Chapter 31 #2
A derelict noise rips from his chest. An invisible coil breaks.
Snatching her body, Envy hauls Sorrow against him. His mouth plants shaky, apologetic kisses over her face—forehead, lips, chin—then down her throat.
Sorrow reciprocates, her mouth desperate, unable to make contact swiftly enough. His collarbones, his jaw, his chin. In haste, her fingers slice into his dark mane, the locks tumbling around him.
Envy inhales sharply. Out of nowhere, he veers back and idles like a motor forcing itself to slow down. As the cascades wash around them, a new look engulfs his features.
Attentive. Gentle. Terrifying.
Stars. He’s about to do something unprecedented, fucking up her universe forever.
Panicking, Sorrow swats her head from side to side. “You don’t have to—”
“Hush, my nymph.” Envy drapes his finger over her trembling lips. “You take care of the world’s sadness. For once in your witchy life, let someone do the same for you.”
She goes still, unsure how to process that offer, uncertain if she can handle such an experience. But then something akin to warmth trickles through her veins. Yet it’s not just the manifestation of temperature.
No. This is trust.
He made a mistake back when they loathed each other. It won’t happen again.
Fusing his gaze to hers until the last moment, Envy lowers his mouth and brushes the corners of her eyes, where the star flecks begin. Quietly, he pecks the outer edges, as though kissing her tears.
A hard mass forms in her throat, making it difficult to swallow. The sensation intensifies as he frames her waist and shuffles lower, his lips questing to every wound she endured in the cave. That puncture from the stalagmite, the scrapes and welts, the crusted scabs.
Her breathing stalls, his soft ministrations throttling her senses. Then this hellish god commits the ultimate sin. His mouth runs over each cut across her arms, nursing them through the silk fabric, tending to every proof of pain.
Sorrow’s eyes sting. Her soul busts open like a shell. Overwhelmed, she understands what this is, because she’s been trained to understand.
Envy’s healing her. He’s comforting her.
In nearly three thousand years, when has anyone considered her own suffering?
Once the god reaches the final line of blood, his head lifts. Those dedicated features hold fast, hold tight. They tell her she’s okay, she’ll mend, and he’ll be with her when she does.
Legends and myths be damned. She hates this god, and she needs him, and she wants him, and she can’t stand him, and she’s wild for him.
Envy’s pupils flare with molten light. Oh, he knows the look she’s giving him. This one, they’ve had ample practice with.
One pivotal breath, then another. And they vault into motion.
Groaning, Envy launches toward Sorrow at the same time she grabs him by the shirt lapels.
Colliding, they gasp into it, their mouths slamming together.
Her lips pry open his own, and his tongue swoops inside, licking her into oblivion.
The rhythmic flex wrings a moan from Sorrow as she matches him, taste for taste.
Her digits claw into his roots and heave the god closer.
Their mouths slope, clamping onto one another, opening and sealing.
His weight spanning above her, Envy’s knee pushes between Sorrow’s thighs. He splays her apart so that his leg grinds against her pelvis, the undulation producing white spots of flame behind her eyelids. In the folds of her cunt, a harrowing clench manifests, pulsating like a drumbeat.
With their clothes abrading, Sorrow hooks her leg over his hip and rocks back, writhing her pussy over the thick outline of his cock. More than her own desire, Envy’s serrated growl is the highlight. The more she hears, the greater her need.
She wants to own him, tie him up, tangle him around her.
She wants to split him into pieces like no one ever has, make him come louder and harder than he thought himself capable of.
She wants his athletic back to arch. She wants those burnished eyes to roll until he can’t remember who the fuck he’s been with prior, until he can’t remember that they’ve ever done this before.
Then she wants to rile him up all over again.
And again. And forever.
She wants to share herself. She wants to claim him.
Envy rumbles, the noise radioactive, as if he hears her thoughts.
He answers that call, flipping over and hoisting Sorrow on top of him, her legs falling astride his waist. Then he rises to a sitting position, the frenzied movement and the possessive blaze in his irises shooting tingles up her spine.
Like this, they pant against each other’s lips. Then everything eases up, their mouths trembling with a violent sort of yearning.
They’ve done swift and rough. Now it’s time for a deeper kind of fucking.
An experimental gleam saturates Envy’s irises, similar to the only other episode in which they paced themselves. In the boat, when he made her come repeatedly, her cunt rippling against his lapping tongue. With concentrated urgency, they channel that night, mimicking the tempo.
