In all the shoots and gigs, in all the fashion shows, on all the runways I’ve walked, I never felt it. Steel doesn’t whisper; it rages. Concrete doesn’t sing; it screams. Plaster doesn’t hum; it seethes.
Closing my eyes, I sink into the earth and let it ground me. It’s as if invisible roots slither out and wind about my wrists and up my arm, anchoring me, soothing me, filling my mind with a cool breeze, one that wipes away every bit of longing for the drugs.
This. This is what I’ve needed. This is what I’ve wanted.
Home.
Earth.
Icora
Zilara.
This goddess underneath me, screaming as I command her body, as I force her to give in and give herself to me. Taking herpain and transmuting it into agonizing pleasure. Forcing her to bend to my will as I morph her worry into shards of delirium more potent than any drug could ever be.
Some days might be hard again. I know I’ll always crave that slip into oblivion, that quietness that only narcotics, opioids, alcohol, and random, meaningless sex can provide. My body knows it now, greets it like a friend that I know will stab me in the back at a moment’s notice.
But today, right now, this instant, I find I have everything I need, everything I crave, all wrapped up in a silver suit hugging every delectable inch that I cannot wait to commit to memory.
“Submit to me,” I growl against her parted lips. “Let me have you. All of you. Give me the parts that no one else sees, that no one else wants. Let me be your safety, your anchor, because, baby, I see the hurt. I see the pain. I feel it as deeply as my own. Give it all to me. Let me carry this burden. Even if it’s for this one stolen moment.”
Her lashes flutter for a second as she looks away, but I won’t abide those actions. I won’t let her hide. Not when I’m so close to seeing who she really is.
Reaching out, I grip her chin and turn her face toward me, noting the shifting in her expression. She’s guarded, formidable, an impenetrable force. She needs someone to scale her walls and tear them down brick by fucking brick.
“Come on, baby,” I coax as I tighten my grip. “Submit to me. You can do it.”
My balls ache as they swell back up with cum, but I do my best to ignore it. Every graze of her body against me is agony, making my cock leap forward and twitch with need. Still, she stares at me, unmoving, unyielding.
“I’m not an infant, bull,” she snaps as her body finally jerks under mine. “And for you to imply as such is a humiliation I won’t bear.”
My lips quirk into a smile as I shake my head. “On Earth, it’s a term of endearment. I was never calling you a child.” Such funny differences between our planets. But none of that will deter me from coaxing her to yield to me. “Are you going to submit? Or am I going to have to force you?”
Her nostrils flare as her lovely eyes go a touch dark. Oh, oh yes. That’s exactly what this little hellcat wants. Whether it’s because she wants to feel me overcome her or if it’s because she needs that out, she needs that plausible deniability, doesn’t matter. The end result is still and always will be the same.
Arousal pricks my skin as I find her wrists and hold them high above her head. It’s then that she bursts into a flurry of motion. Her legs kick out as her hips buck up against me, nearly slamming into my engorged cock again. Easing to the side, I ram my knee up between her thighs, stopping just short of her pussy. It spreads her out, but not enough.
Bringing the other knee inside her legs, I wrench her open even more as she thrashes about. Tears stream down her face, but deep down, I know it’s not because she wants me to stop. She’s a big girl with a smart mouth. She would have said something.
Just in case, I transfer her left wrist over to my other hand and grab her chin again. “Tell me to stop. Tell me to not take you, to not fuck you, to not own you completely. Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me your pussy isn’t fucking soaked from the way I handle you, from the way I make you so fucking helpless under me.”
Instead of words, a frustrated moan rips from her lips as she continues to fight me. Never once does she order me to stop. Never once does she even breathe the words conveying she doesn’t want this. A wolfish grin widens my lips as I slide my legs out even further, spreading her even wider.
With the suit on, I can’t tell at all if she’s wet or not. Time to find out. I grip the silver tab and bring it down again. In my other hand, her delicate wrists squirm and slide about as she struggles to be free of me. Is this a token resistance? Is she actually trying? I detest that I can’t tell.
My forearms and delts scream as she wrenches her arms about, but I hold on. Despite the way the small muscles in my neck cry out for relief, I don’t let go. For her, I have to be strong. She’s testing me, seeing my limits, seeing if I can handle her. Though I’m weaker than normal right now, I know it won’t last forever. A few weeks tending this farm and she’ll never feel a quiver of struggle in my muscles again.
“Tell me, Zilara,” I practically purr as I bring the zipper all the way down to expose that delightful bit of flesh just above her mound. “Are you wet for me? Does your pussy want to be filled by my cock? I promise you, I may not be as large as what you’re used to, but I have more than enough cum to make you leak for hours after I get through with you. Either way, my cock needs to be milked, and this time, I want it to be by your pussy clenching around so tight I can’t help but let it all go.”
Her lips tighten up, and still she doesn’t answer. Not a problem. I can still make her scream even if she doesn’t want to talk to me. Easing my hand into her suit, I slide my fingers down the slick lower lips.
“Ahhhhh. You are wet for me, sweetheart. Fucking soaked. Just how I thought you’d be. Why deny yourself the pleasure any longer?”
Bringing my hand up to my lips, I force her to watch as I lap her pale, light blue, almost pearlescent arousal from each fingertip. An odd flavor explodes on my tongue. It’s one that has no words. It’s like every good memory wrapped up into one indefinable flavor—tart apples, water from the creek down from the house, brown sugar, crust so flakey it crumbles as you biteinto it, and cherries stolen from Leo’s farm under the dead of night and light of a full moon.
Addicting. The word slithers through my head.
You will never be clean, follows soon after.
