“By my Maker, Caitlin, why do you torment me so?”
He doesn’t let up, even when the pleasure is too great. I grab his wrist to pull him off but he’s immovable.
“I said you weren’t sorry yet,” he grunts. “And you’re not.”
I squirm against the attention, but his hold is so strong on my throat and sex that there’s no escape from him, from this.
“Please,” I whimper, the ecstasy ebbing into pain.
“Please what, Kitty?” he asks, thrusting harder against my backside.
The glide of his plated cock against my other hole becomes overstimulation that sends my mind flying into chaos. The pain switch flips and I’m soaring again, so much higher than before.
“Please, don’t stop,” I urge, gripping his wrist with abandon.
His hand tightens on my neck, and my vision darkens at the edges.
“Wicked thing, my little whore,” he tries the words again and they’re just as potent, making me squirm.
“More,” I murmur, not knowing why this denigrating talk is intensifying the bliss but I don’t care. I just want him to push me over this new edge, this new high.
“You abase yourself when you come with my hand around your neck and my fingers in your pretty cunt, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I cry.
“I said I would mark you from mouth to cunt,” he groans and I feel his cock harden. “And now I claim your luscious ass.”
I’m thrown. Gasping. Sputtering. Seizing.
He growls, releasing my neck from his grip only to bite down on me. The pleasure amplifies twice over at the touch of his fangs on my flesh. An electric zing fires between my pussy, neck, and tattoo. Some deep yearning opens like a bud in bloom, begging for more. More pleasure, more touch, more love.
“More!” I scream, my nails biting into his leg and wrist.
Suddenly, Bastian freezes.
I’m panting on top of him, my nails certainly drawing blood. I ease back on my grip and open my eyes. His brow is pinched tight in pain, and I sense the blooming flower retreat, like winter come too soon. Like a story left untold, its pages closing to the world.
He releases my neck and slides his finger out of me, keeping his gaze turned away.
“Bastian, what is it?” I ask, knowing, deep down, something is very wrong.
He smirks, huffing through his nose. “That was fun, right? Just fucking around.”
I try to smile. “Yeah, fun.”
There’s a swirl of black and suddenly we’re back in the bath at home. It’s cramped, and his legs are pinned against the side. I get up and reach for my towel to cover myself. I need to cover myself. I need to hide.
He gets out of the tub and walks away, wicking the water from his body with magic as he goes.
My heart is thundering and my stomach is queasy. I don’t know how to salvage this. I don’t even know what’s wrong.
“’Kay, well thanks. Good time…” I say.
The door closes behind him with a crack, making me flinch.
Oh no.
What did I do wrong?
