Page 58 of Collected By the Crow

Qadaire lovingly lathered her with soap, his gray eyes as adoring as ever. He ran the loofah over her with his upper right hand, the other three half-washing, half-groping her.

She couldn’t stop shaking her thighs. Q’s gaze flicked to her nervous habit, a subtle, sly grin making its way over his features. She bit her lip and moved her hands to his chest instead.

“It’s going to work, right?” When she’d first asked about being Turned, he’d had too many reservations. As was his wont, he started secretly seeking knowledge while she slept. A couple months later, he’d broached the subject again, saying he found more information in an old records library in the council building.

“It’s going to work, dewdrop.”

He warbled as he moved his ministrations down, the loofah grazing over her lovehandles, her hips, her thighs. He bent a knee and kneeled before her, lifting her left leg over his shoulder. His warbles went crazy as he dragged in an exaggerated breath, then leaned into her sex to take another. She grabbed the feathers on the back of his head as he pressed through her folds, rubbing his nose, mouth, his whole face against her pussy.

“Q!”

“Mmm?” He dragged his slightly coarse tongue through her folds, dampening them further.

“We’re gonna save it for the Turning!”

“That was your idea.”

“You love my ideas.”

She wanted to know just how powerful that aphrodisiac was. When they’d faked her Turning for the experiment, she’d been so drunk she would’ve done anything for his cock to fill her, even though she’d been upset and heartbroken at the time. Now that they were in love, she was looking forward to the boundless pleasure his venom would bring. And the absolute pounding.

“I guess a little warm-up isn’t such a bad idea,” she breathed as he continued to lick her seam, dipping the tip of his tongue inside her but ignoring her clit. She fisted his feathers and used the leg around his neck as leverage to drive herself over his face.

Qadaire groaned but replaced her foot to the ground and stood, claiming her mouth. She could taste herself on his tongue.

“We should save it for the Turning,” he whispered against her lips. She giggled and swatted him.

After the shower, she banished him from the bedroom so she could get ready. They’d planned the whole thing as though it was ceremonial, because, well, you only lose your mortality once. She donned the black lace lingerie set, complete with garters and knee-highs, and braided her hair. She wasn’t sure what he had planned, but she knew it would involve multiple orgasms.

“Okay, dude. You got this,” she told the mirror. Behind her, Zero was wagging his tail like he knew something was going on. “You stay upstairs, goofball.”

Another steadying breath and she made her way to the hallway balcony, where she could see down to the foyer. The tan carpet was soft under her feet while she gripped the smooth brown railing. There was no red allowed in their home.

Black and white rose petals started at the stairs and continued past what was visible to her. She ran her fingers on the railing as she descended, her heart pitter-pattering like rain on top of their new greenhouse. She reached the bottom of the stairs, took one step, then felt Q behind her. His lower arms encircled her waist and he sucked on her earlobe. He trailed a silky fabric up her stomach, and she glanced down to see it was a long, thin, black slip, which he proceeded to wrap over her eyes.

A thrill ran up the trail the blindfold had taken, shooting straight through her core and tightening her nipples until they teased against the lacy bra.

“You are mine, dewdrop.” His tone was dark, his breath tickling the shell of her ear. “Do you understand?”

“I’m yours.”

“By the end of this, you will be mine in more than words.”

Her clit pulsed. She arched her back, leaning her head into his neck with an involuntary whimper. “What do you mean?”

“I mean”—he scraped his fangs over the length of her neck, tracing her vital artery with foreboding precision—“we will be forever tied by a blood bond.” He pinched her nipples through the lace, tugging them tight until they extended in his fingers. She sucked in a breath as she felt them pop through holes in the lace, then he ghosted his palms over them and they tightened even more. His lower left hand cupped her sex possessively. “You will never be able to cut our ties. You are mine, for eternity.”

“Qadaire,” she pleaded. She wanted him to stroke her clit, keenly aware of his unmoving, steady hand. She tried to tilt her hips, craving just one brush of friction, but he denied her. He swooped her into his arms.

When he set her down, it was in the faux-leather tantra chair they loved to fuck on. Its S-shaped design was perfect for all the spots, the width of it allowing Qadaire to settle around her lap, wings and all. The half-circle cushion was in place, so it was a flat surface. This chair always reminded her of the bench where he’d first eaten her out in the greenhouse.

This was nothing like that moment a lifetime ago. She could smell the cinnamon candle he had burning, mixing with his familiar scent. Qadaire skimmed the sharp tips of his nails up her inner thighs, bringing all her baby hairs to attention. His touch was followed by another, a leathery item, which he cuffed around her thigh, then her wrist. She tugged her wrist to find that the cuffs were connected. He bound the other side, rendering her hands useless at her sides.

“Comfortable, dewdrop?” He teased his hands up her thighs again, that soft touch making her rattle the cuffs. Before she could answer, a lone finger brushed her outer seam through the lace and she whimpered like injured prey. “Hmm?”

“Y-yes.” she squealed at the end of the word as the finger bypassed her thong and dipped shallowly inside her. “Fuck, Q!”

His responding chuckle was etched with promise. His finger remained inside her only past the fingernail as his thumb came to rest to the side of her clit. He rubbed the sensitive flesh around it on either side in a V pattern, avoiding the source of her need and dodging her attempts to rub it on him. Two hands came to her breasts, lifting them and kneading them, playing with their weight through the lacy garment.

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