I feel myself blushing, and then I’m being picked up from the floor, and he’s walking me back to another part of the house.
“But first, Everest, my little human, I suck.”
eight
EVEREST
Slowly moving toward consciousness, my limbs feel heavy, like someone laid a forty-pound weighted blanket on me.Yeah,I’ll get used to ruenox my tight little ass.
I mean, okay, the effects aren’t as bad in the moments after I come down, but waking up the next day isn’t easy. My dick is aching, my balls feel like empty husks, and every muscle in my body feels weak. I’m pretty sure I’m going to become nutrient-deficient if Rathyn isn’t careful.
If he isn’t?—
Oh god.Rathyn.
The night before comes back to me in little fits and bursts. The Vyastil commander.
The monster.
Mymonster, apparently.
Taking a deep breath and rolling over, I realize two things in quick succession: one, these aren’t my pillows, and two, this isn’t my bed. I sit up with a gasp, relieved to find I’m alone, but distressed to see that I’m fully naked.
I glance around, half-panicked because I can’t remember shit after the third orgasm. Or was it the fourth?
The fifth?
Fuck. I lost count.
I remember knowing I wanted to go home after he was finished with me and the ruenox effects had worn off.
I have a hazy memory of telling him I wanted to leave, though that might have been a hallucination considering the way he can slip into my mind without warning, but I know for a fact I didn’t want to stay here.
You know, in this posh-as-fuck loft with the monster I apparently signed my life away to.
Taking a breath, I drop my feet over the edge of the bed and look around. This can’t possibly be his room. It’s small and nondescript, with a basic bedroom set that could have come from IKEA.
Considering how fussy he is, I doubt he shops for cheap Swedish furniture.
In the corner of the room, there’s a closet door halfway open, and inside, the shelves are empty. He doesn’t wear a lot of clothes around me, but he does wear some, so this must be the guest space.
It’s a little odd to think about him having guests over, but stranger things have happened. Like me, signing my dick away to use as his own personal cum bank.
I shove thoughts about last night out of my head and stretch my back as I wonder where the hell he is.
And it doesn’t take him long to answer—though it’s annoying that his voice comes through my head instead of calling for me.
“I am here, little human.”
His voice causes an instant, pulsing headache that’s gone as quickly as it appeared. It wasn’t like that before. Maybe it’s some kind of hangover from the ruenox.
“Can you not speak to me this way?”I answer back, irritated, then add,“Are you in your apartment?”
He doesn’t answer. Malicious compliance, I suppose. I have a feeling he’s good at that. I glance around for clothes, but the most I can find is a very sheer robe hanging on the inside of the bathroom door. The sight of the toilet reminds me I need to go, so I hover over the bowl, one hand on the wall, the other massaging my poor, sore dick.
God, I feel so strangely empty.
The moment I finish, I wash my hands with an odd-smelling, pearly soap, then stare at myself in the mirror.
