Chapter 20
Sorrow
Shit! The god accelerates through the tide faster than an Olympian on steroids.
Sorrow whips around to seize the lever, her grip faltering as the transport gives a violent shudder.
The boat leans sideways with Envy’s weight as he splashes onto the vessel like a livid sea monster. He rises to his full height, that cobbled body glistening and gorgeous, his spiteful features dark with intent.
Her eyes balloon from their sockets. She turns to dive, then growls as a powerful arm slings around her waist and hauls her backward. Her spine smashes into his wet chest, the slab of his body as solid as asphalt.
Envy heaves, his wound smarting from the impact.
With every choppy respiration, his torso pumps like an overworked machine, his breath striking her throat.
Towering from behind, he drips all over Sorrow, rivulets coursing down her limbs.
Water dampens the robe, droplets splattering onto her clavicles and sliding into the neckline, teasing a path from her breasts to her stomach.
The scents of dark rum and amber suffocate Sorrow’s lungs. With a long-standing axe to grind, his free fingers lock over her hipbones, bolting them in place.
“Say that again,” he rasps, the harsh intonation capable of splitting concrete.
“Say what again?” she bites out, struggling to get free.
“All this rubbish about seduction and rusty dicks.” Envy’s mouth skids up the curve of her earlobe. “Go ahead, tell me what I can’t do to you.”
“You… you’ve never… you’ll never…” The snide threat dies on her tongue as he swipes Sorrow’s hair aside and bows his head into the crook of her neck.
Thick air churns against the sensitive area, his breath ghosting across her flesh, the silken graze of his lips throwing firecrackers everywhere. And just like that, Sorrow’s sense of discipline takes a beating. Her inhalations quicken along with his own, chuffing deeper than a set of busted pumps.
The assault produces a chain of events. Her nipples toughen into rocks, and her pussy clenches.
Then his infernal tongue strokes her pulse point. It’s a singular move, the flat driving across that spot with evil intent. As if he’s turned a dial, a whimper drops from Sorrow’s mouth, slipping out too fast to restrain. The noise spills from her like a confession, as tremulous as the sea.
Damn this pride god. The avalanche continues, her joints tensing, her cunt swelling. Each visceral response clashes, at odds with one another.
Pull away. Press closer.
Flee. Stay.
Envy croons against her neck. “Go ahead,” he provokes. “Tell me to stop.”
“Stop,” she hisses. “You need to sto…”
“Again. Try again.”
The flanks of her core slicken. Inhaling the scent, Envy utters a gratified I-told-you-so noise. Validated, his torturous mouth sketches the column of her throat, the maneuver less contentious now, the deliberate glide of his tongue dampening her skin.
His lips punish her, chide her, bully her.
His merciless tongue laps at her nape, the result torrential, causing a flood of sensation that wets her fully.
With each flick, Sorrow’s pussy compresses, growing hollow under the robe.
Open. Empty. It’s a greedy thing that needs friction, the frustration soaking the inner rims of her labia.
Phantom heat steeps into her veins, down to the bloated clit. Identifying temperature should be limited to the other crew members’ testimonials. Even so, Envy provides a scalding demonstration.
His hands torch a path from Sorrow’s hips to the robe’s neckline, where they disappear inside, the panels fluttering apart for him. The god’s palms are smooth when they should be calloused from archery, his thumbs etching along the arcs of her breasts, outlining their shapes.
Sorrow’s tits pebble, hanging heavily as her chest rises and falls.
It’s yet another first. For he’s never done this either, turning her into such an insatiable creature.
During their lust faze, she’d maintained control, extracting herself from the aftermaths like mortals who wrap up the ends of their work days.
Job done. Productiveness achieved. Time to clock out.
Envy has never wound up Sorrow like this, pulling her inside-out so thoroughly, her blood simmering to a boiling point. As in the enclave pool, this is seduction, foreplay, pleasure.
The stars glint. The lagoon swishes against the boat, the vessel heading to who the fuck knows where. Distant cliffs cut into the sky, the edifices crowned in foliage, tails of water flowing from the crevices.
Envy’s leisurely touch is close to spanning her breasts, but he’s ruthless. He denies her, drawing out the self-indulgent exploration as if it’s a luxury. Such decadent cruelty stiffens her nipples further.
Sorrow squirms. She gnaws on her lower lip while arching, forcing his roaming fingers nearer to the peaks. This only serves to prolong Envy’s ministrations and incite a revolution, a deprived grunt of frustration skidding from her lips.
