“Though maybe you need less persuading than I had thought…”
Jean-Phillipe brought his wrist to his lips, and she had just a moment to quirk a brow before he tore into the flesh, blood immediately dripping onto her chin and neck. He pressed the wound to her mouth, forcing her to drink, the metallic tang hitting her nostrils first before trickling down her throat. She wanted to gag, though a moment later, pure euphoria replaced revulsion, her entire body as light as a feather and tingling with heat. In an instant, his wrist was replaced with his mouth pressing hard to hers and parting the seam of her lips with his tongue.
He slipped his way in, tasting the blood and swirling his tongue around her mouth. It was longer than she had expected, at least from what she’d experienced with Pierre and Henri, sliding down her throat until she was suitably breathless.
On instinct, she circled her lips, sucking hard and swiping her own tongue around the one gagging her, earning a soft moan from the man caging her to the bed.
Moon mother, she needed him, needed his body intertwined with hers so strongly that she couldn’t think straight. A desperate buzz of energy filled her as he tangled his hand in her hair, forcing his tongue deeper until the muscles of her throat clenched around it.
She was going to be sick, but it was worth it for every moment of pure ecstasy, her body giving in to his.
Isabelle pressed her palms to his chest, gripping onto his shirt, unsure whether she was trying to push him away or pull him closer. Jean-Phillipe chuckled, letting his tongue slip from her mouth as he raked a hand through her hair.
“Still thinking of your moon mother?” he purred, tracing his hand down her chest and leaving a streak of blood.
He paused at her breasts, squeezing them between nimble fingers, before sliding further down her stomach. Goddess, she wanted to resist, wanted to scream and fight until she was hoarse, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so.
The overwhelming need was too strong.
Jean-Phillipe licked through the wound at his wrist and leaned in, hovering right over her pelvis. Was he going to…?
Certainly not.
When Pierre had tried, she’d told him no, the thought so abhorrent even she–cursed with lust as she was–couldn’t bear to entertain it. But now?
Jean-Phillipe just smiled, letting his tongue slip past his lips as her eyes widened with shock.
A split tongue, forked down the middle like a snake, each part flexing independently of the other. The sight sent a jolt through her, his proximity to her slick seam making her quiver as he brushed over her stomach. Her muscles tensed, the firm wet tongues dancing across her with the deftness of a painter, leaving streaks of glossy red.
It wasn’t random, though, but some sort of design, swirls and spirals intertwining and connecting as heat built in her core.
Isabelle couldn’t speak, every thought gone from her mind beyond a need to be consumed. She wanted him to tear into her flesh, so close to her center, to eat her bit by bit until there was nothing left.
Horrible thoughts, but instead of terror, they brought her serenity, her body tensing and relaxing as Jean-Philippe finished his masterpiece. He raked his tongues over her mound and she let out a surprised yelp, before it morphed into a moan.
Without stopping, he dragged through her slit, her back arching as he spread her open. It was strange, the tongues wet and firm and slipping their way inside stroke by stroke.
The sensation was so foreign that she gripped his hair, simultaneously trying to pull him away and keep him in place. The glare he delivered sent an icy chill through her, and before she could comprehend whatwas happening, there was a sharp pain at her wrists, something pinning them to the bed.
Tendrils of dark green vines, dotted with thorns.
They bound her arms, connecting her to the monster in her bed, somehow extending from his sleeves in a show of dancing light. Tiny thorns dug into her skin, and she winced from the pain, though the stinging filled her body with warmth, just like the cilice encircling her thigh.
Jean-Philippe shook his head, tsking.
“You can try to fight me another time. Right now, you will take what I’m giving you without complaint. Understood?”
Isabelle swallowed hard and nodded as another tendril slithered its way up her body like a snake, the small pinpricks of pain against her flesh sending more erotic tremors to her cunt. She ached for him, reveling in the way the vine curled around her neck, squeezing her until she was breathless.
He was back at her entrance, one tongue circling at her clit, while the other slid through her seam, swiping along her inner walls and searching for that sensitive spot. The one she’d discovered years ago when exploring herself, the place which sent her into euphoric bliss when she touched it in just the right way.
Isabelle gasped when he found it, arching her back though she remained tethered to the bed. Her pleasure was building quickly between the stimulation from both sides, her body trembling under the monster’s ministrations.
She closed her eyes, then cried out when the stroking stopped, her cunt quivering on the precipice of release.
“Open your eyes, darling. You must watch me while I claim you.”
She did as she was told, peering down to see Jean-Phillipe resume the motion of his tongues against her clit and cunt, wetness dripping from her as she neared her peak. It was mesmerizing, the way they moved, elongated compared to a human’s tongue and hitting all the right spots.
