He summons more chains, these ones warm, living gold, that wrap gently but firmly around my thighs, spreading me open. I flush crimson, cock already hard and throbbing on display.
The cave is warm now, but I feel fevered.
Sarak steps close, chest to my back. One large hand cups my sore ass cheeks, the other slides down my belly to wrap around my aching length.
“You’ll cum when I say,” Sarak murmurs against my ear. “Not before.”
Then he begins.
It is torture of the sweetest kind. He strokes me slow, merciless, bringing me to the edge again and again, his thumb swiping over the head, fingers tightening just enough, then pulling back entirely.
Every time I whimper and beg, Sarak reminds me why I’m here: because I left the cave, because I scared him, because I’m his and his alone to keep safe.
By the fourth denial I’m whimpering, hips jerking uselessly into his fist.
By the sixth, I’m babbling promises in three languages.
“Please, Daddy, I’ll be good, I’ll never leave again, please?—”
He finally takes pity. One hand fists in my hair, arching my neck; the other pumps me hard and fast. I climax with a scream that echoes off stone, spilling my hot seed over his fingers in endless, thick pulses. The climax is so intense my knees give out entirely and only the chains hold me up.
Sarak catches me as the chains dissolve, gathering me close, kissing away tears and snot and apologies. He wraps us both in his cloak, settles us by the fire, and rocks me like I’m something precious.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into his neck. “I hate cages. Even when they’re made of love.”
Sarak strokes my hair. “I know. But cages keep little birds alive, Gamble. And I refuse to lose you.”
The fire stone flares suddenly, crimson light bleeding through the pouch. Pain stabs my chest, deeper this time, like roots burrowing into my heart.
I cry out, clutching at Sarak.
“It’s worse,” I gasp. “It’s… drinking faster.”
Sarak’s face goes grim. He lays me gently on the spread cloak, opens the pouch. The cracked halves glow angry red, veins writhing like worms.
“Then we fight it together.”
My dragon protector slices his palm again, lets blood drip onto the stone. I add my own, a thin line across my wrist, and lace my fingers with his over the cursed thing. Elf-light and dragon-fire pour into the cracks: green and gold twining with crimson. The stone screams, bucking against our joined hands.
“Together,” Sarak growls.
I push everything I have into it… mischief, hope, the memory of my sister’s laugh, the taste of Sarak’s mouth and more. The cave shakes. Light explodes, a white, blinding energy. When my vision clears, the crimson veins are dull, the cracks sealed with molten gold.
It’s still cursed. Still dangerous.
But it’s quiet again.
I slump against Sarak, trembling with exhaustion. He cradles me close, kissing my temple, my eyelids, the tip of my nose.
“You did good, little thief.”
I manage a tired smile.
“Needed your fire to temper my trickery,” I say, my voice trembling.
“And you needed my rules to keep that clever brain from getting you killed.” He taps my nose. “Admit it.”
I hide my face in his neck. “Fine. I… like your rules. I like knowing you’ll catch me when I fall. I like belonging to someone who cares enough to blister my butt when I’m reckless.” My voice drops to a whisper. “I need it, Sarak. I needyou.”