She needs to scream. She needs, and she needs, and she needs.
Him. She needs him.
“Say it,” Envy commands into the recess beneath her jaw, tipping her skull back, exposing her throat to his sweltering mouth. “Say it, you infuriating little nymph.”
“Fuck you,” she blusters. “I’m not little. I’m larger than life.”
Trauma deities don’t merely regulate the afflicting parts of one’s emotions. They shave back the layers, exhibiting vulnerabilities. When people cry, it means the truth is coming out, confessions raining down like storms. That leads to catharsis, which then leads to healing.
Envy knows this. She doesn’t have to spell out the implication.
“Such moxie,” he observes. “Yet true enough. I’ll give you that.” He intensifies his grip, fingers clamping onto her jaw. “Say. It.”
Tell me to stop.
Because if she doesn’t, he might crumble or lose his mind. It’s a plea as much as a demand. One she can relate to.
Yet she can’t do it. She can only choke out, “Envy.”
As the name floats off her tongue, it activates something inside the god.
Whereas he sounded rash a moment ago, the plaintive side of his request dissipates, and the possessive side takes over.
He hums like a satisfied deity. As if rewarding Sorrow, his mouth cuts a line up her throat, running open-mouthed kisses from her collarbones to her chin, then down again.
The novelty floods her with arousal. The simulated warmth oozes from her pussy.
Fates, she has missed this. Fates, she has never known this.
“Do you feel that?” she pants.
Envy slows his ministrations. Sensing she has something particular in mind, he gauges her silence, picking it apart like he’s picked apart her resolve a thousand times.
Given their unsympathetic and unfriendly history, they shouldn’t be able to read one another.
They’ve been so at odds, it’s a marvel they can even agree the sky is blue.
Yet Envy’s cock lifts high, its girth thickening. After a moment, a word burns across his tongue. “Yes.”
Somehow, he knows. This pride god knows what she’s referring to, the knowledge stumping him just as much as it does her.
How they’re able to experience this in tandem is strange.
Maybe it’s because they’re closely linked to the crew.
Either way, his reply ratchets up the temperature, incinerating any lingering resistance to ash.
If this is heat, let them melt.
A scorched noise kindles from Envy’s lips, then he bows his head once more, going in for the kill. The hot swab of his tongue sketches her throat, the blaze urging Sorrow’s eyes to roll back. She sags, reaching behind and clutching his scalp for support.
Mark her words. He’ll pay for this later. But for the time being, her head lolls onto his shoulder, inviting him to do his best. Or rather, his worst.
Envy’s a multitasker, sucking on her flesh with insistent tugs that pry moans from Sorrow’s lips. Air brushes her skin as her robe shuffles, the upper half parting beneath his fingers. Her breasts rise from the material, her nipples puckering into the eventide.
The pride god mutters a gruff, “Not dark enough. Let’s fix that, shall we?”
The pads of his digits circle the points. He works the disks until they’re raw and pigmented a deeper shade, and she’s senseless, her ass grinding backward into his inflated dick.
Somehow, she manages to say, “All this time, I thought you weren’t serious. I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”
Envy rips his mouth from her neck and twists Sorrow to face him. “Isn’t it obvious by now?” he growls like a starved god. “I fucking lied.”
He’s barely finished speaking when he hoists her forward, her breasts punting his bare pecs, the momentum forcing her arms around his nape. Swooping down, Envy attacks her collarbones, his teeth sinking into the delicate flesh.
On a gasp, Sorrow flings her head back, her peeked nipples jabbing his torso. Her fingers knife into his mane, grasping the roots for dear life, for balance, for stability. This, lest she should descend into madness.
With a ravenous groan, Envy wrestles her grip away, sinks to his knees, and takes the robe with him. The garment peels from her body, then splashes to the deck. A salty breeze coasts across her shoulders and sails between her thighs, caressing the lips of her pussy.
Along the way, Envy marks her with his insolent mouth. Languid kisses and gentle licks travel from her tits to her navel, each one branding her. The sensations are unlikely to fade, similar to numerous harassing memories of him, episodes that frequently prompted Sorrow to strike back.
Yet apart from those incidents in which they’d waged war on each other, or every shared fuck prior to arriving in this enclave, Envy’s touch is almost reverent now. It’s concentrated. One might describe it as selfless.
Sorrow can’t fathom how to process that. Neither does he grant her the opportunity. Instead, his knees hit the deck, the position leveling his gaze with her throbbing cunt.