He’s so beautiful. He’s made for me.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growls. “Velvet around me, sweet like caramel. I want to climb inside you and never leave.”
This time when he plunges, he scrapes over some part of me that’s all lightning and avalanche, all sweet cream and acid. His face finally strains as if he’s undertaking a task of great magnitude. I reach up to flow my fingers over his brow.
“This hurts you?”
“The restraint’s... hard, yes. But you’re not ready for more.”
Oh. He’s holding back. For me. If I didn’t already know that Cerf-Biche has the greatest king in all of Wylding history, I know it now.
I run my thumb over his lips, and he draws the digit inside upon his tongue, sucking it and further winding my core. “Move as you will, Your Majesty. Please yourself.”
He pops his mouth off my thumb. “Cian. Call me Cian.”
“Cian.” His name is an open page before me. It hints of adventures yet unnamed or written.
Slowly, his eyes glued to mine, he draws back again and plunges deeper still. I feel him in my belly. I feel him in my soul.
The next thing I know, I’m back on my back.
My hips lift in his hands as he begins an almost manic exchange.
In—out. In—out. But fast, and brutal, and hard.
He sets a punishing rhythm I can’t follow.
I pant and clutch at his arms, holding on as he expands pleasure inside me.
I’m a volcano from a distant land. I’m fire and magick.
I have the earth in my belly and the clouds in my head, and. ..
The world stills before bursting. All around me, the stars fall before cresting like the ocean.
The beauty’s so severe, all I can do is gape in awe.
As I hover in a timeless ecstasy that fills me to my very fingers, he roars.
Something spills deep inside me, a tidal wave that makes me shiver with a different kind of longing.
And magick. He explodes magick into my very bones, muscles, and blood. It’s such a great wave of power, I can’t contain it.
With a cry, I clench my hands around him. He falls into me as the world grows black.
I’ve never felt so complete and whole.