Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
I PREFER BEING IN DISTRESS
Clara was still feeling fuzzy in her mind.
Her alertness came and went, fading in and out like the lights around the town cinema when there was a new picture.
She felt hands slipping her buttons free and trailing down to her waist, gently tugging open the fabric as he went to expose her skin to the cool air.
“Mmmmy clothes,” she said in a weak protest, trying to squirm away from his hands that worked open the last button.
“Your body needs to cool down,” said Shiver.
“Ev’dently so does yours, fresh g-guy,” she said.
Shiver clucked his tongue and peeled her dress away, determined not to look at her body, to remain calm and focus on helping this stubborn little human girl without a thought to what sort of underclothes she had on.
But then it occurred to him—what sort of underclothes did she have on?
His eyes flicked down to her body for only a moment—or two—or...
hell, he was staring. She was a terrible sin wrapped in innocence and seashell pink silk, from her tight brassier just barely cupping two adorable plum-sized mounds, to her ruffled panties that came down to the very tops of her thighs.
The most delicate lace scooped around the bottom of her bra where it met her breasts, and the same lace trickled down the front of her panties as if to say Here, touch me here, lick me here.
What possible purpose could a woman have for wearing such clothes except to be fucked braindead in them? Shiver pondered the question, but could come up with no other answer.
“You’re staring,” Clara said, not even opening her eyes.
“I am not.”
He was.
“I’m just... checking. To be sure you’re comfortable.”
He was not.
“And am I comfortable?”
Shiver’s mouth dropped open. Was she doing this on purpose? Was she actually trying—and succeeding—to seduce a demon? Admittedly, it was not difficult to do.
“I... could not say. Yet.” His voice rumbled so low and deep that it drowned out the growling of the thunder steaming closer. The night grew darker, but neither being seemed to notice.
Clara shifted and groaned as the night air on her skin only seemed to fan the flames higher.
She might be dreaming, but she didn’t feel like she was getting any rest. She jumped when she felt something cool against her forehead and squinted up at the black shape above her, who had taken the washcloth from the water basin by her bed and pressed it to her forehead.
The cool water practically sizzled as it met her skin.
“Stubborn, foolish girl,” said Shiver as he stroked the wet cloth along the side of her face and down her neck. “You haven’t the first clue how fragile you are.”
Clara laughed in a huff.
“Can you b-blame me?” she asked. “I’ve had to be... not fragile.”
Shiver paused. He had no idea what had happened to her, why she had so little trust in others, why she was here all alone, but one thing was very clear—she had been alone a long time.
He wanted to pick her up in his arms and keep her there, safe and cared for, forever. He wanted to give her pretty things and dress her in expensive sheer fabrics that wrapped her up like a present—and he had a feeling she would fight him on every part of such a plan.
“You can be fragile now, girl,” he said, trailing the cloth down her throat and to her collarbones. “I promise not to tell.”
Clara sighed and shifted as the cloth grazed the tops of her breasts. There was that feeling again, competing with the fever, those tingles on her skin, that thudding tension in her stomach.
“And you won’t tell... about that other matter?”
“What other matter?” asked Shiver.
“You know what.”
Shiver went quiet, slowly inching the washcloth down her chest. He could see little bumps rippling over her skin as it reacted to the cold.
“Hush,” was all he said before dragging her brassiere down to expose her pale breasts.
He felt a renewed urgency in his hips, looking at them.
He had kept her nightdress on last time, but now he could see those perfect little bee stings, just the shape and size to pop into his mouth like a treat.
He rubbed the cloth along her breasts, taking his time to be sure he covered every inch of precious skin.
Clara sucked in a breath and wriggled under his hands. If he was trying to cool her down, he was failing. Heat bloomed between her thighs. Her heartbeat was rabbit-fast in her throat.
“Oh p-please,” she whispered, but she didn’t know if she meant it. He wasn’t really there, after all, was he?
