Dungeon crawling #3
The second I removed my fingers from his mouth, Rafael snarled, “Loosen the lead chain.”
I gave it enough slack to let his arms down. He trapped me in the cage of his embrace. Falling to his knees, he ripped the nipple clamps off me with his teeth. I yelped, dropping the cane, and he seized a tenderized nipple in his mouth, sucking hard.
Rafael kneeled, trapping me on his lap, and bent me backward over the crook of one elbow.
He worked his hands around and clawed at my jeans for a moment until his fingers found purchase.
He unbuttoned, unzipped, and yanked them and my panties down to my knees.
The pads of two fingers found their way to my clit, slicking over the surface.
He contorted to lift those fingers to his lips and lick them. “You still want me to fuck you?”
I took hold of his hair and yanked his head back to my breast. “Yes!”
“Grab that bottle of lube.” He jerked his chin toward it.
I stretched, snagging it with my fingertips.
He pulled back to spit in his hand. Two fingers penetrated me. Two large fingers. My turn to moan and squirm. Another finger joined them. The stretch intensified the thrusting, and he rubbed circles on my clit with his other hand. God, he was going to split me up the middle.
“Relax.” He tapped my inner thigh with his free hand. “You are clenching.”
I took a shaky breath, loosening my thighs and pelvic floor. Rafael rumbled approval, sucking my nipple into his mouth and rolling it with his tongue. My soul rose to the surface of my skin.
I threw my weight down, forcing his fingers as deep as they would go. He bit, and I cried out. A fourth finger joined, making a cone. My juices poured across his hand.
“So wet. You can take a lot,” he murmured with admiration. “Lube my hand.”
Logical brain said I might regret this. Horny brain was much, much louder. I poured the silky liquid over his fingers.
Rafael shoved his fist inside me. I wailed and bucked as his callused knuckles breached my gates, stretching me to my limits. He switched nipples, twisting his coned fist inside me. Impaled, I writhed.
“Harder,” I snarled, yanking his hair.
Rafael laughed against my breast and pummeled me.
“Harder!”
Each shot at my steadily bruising cervix took me higher and higher. The pain floated me right out of my body. Higher, higher. He strummed just the right note on my clit, and I burst apart.
I screamed and thrashed, pounding his shoulders with my fists as my legs shook. It went on for ages. The single longest, most punishing orgasm of my life. My voice went through three pitch changes. Little by little, Rafael withdrew his hand and let me drift back down to earth.
Still shaking, I clumsily unlocked his cuffs. He caught me as I slipped, cradling me against his chest.
“Goddamn, that was intense,” I gasped.
He brushed my sweaty hair out of my face. “Was I too rough with you?”
An incredulous laugh bubbled out of my throat.
“You’re covered in bruises, and you’re asking if you were too rough on me?
You really do have a super high pain tolerance.
No, you were perfect. Amazing. Right at the edge of what I can handle.
” I struggled to sit up. “What do you need now, other than water and probably some NSAIDs?”
“Will you draw a bath for me?” he asked quietly, almost humbly.
I kissed his mouth and scrambled to my feet. “Of course!”
My legs wobbled. Not so easy to walk when you’ve just been fisted by a giant and you’re sore as fuck.
Rafael followed slowly as I opened the taps in the clawfoot tub. Pressing on the edge of one of the Deco mirrors revealed a medicine cabinet. He selected a few bottles of things labeled in various languages and poured some into the filling tub. They opalized the bath in milky swirls.
I patted his arm. “You ok? I’m going to get some water for us.”
“I am…excellent.” He gave me a weary smile. “Thank you. Far beyond my expectations.”
I pulled his face down to me and kissed his temple.
It couldn’t be that hard to make Turkish coffee.
All I needed was the cezve pot, ground coffee, water, and heat, right?
I opened half the cabinets in the massive kitchen before I finally found the coffee supplies.
Water warmed on the fancy Viking stove while I searched for coffee cups in the other half.
Finally, I climbed up on the labradorite countertop, praying I wouldn’t crack it, and discovered the cups at a height that only made sense for the seven-foot-two giraffe who lived there.
With my tray all arranged, I balanced it carefully back to the bathroom and tapped at the door. “Rafael? May I come in?”
“Mm, yes.”
He sprawled in the bath, feet propped on the far edge of the tub. Whatever he’d added to the water smelled slightly medicinal and obscured his body beneath the surface. Bruises striped his chest and under his arms.
“Ok, Geralt. I brought you water and some coffee, and snacks too.”
Rafael turned his head, lazily cracking open an eye. Spying the coffee on the tray, he sat up, sloshing water over the side.
“Canimin ici, you made Turkish coffee?”
“I tried.” I pulled over a small brass table and set the tray on it. “What does that mean, djuh-nuh-mun eh-cheh?”
He winced at my atrocious pronunciation. “‘Inside of my life’, literally. Means like ‘soul of my soul’.”
My heart fluttered to the ceiling. “That’s beautiful!”
Rafael brought the cup to his lips, sipped, and froze. His eyes lit on my face without moving another muscle.
I smiled nervously. “Is it terrible?”
The corners of his mouth crept upward in a rueful smile.
“Oh god, I’m sorry.”
Silent mirth built until it spilled over. He laughed, setting the cup down with exaggerated care. “It is quite possibly the worst coffee I have ever tasted, but I love you for it. Please, I will show you the correct way next time.”
1 “Hurt You” by Spiritbox