“Is this okay?” I ask.
To my surprise, he bursts out laughing. Deep, echoing rumbles that crack off the walls and prickle beneath my skin. It’s the kind of sound dusted with sand and edged with steel. Not cruel. Nice, but the laugh of someone not accustomed to the process.
I suppose, being alone underground for as long as he has been, he hasn’t had much opportunity for humor.
But there is softness in his features when he dips his face and kisses me. It’s with that same intoxicating rush that makes my head light and my entire body tremble with a heady need. My very blood seems to burn in my veins, a current of such bliss that when his hips surge forward, my body gives zero resistance. There is no pain. No discomfort. I’m so relieved to finally have him inside me, I cum.
Hard. A violent seizing of my very soul, so brutal, it hurts. Hurts to breathe. Hurts to let go. My channel grips him with a possessive ferocity that I’m certain is going to unman him. And the entire time, my limbs quiver with uncontrollable tremors. My back bows off the table. I’m making sounds I didn’t think existed and he’s kissing me. Swallowing my cries, cutting my air.
“Don’t stop,” he murmurs.
I don’t think I can.
The orgasm is an endless torture. A building mountain without a peak. I think I’m going to die.
I’m sure of it.
“Shhh,” he soothes when my wails of pleasure turn to cries of panic. “You can take it.”
But the overwhelming rush, the violent vibration between my ears, the pressure building … building between my thighs where he’s embedded, not moving.
Searing liquid gushes with an explosion of a faucet bursting on full. It expels with such a force that I scream. Hips jerking, thrashing wildly. Impaling my pulsing channel down on him over and over.
“That’s what I wanted,” he groans, finally moving. “Doesn’t that feel better?”
I’m not sure.
I’m exhausted, muscles lax and soaked with release and sweat. My heart is thundering with cracking force against my ribs. Vicious snaps I feel in my throat. There are electric currents roaring down my limbs, erratic surges that won’t stop trembling even as he moves inside me.
Slow at first, teasing rolls that escalate with every forward thrust. His beautiful face — Marcus’s face — rises and falls above me though I know it’s not him. I wonder vaguely if this is his body being used or if he’s an illusion, something the shadows created to put me at ease.
“You are mine,” he breathes into my ear. “My perfect pet.”
I scowl up at him. “I’m not a pet.”
The black voids swirl, tendrils spilling down the soft contours of his cheeks giving him an almost demonic expression. But I don’t look away. Don’t flinch under the slow curl of his mouth, the jagged, serrated teeth.
And that only seems to amuse him further.
Behind him, the wisps coming off him expand. They billow and stretch, forming an erratic dance of powdery tentacles that slash through the air. I should be terrified, but sheer stubborn pride refuses to let me cower even when my wrists are captured.
When they’re wrenched over my head with barbs that gouge into bone and flesh. More twist into the muscles above my knees, forcing them up and wide. The edges cut, drawing thin droplets of blood.
But now I am helpless. Bound and open to the creature pushing to his knees. His chin drops and I follow his gaze to the thick, stiff shaft he pulls free of my body.
It’s coated with my release and smeared in my lost innocence. The combination has turned the essence pink.
I flush at the sight. Burn hotter when he reaches down and slides two fingers down the rigid length, collecting the stain. I watch, horrified, when he spreads it down his tongue.
He grins at my attempts to squirm.
“But you’re so good at learning new things.” The same hand drops to my exposed opening and he pushes two fingers in. They curl into the roof of my vagina. Into a place that has my limbs tensing and eyes rolling back. “So eager.”
He withdraws, fingers coated. I think he’s going to lick them again, but they’re brought to my breasts. My chest and stomach. My blood and cum is smeared across my skin in an intricate collection of symbols that match those on the dais. Every timehe runs out, he’s back between my thighs, gathering more to resume his work.
The moisture makes my skin itch. It dries with faded pink smudges that are met with his tongue cleaning them off with long, languid strokes. At my nipples, he latches. Teeth and lips, hungry sucks that make it impossible to ignore.
“We have all night, little pet. All night for my payment. All night to use my pretty new hole.”