While staring, their hands tug on fabric. The gestures grow measured, fraught with curiosity. One by one, Sorrow unbuttons Envy’s shirt, plucking each accessory as if it’s part of a ritual.
Envy leans in, hot breath panting against her mouth. The rush sinks low, the lips of her pussy dampening. Chuffing oxygen, Sorrow whips the sleeveless vestment down Envy’s arms, peeling it from him.
His torso expands into view, his smooth flesh polished in the half-light.
With a heavy groan, Envy lolls his head back as Sorrow dives in, sucking on his neck, drawing the flesh between her teeth until it reddens.
Taking a page from his own sensuous playbook, she licks the basin between his collarbones, her lips descending to the ravine of his pecs, catching each flex of muscle.
Motivated by the ragged noises he makes, Sorrow’s incisors pinch the dark nipples. Then she swabs the tips until he curses, the wide roof of his cock twitching under the pants.
“Fuck,” Envy husks. “You unscrupulous creature.”
Sorrow blows against one dusky nipple. “Should I go easier on you?”
“Christ, no.” He grasps her jaw and hoists her gaze to his. “Never go easy. Brutalize me. Punish me. Fuck me however you want.” Bracing his mouth against hers, the god confesses, “You always have anyway. Because I’m yours.”
Envy has barely finished the sentence. He snatches her ass and seizes her mouth, their tongues lashing, beating against one another.
Hers. This unattainable, renowned, infuriating god. He’s all fucking hers.
The words seep into her pores, slipping past the narrow slit of her cunt. Sorrow moans into his lips, the vibration trailing across his feverish tongue, her crease dripping through the skirt and onto his lap.
On a hiss, Envy reels away. With deadly calm, he picks open Sorrow’s vest, the casual pace teasing her patience. The halting drag of his fingers provokes restlessness, her instincts teetering between speed and moderation.
Yet as his eyes lock with hers, Sorrow musters the will to sit motionless, her thighs straddling his hips.
As he slips off the vest, her breasts drop free. Her nipples toughen under his smoldering gaze, the pegs cinching. Envy’s pupils explode, raking over the swells, his fingers sweeping the garment fully from her arms.
When his knuckles trace her wounds for a second time, the affectionate gesture grips Sorrow by the neck. She gulps, a frightening emotion taking shape within her. It’s pure in taste and scent, like a clear spring.
When Envy straightens, she grasps his face and smashes their mouths together. Humming, he raises her so that she’s suspended higher, crushing her lips down onto his. She licks into Envy, swatting his tongue into a frenzy.
The male groan rolling down her throat amplifies the craving. Her skirt flares around their hips, where his long cock stiffens. That he yearns for her in this way—and that he always secretly has—imbues Sorrow with a heady dose of power.
She sways her hips, matching the rhythm of their kiss. Grinding languidly, her clit sketches his crown, broadening its circumference.
Only when the god emits a guttural sound does she release his mouth. Heaving for oxygen, Envy’s hooded eyes rove over Sorrow. There’s a strong possibility she might pass out from his expression, or from the circle of his thumbs around her nipples, the raw buds tightening.
Envy tempts her lips with open-mouthed kisses, then sinks to her chin, executing pressure to urge her head back. Snaring her ass, he ducks and hooks his lips around the first dainty tip. Sorrow whines, the reverberation hitting the cave’s ceiling, the crashing waterfalls consuming the noise.
She bows, gripping his nape for leverage and shoving her tits into him. The wet tug of his mouth, punctuated by the upward jolt of his dick is a next-level type of misery. The onslaught drenches her, the seam of her pussy soaking through their clothes.
Crooning, Envy seals around the kernel and performs a sequence of tender sucks. Sorrow’s pulse goes ballistic, her mewls escalating to cries. Any more of this, and her kneecaps will crack.
Cognizant of her agony, the endearing asshole takes pity and switches to the opposite breast. Not that it calms her down. He works Sorrow into hysterics, works himself into a tangent.
All at once, he surrenders her nipple and gathers her to him, their chests flush and damp from the mist. His skin tints, as ruddy as her own. Their hearts turn into battering rams, plowing through bone.
Envy links his fingers with hers, fitting them together and flaunting a wolfish yet adoring grin. Sorrow marvels at their interwoven hands, the visual dismantling her assumptions. So this is what their obstinance has been missing out on. This is what they’ve denied themselves.
Who knew it would feel this way? How have they gone without it for so long?