She shuffles over me, finally settling on top of my cock with a purr of pleasure. She grinds on it, and I feel how hot she is under her thin nightshirt tangled between her legs, how wet. She wants this as much as me.
“Remember the last time you rode me?” I ask with a breathless laugh, because I can’t stop taunting her even when she does exactly what I want. It’s like I’m trying to spoil this. Mad Weles.
She throws her head back and slides her nightshirt down her shoulders. The neckline rips, and she bares her breasts, her hips undulating on top of me in a slow, deliberate rhythm.
“You looked very good lying on your back for me.”
My cock jumps with a pulse of heady arousal, and I flex my hips, lifting her once. This is exactly what I need to hear right now. Yes. Let her be in charge.
And yet. She said I looked so good then. I am different now.
“Do you want me to change?” I ask, my voice hushed, because it hurts to ask this question. “Do you want Woland?”
She shakes her head, and I exhale with relief.
“I know it’s you. It makes no difference how you look.”
I grip her hips harder, anchoring her to me, and thrust up repeatedly to show her my ardor and gratitude. She shakes her head and squeezes my throat with one hand. I still, gazing at her with all the love she forbade me to speak of.
“Be good,” she says, her gaze tense and watchful as it slides from my lips to my eyes and back. “Or I’ll go away.”
I lift my arms high over my head, stretching myself open for her use. She smirks, and ropes press into my wrists. I pull to see how much give there is, and they tighten. These ropes are not wet with my blood, and I can easily undo them with magic. That knowledge settles the small flutter of fear that rises in my gut as I remember another woman who fucked me when I was tied up.
Jaga is in control, but she gives me a way out.
“Fuck. Yes. You’re so perfect,” I rave, breathing faster and faster as she drags her nails down my jaw, settling one sharp tip right on top of my pulse point. I shiver and arch my back, and she runs her fingers down to the neckline of my shirt. She rips it in half with bare hands, so strong, this girl.
“Woland is too much in so many ways,” she murmurs, gently stroking my skin from collarbone to sternum, giving me gooseflesh. “And this… This is just right. Not too much. Not too little.”
She grinds on me to let me know her meaning, and I close my eyes, shivering all over. After months of nothing—I can’t handle it. But I will not say a word. If she stops, I’ll fucking die.
“You’re willing to do anything to have me, isn’t that right?” she asks with a mean little laugh, and I nod desperately. “Good. Eat me until you drown.”
She shuffles closer, her knees flanking my head, and drops her dress down, but doesn’t sit. It’s hot and stifling in this little tent, and her scent is overwhelming. I lift my head high, straining my neck, and just manage to lick her with the tip of my tongue. She sighs and sinks down.
I groan as her cunt fills my mouth, clit and labia right where I need them to suck on her in worship. She rocks her hips, controlling her pleasure and mine, and I clench my fists helplessly, getting drowned, indeed.
She is so wet. How can she, when she resisted me so easily all this time? I don’t understand her.
“Oh, yes,” she breathes. “That’s good. You want to do this forever, don’t you? Pathetic Weles. Very good, I like this.”
“Only like?”I ask, delirious and starving for more.“I need you to love it.”
“Then try harder.”
I strain and arch, doubling my efforts. My tongue grows longer and thicker, and I push it inside her, massaging all the right spots even as I deprive myself of air, my mouth so full of her. She grinds down so hard, the back of my head hurts from being pressed into the earth, and I moan my thanks right against her clit. It’s swollen and hot, pulsing in my mouth, and I lick it as hard and fast as I can.
Without warning, Jaga stands up. I exclaim in protest, fighting the ropes to get free and bring her back, and she stands above me, bathed in the blue moonlight, and takes off her dress. I stop struggling and watch her, my chest heaving with mad desire.
“There is something I wanted to do with you,” she says, looking down like a goddess about to trample me into the soil. “But which of us should get your mouth? Do you have a preference?”
She exhales heavily and becomes two, her zmora untangling from her being as she steps away, another Jaga, only wilder, crueler, infinitely worse. I flex my hips, hurting in the constraints of my trousers. She hasn’t freed my cock yet, and it’s torture.
“I want you everywhere,” I pant. “Whatever you decide, you on my cock and her on my face or the other way round, I don’t care. You’re both so perfect.”
Jaga closes her eyes while her zmora prowls closer, dropping into a crouch by my head. She combs her clawed fingers through my hair, cooing with affection, and I almost sob. Oh, she likes me, this wild beast made of hate. She likes me more than the rest of Jaga ever will.
“Very well,” my poppy witch says, nodding sharply.
