Or so I thought.
He stops halfway down the sidewalk, and I pan the camera to his face as he cautiously turns toward my door. His mouth moves, but his words are indiscernible. Caught in an internal debate between what he wants and what he was told, he struggles to decide.
My desk chair squeaks as I rotate away from my computer, stand and make my way to the door with a spring in my step. I lean against the wall beside it and wait, tapping my painted nails on my crossed arms. The floor vibrates beneath my feet as he hops back on the porch, and the door rattles with an irritated knock.
That’s a good boy. Come to mama.
I whip the door open and slide my right hand up the frame, cocking my hip sideways. “Tsk tsk.” I wag my finger at him. “You broke the rule.”
He reaches up, his Reaper robe sleeve sliding down, exposing a thorny tribal tattoo that wraps around his forearm, starting at his wrist and disappearing beneath his sleeve at the elbow. His fingers lightly touch the skin of my raised hand and seductively travel from the base of my thumb to my armpit, sending goosebumps across my flesh like a wave crashing to shore, before dropping his hand casually beside him. “What are you going to do about it?”
I snatch his robe quickly, twisting the front of it in my grasp, and yank him harshly into the room before slamming the door and locking it behind me. He smiles playfully, backing up carefully as I stalk toward him. “I’m going to secure you to that altar behind you and torture you.”
His head pivots toward the elevated wooden altar, its surface lit by candles, with chains and leather cuffs dangling over the edges. My wood-burning fire crackles over his shoulder, sending bright orange embers up into the chimney and waves of heat into the room.
Mastyx is here. I can feel his warmth through the flames of the fireplace. A few times, I’ve come home, and the fire was out, making my blood and body feel chilled to the bone. The room feels vacant and lonely when the fire isn’t lit. It’s our connection, mortal to immortal; his flame heats my flesh, igniting and fueling our contractual relationship. Without it, our bond may be severed.
There’s a slight hesitation in the Reaper’s mannerisms, in his movements, in his thoughts as he battles with his overwhelming desire to fuck me and the fear of me tying him down so he has no control. He turns to me, wanting to question me further about my plans, so I do what I always do: make my offer irresistible.
I reach up to my throat and unsnap my cape, letting it fall silently to the floor, kicking it aside with my heeled foot. Before he can open his mouth to speak, I grab the bottom hem of my vampire dress and pull it over my head, tossing my hair side to side before combing my fingers through my locks and resting them gingerly over my shoulder on one side. His jaw drops open, hanging slack like it’s waiting for a fly to buzz in. I run my thumbs along the inside seam of my red lace bikini underwear, tugging them slightly down, revealing a fading tan line from summer. He approaches me with fire igniting in his eyes as he scans my body from my face to my toes and back again. “You’re so fucking hot.”
Hot? He has no idea what real heat feels like.
But he will.
I grab the zipper of his Reaper robe and tug it downward, listening to it click slowly, one tooth at a time, until it openscompletely at the bottom, allowing him to pull it off, revealing his naked body underneath. I drag my painted nails over his chiseled, tattooed abdomen from his sternum down to his happy trail, leaving bright red streaks, marking my territory before twirling my fingers in the pubic hair just above his rock-hard, sizable cock as he groans.
He pushes his outfit against mine on the floor, slides his palm behind my neck, pulling me in closer and plants a harsh kiss on my lips.
Does he think this counts as being rough?
How boring.
I grab his face with both hands, crushing his cheeks with my palms and thrust him backward into the altar. He quickly grasps the wooden edge, stopping himself from falling to the black fuzzy rug beneath his feet. “Oh, we like itreallyrough, do we?”
My hand thrusts against his cock, gripping his shaft tightly as I squeeze and stroke it. His body bends back as he perches on his tiptoes, trying to escape my iron grip to no avail. “Easy now. Don’t rip it off,” he pants with heavy breaths as his ass slides up and across the surface of the altar.
“Lie down,” I order, releasing my hold on him.
He does as he’s told, as I reach out my hand to my Wiccan altar table at the top of the altar and gently stir the small batch of candy corn, still warm and melted in the copper Tree of Life-handled pot resting above a tealight candle. It swirls beneath my wax-seal spoon, its consistency smooth and ready to use.
“What’s that?” he asks, sitting up on his elbows and trying to look behind him.
I press his forehead back against the altar with my pointer finger and rest my painted nail against his lips. “Shhh.” I walk my fingers across his chest and down his arm. “Have you heard of wax play?” I ask as I gingerly grab his wrist and tighten the first restraint around it.
His eyes light up at the thought. “Oh, hell yeah. It’s my jam.”
Aren’t I the lucky one?
I sway my head, moving it side to side to the quiet music of Bryce Savage playing in the background, humming along to Curiosity as I mosey to the opposite side of him and seize his wrist. He yanks back, pulling my hand against his chest and holding it there. “Don’t hold back. I live for this shit.”
As he releases my hand, a broad and sinister grin spreads across my face as I giggle and say, “Oh, don’t worry, darling, once I begin, you will beg me to stop.”
He chuckles as I grip his ankle and smirk at a tiny broken heart tattoo peeking just above his low-cut socks. Using the end of the altar for support, he kicks off his sneakers, letting them drop to the floor with a thud. I reach for his socks, and he pulls his foot away from me. “I got this.” He takes his big toe, curls it inside the top of his sock, peels it off, and then repeats the same process with the other toe.
“Spread your legs wide,” I say, planting both my palms on his thighs and tugging them harshly apart. He gasps as I wrap the leg restraint around his ankle, then glide over to the other one and do the same. I stare at him briefly before walking to the head of the altar and tossing a strap across his forehead, securing it to the other side, and forcing his head flat against the table, keeping him from moving.
His chest rises and falls rapidly as I shimmy out of my underwear and climb onto the altar, straddling his legs and pinning them down as I rub my bottom lip with my fingertip before tracing my finger down the front of me, my hand disappearing between my legs. I rub my pussy, moaning and rocking on his bare legs, feeling the moisture inside me building as I close my eyes and pleasure myself.
