“When?” I force out even as my body bows to him. As my spine bends to give him the other breast as offering.
A slick pressure slides between my legs. A whisper. A taunt. Never touching, but so close it burns.
“Open for me first. Let me feed.”
Pulsing tendrils slither over my hips, shackle my wrists. They are bound to the mattress just over my head. Something thick brushes my core. Nudges my opening.
I thrash. Barely. There’s no effort when my channel is throbbing with greedy pangs.
“Please…” I whisper, unsure if I want him to stop or finish.
Maybe both.
Maybe neither.
In the corner, the mirror swells. The surface pulses like it’s absorbing my pleas.
“You are mine, Lenora,”he says as if it has always been true, as if it’s been written on my soul.“Your body. Your soul. I will have you first.”
I open my mouth to tell him that he has already been paid, but that razor blade of ice has left my breasts to find my center. It dances ever so lightly over my clit. The momentary pain is swallowed by the fear of being cut as I lie frozen, heart thumping. Too afraid to even speak.
He nicks.
Cuts my swollen bud.
I barely catch my wail as the warning is followed by the sweet sweep of a warm wisp. Maybe his tongue. It runs over and around the injury. It fills me as I gasp. As my hips drive down to meet him.
Long tendrils expand and curl around my thighs. They pull me open, spread me wider. They grip me as their owner laps at my heat with a hunger that sends my head back against the pillow. I barely notice the razor drifting across my heaving belly, leaving love notes in my skin on their journey back to my breasts.
“My precious pet,”he breathes with an all-consuming madness that fuels mine.“Made for me.”
I want to tell him he’s wrong, but he’s circling my nipples. He’s flicking them to match the endless unspooling of his tongue diving deeper, deeper inside me and the second tiny mouth suctioned on my clit.
I try to imagine what he looks like outside of Marcus’s body, try to draw him based on the many hands and mouths and tentacles, and knives he seems to wield, but it always changes.
He’s still licking and sucking. His tongue is still deep in the place no one else has ever touched me. I am already so full when his wisps join the others. When they seep in like ink and spread. Reshaping. Deforming to fit. To stretch.
“Oh God!”
He pulses as if my cry of pleasure feeds him.“Yes, pet. I am your God now. Beg for me.”
He’s so big, bigger than he had been last time. Maybe it’s the tongue … the wisp coiling around his throbbing cock like an added sleeve, but I lose all threads of sanity. I am doing nothing to calm or quiet my voice as I scream the sob lodged in my throat.
“You’re mine,”he’s growling with every slow, deliberate thrust.
Another wave crashes over me, a blunt punch of euphoria that capsizes the world and everything in it. I’m babbling something incoherent as I arch off the bed and meet every thrust of torture.
The shadow fucks slow to shame me, to leave no doubt in my mind that it’s me impaling myself on him. That he barely has to hold me open as I dig my heels into the mattress for him. He wants there to be no mistake that I want this.
Want him.
“I’m not…” His tongue and cock curve into my upper wall. Scatter my thoughts. My stability. “Not yours. I’m not yours,” I growl.
“No?”he mocks with a chuckle that burns my cheek.“Then why are you so fucking wet?”
I want to scream at the injustice. At my body’s stupid weakness.
I want to cry at the helplessness.
