25. Willing Captive
Chapter Twenty-Five
Willing Captive
Orán
The bed shifts. The quilt lifts, and Eridessa’s body returns to mine, remolds to my frame. Chest to chest, fingers of one hand intertwined, legs tangled together under the sheet. She undulates against me as if searching for more of what kept us up most of the night.
Pulling her leg over my hips, I pull her on top of me. She complies, and her palm skates up my torso, then drifts down to work her hand up and down my length. I stretch and groan my acquiescence.
My eyes are still solidly shut, but sunlight filters through my eyelids as the early hours of the morning press in.
Even in my exhausted state, I crave more of her.
Yearn to be connected again in the way only sex can achieve.
I’m also enjoying this wakelessness. This dreamy state, where most of my powers and senses are shut off to the outside world.
We exhausted ourselves all through the rest of the day and night. We never parted, just fell asleep in this state, joined, two separate souls no longer.
It was only after she woke and whispered, “I need a moment,” that any distance existed whatsoever between us, and I felt every centimeter of it as she left to take care of her bodily needs.
In the short time she’s been gone, I have missed every part of her. Her breath against my skin, her delicate scent, and the feel of her skin pressed against mine. Even her aura, seeing all the colors of her emotions as they flourish and change with her moods.
Thankfully, it’s no longer a sensation I have to live without.
Taking me by surprise, her body descends, and her mouth trails down my stomach, as if she intends to take me back into her mouth.
Her small tongue circles the tip of my cock. My hips rock upward. Her mouth closes over the tip, and her wicked little tongue swivels an infinity shape around it, lapping up the seed seeping out.
“Eliora.”
“Shh, lie back and let me play. I’m still learning you.”
“Play all you’d like. Who am I to deny you any knowledge you seek?”
My eyes are slow to open, but it’s worth the energy spent, as the hazy glimpse of her I’m greeted with is a vision I want to keep at the forefront of my mind.
Her hair has been brushed, no longer a messy halo around her beautiful face.
It lies in soft curls down her chest, the ends blending in with the white bedding.
I bring a thick strand up to my nose and take her scent deeper into my lungs.
She grins slyly as her fingers travel up my chest, only for her nails to softly sweep down and light up my skin as they travel south.
“Teach me what you like best? I want to please you as no one has done before.”
“You already have.”
“In this way. Teach me how to bring you to orgasm. How to make your body bend to my will like you’ve done to me.”
This pleases me. Her willingness to give and not just receive. “Consider me your willing servant.” I chuckle darkly. “Or perhaps that makes me a slothful, debauched teacher, because denying you is impossible and moving from this bed is the very last thing I seek to do.”
“Then don’t relax and instruct. Use your words and just feel.”
All tension leaves my body. I grab a fistful of her hair as I direct her, and the words simply flow out of me. “Work your tongue over me as you did a moment ago. Caress the head. Make love to it.”
My hips rise and fall as she does my bidding.
Her innocence is alluring. Her childlike nature in this is an appealing paradox. Because her body was made for this, and she’s willing, eager even. A ripe apple grown in an untouched orchard, unplucked and waiting to be devoured.
I stand before it, torn in two parts. Part Adam. Part the serpent of old. The crucible of whether to impart knowledge and corrupt an innocent woman. To tempt or reject this ungodly impulse and deny her this forbidden fruit?
In truth, her willingness to learn about the sins of the flesh calls to me as nothing else has.
Awakens a side of me, the man, who has rarely been coaxed to life in such a way.
I want to instruct, school her in everything I know, and discover all I don’t.
Because yes, even my own knowledge is limited.
This desire to do so is its own kind of elixir, remapping my brainwaves and feeding insurmountable heat into my body, vein by vein.
This might not cause me to fall from grace, but I fear this hunger for her may very well damn me in some way. Yet I don’t believe I’m capable of denying her.
“Like this?”
Moaning and cinching my fingers tighter in her hair, I nod. “Yes, very much like that. Exactly like…” I moan as a shudder rakes down my body. “Bloody hell… yes, just like that.”
Her mouth envelops me, closes around my girth tightly as she sucks and simultaneously swirls her tongue. She’s not able to take me fully with such a small mouth, but her hand will work just fine.
“Learn all of me, Eliora. Use your hand to stroke the rest of me, the base. Knead the sack beneath.”