“Please?” he asked, stopping his hand over her breast but not moving it away. He could feel how much she wanted this, could even feel her skin beginning to cool down, but a word from her would—painfully—stop him before he started.
She shook her head. She didn’t even know what she was begging for.
Please don’t stop? Please go away? Please do that again, but harder?
All of it at once? Clara’s foggy brain was sending her mixed signals in clamoring voices.
But when she took a shaky breath in and shifted closer to his touch, Shiver knew that he was wanted.
“I’ve got you, it’s all right,” he said, gently pinching with the washcloth, rolling a rosebud nipple between his fingers. With the cool wash cloth between his hand and her skin, he could fool himself into believing he wasn’t really touching her, that his real motive was just to cool her body down.
She bit her lip and moved beneath his hand, unsure of even what her body wanted. Was she trying to get closer to this unusual and intoxicating touch, or move away?
A crack of thunder sounded above them, and the rumbling that followed made the panes in the windows rattle.
Shiver watched her flushed face with eyes that smoldered in the darkness.
He wanted to kiss those parted lips until they were swollen and red—but that was a step too far.
A kiss was too fine for the likes of him.
He moved the cloth down her ribcage to the soft plane of her stomach. Her heat was collecting right beneath his touch, between her thighs, where she practically glowed with fever.
Well, it was only right to cool her off everywhere, he decided. He ought to be thorough.
A tendril curled under the hem of her panties to lift them up so he could slip his hand, and the cool cloth, inside, pressing against her throbbing heat.
“Oh!” Clara cried, reaching forward to grab a thick, shadowy arm.
It felt so solid that for a moment she was shocked out of her daze, distracted from both the fever and the dream by the sensation of a coolness against her most secret places.
And behind that coolness, the feeling of fingers, just barely pressing against her folds, prodding with the care and precision of a surgeon.
“Just cooling you down, honey,” he said, slowly rubbing along her slit. “Relax. I’ve got you.”
Clara could not relax. As if the events of the night before had infected her, she was ravenous now for another taste.
Shiver felt it. Demons were nothing if not finely attuned to the approach of sin.
Thoughts rose up inside him, compelling and insistent. She’s still so hot right here. It wouldn’t be right to stop now and let her stay awake all night.
With great care and deliberation, he pressed the cloth to her entrance and rubbed until he had worked his way inside of her.
“Oh God,” said Clara in a moan.
Shiver hissed, pausing for a moment as the Name struck him like a slap to the chest. From a hand as big as an ocean.
“I - I mean,” Clara rushed to cover up her desire. “I mean that... is hhhelping.”
Shiver recovered quickly and quirked an eyebrow at her. For such a firecracker, she seemed awfully shy about feeling pleasure.
“Are you not allowed to enjoy this?” he asked.
Another thunderclap, closer this time, and Clara jolted, inadvertently pushing his fingers deeper inside her.
“W-whatever - do you mean? I thought you were just... cooling me off.”
Shiver couldn’t suppress a quiet laugh that mingled with a growl. Clara was a stubborn girl. Pretending she was not ill, pretending he was a dream, pretending that she didn’t want more.
“And so I am,” said Shiver. “If you let me, I can take care of you in every possible way.”
For a moment, Clara realized how pathetic she was for conjuring a fantasy of someone to talk to her and look after her.
Could she really be that starved for interaction?
But as soon as she felt the cool cloth pull away only to be replaced by what felt like fingers inside her instead, every other thought evaporated from her mind.
“Ohhh, little one, you do want me,” Shiver said as he felt how wet she was. “Would you look at all this sweet honey.”
“Ah-ahh—” She tilted her head back, catching a glimpse of lilac lightning shivering in the sky. “Arrogant—bastard!”
The demon smirked because, oh, he was. And the sound of a curse from her innocent lips lit a fire inside him.
“For once, we agree,” he said, using his extra tendrils to slide her panties off.