The thought of finishing in her mouth holds its own appeal, but it’s not where my mind lingers. I’d rather be buried inside her.
A child isn’t possible. At least I believe that ability was stripped from me when I was remade. But I’m not certain. And whether or not that’s true hardly matters. The desire is there, buried deep, along with a quiet, dangerous hope to bring life into this world.
The possibility may be beyond reach, but as she drives me to the brink of losing my mind, my thoughts drift there all the same… to a different life.
“Heaven’s Gate, your mouth is exquisite. Keep going. Explore me to your heart’s content. There is no place on my body I would deny you… No part I would not let you take pleasure from.”
Her hand slides to my balls, and she rolls them between her nimble fingers. The silk of her hand feels amazing. Especially as her mouth places wet kisses up the side of my cock, sucking on the skin. Then the heat of her mouth swallows me once more.
I begin to guide her up and down. “Lick and suck, little one. Hollow out your mouth for me. That’s it. What a good student you are.”
She moans as well, creating a vibration around my girth.
“Bloody hell… that…” I can barely get the words past my lips as my body begins to quake. Peering between my half-closed lashes, I spy her stretched mouth, dainty and yet wide enough to fit around me. The wetness coating her lips is deliciously obscene.
A sight I would love to see more of.
My balls fill, my cock tingles as my orgasm crests.
Something comes over me. A need to take, rather than instruct. With her nose in my pubic hair, and her mouth unable to take me further, I groan, “Breathe through your nose, and swallow. Open your throat. I want to be there, deeper still.”
She nods, and her eyes flash when she flicks her gaze up to meet mine.
“You're so beautiful like this, you know. Your mouth is a beautiful mess, but beautiful all the same.”
Possessiveness settles in. The need to claim and keep and never part ways.
She is, and will always and forever be one thing above all else, my Eliora.
Another nod from her sends warmth through my chest. Another piece of the rightness slides into place.
She is mine.
Here.
Now.
For whatever time we’re granted.
As it should be.
“Eridessa,” I murmur, voice rough. “Eri, love. My sweet girl. That’s enough. Come up here. I need to be inside you again.”
Though reluctant, she obeys, but takes her time, laying kisses along my stomach, my chest—slow, reverent—until her mouth reaches my neck.
I lay my hands on her ass, fingers digging deep as I urge her to move over my cock. The fire between us flares anew, the fever roaring back stronger than before.
She lifts her hips, searching for me, and then her slick opening accepts me once more. Threading our fingers together, she lifts my hands above my head.
“I want to try one more thing,” she says softly. “Will you let me?”
Breathlessly, I say, “At this point, dear one, I’d give you anything you desire.”
She reaches beneath the pillow and draws out a cord.
No, a rope.
Doubt creeps in too late.
Later, I will remember every detail. Before anything else fractures, there is her.
The room exists only in impressions—the low spill of sunlight through the window, pale light catching on rumpled sheets, the quiet creak of wood beneath the mattress. The air is warm, heavy with the scent of skin and rain and something that hums beneath my awareness.
But she eclipses it all.
The weight of her body, familiar now in a way that feels dangerous. Her thighs bracket my hips, warm and strong, her skin smooth beneath my hands where I grip her, grounding myself in the feel of her—the muscle tone of her slim body, unyielding yet also soft.
Her hair spills forward in loose, alabaster waves, brushing my chest. The way her mouth curves. The line of her throat when she tilts her head to the side, the steady beat of her pulse there, validating that she’s alive and real.
This—this—is what my mind fixes on.
Not the bed.
Not the walls.
Not the world beyond this room.
Just the feel of her skin against mine, anchoring me to the moment as if it might be the last unbroken one I am allowed.
Even when she slides the rope free of the pillow, my focus lingers on the small details that make up this lovely creature. The crease between her brows when she concentrates. The slight tremor in her hands. The way her mouth parts, the faint hitch in her breath she tries—and fails—to hide.
I don’t see a trap.
I see only her.
And I think, distantly, absurdly, that if the world were to end and take me with it, this would be the memory I would carry with me into the dark. The fragile illusion that she is meant only for me and feels the same way I do.
Then the rope slides over my skin.
And the moment shatters.
And the wrongness of it sinks its vile claws into me.
The absence of power.
I know somehow that if she completes the knot she’s winding around my wrists, my immortality will go with it. She’s stealing it from me.