Now he was free to look at all of her—those delicious breasts, and the treasure between her legs, all laid out for him like a feast. He hardly knew where to begin.
Clara groaned softly at being undressed, but Shiver soothed her with a soft hush and opened her legs, watching every quiver in her thighs, every petal opening for him. He had promised to take care of her, and he wanted to be thorough.
He turned his gaze to her face as he stroked her opening, treasuring every gasp and hitched breath and cry hidden beneath a hand. Determined to have more of her precious cries, he slipped three fingers inside her heat and stretched them until they hit resistance.
“Oh! Oh fff-fuck,” Clara whispered. She could feel her heartbeat squeezing his fingers, picking up speed.
Shiver took a moment to register the hot slap of profanity from his sheltered little mortal. Where had she ever even heard such a word, he wondered, whom should he punish for teaching it to her, and why did he want to hear it again?
“What was that, my dear? Do I hear foul language from such a pretty mouth?”
“Sorry - ssssorry,” said Clara.
“You’re forgiven,” Shiver said, and Clara could hear his smile.
Arrogant bastard, she thought.
Shiver began to stroke her, moving his fingers in and out of her tight, sizzling heat. He leaned over her to close his lips around a breast, sucking on her nipple and circling it with his tongue.
“Oh… oh lord, ffff—” she cut herself off before she cursed again.
For Clara, reality was blurring. Had the dream felt this intense the night before?
She couldn’t even be certain she was dreaming anymore.
Something was touching her, really touching her, and she was far too wrapped up in it to be curious about what.
The fever seemed not so much to subside but to change location—she couldn’t feel the pressure in her head because all the pressure was right where she felt those fingers, beckoning within her as if encouraging that window-rattling climax to come forward and meet him again.
The storm outside was rolling in closer, but inside Clara was another type of storm, building hot and huge and fast. Shiver bit gently and sucked harder at her pretty pink nipple, just barely holding himself back from holding her down and fucking her right through the floorboards.
Humans were fragile, he had to remember—he had never tried this with one of them before.
“Ahh-ah okay, y-you should... st-stop,” Clara said through clenched teeth as she felt huge waves of heat come crashing over her. She was certain she couldn’t survive this.
“Should I?” asked Shiver around a mouthful of her soft flesh, still stroking and beckoning inside her.
“No!”
Shiver laughed so low that he could actually feel the vibrations of it echoed in her body, in the mattress beneath them. A dark tendril formed and snaked its way between her slippery petals, finding her clit and closing around it in a firm but gentle pinch.
“Then hold on tightly, girl,” he said.
Clara didn’t have time to ask why, hardly even had time to grab onto the arms she could feel but barely see, before the tendril closed around her clit began to suck at her, stopping her heart for a beat.
Clara’s eyes shot open. She tried to take in a breath, but every function of her body stopped to center her attention right there, where every nerve was alive and stinging with pressure, pleasure, pain, need—
The climax slapped her hard in the face, and she arched her back, calling up to the ceiling that shook and pounded with rain. It rolled and rolled over her until she dropped back, melted like butter.
“Ohhh baby,” Shiver groaned, taking his appendages away to lean over her and stroke back her damp hair. “Sweet baby. That was so pretty.”
Clara felt a stinging in her eyes and her chest and her throat—was she crying? She covered her face, confused, shaking, and so afraid that she would never feel this again once she awoke.
Shiver stared a moment. Something in his chest hurt. It couldn’t possibly be his heart; he wasn’t sure he’d ever had one. The demon was genuinely puzzled. Human tears were so beautiful, so precious, the only thing that had made him envy their kind—but what could she be crying for, after that?
“What’s this?” he asked, pulling her into his arms. Was she feeling sicker? Had he hurt her?
Clara shook her head, sniffling. Not even she was entirely sure what her tears were about. It was a big feeling, a feeling she couldn’t hold in by herself, but she had no way to articulate that.
“That was... very nice.”
Shiver smiled. “Well, don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll make you do that again.”