Page 65 of The Jester

My response is a breathless sound, barely audible over the blood rushing in my ears. I close my eyes and let his newfound dominance wash over me.

Finn nods slowly, then unfastens his mask and sets it down on the mantel above the fire. I smile when I see his face, but the look in his eyes takes my smile and turns it into breathy, open-mouthed anticipation.

“Strip,” he commands. “Stand here. Hands flat on the stone, legs apart, facing the wall.”

I hesitate for the span of a heartbeat before complying, peeling away layers of silk and leather, feeling the cool kiss of the air on my skin. My wings tremble with anticipation. My entire body craves his touch.

Beneath my fingertips, the wall is rough and cold. I press my palms flat against it, aware only of the sound of my own breath and the faint flicker of candlelight casting dancing shadows.

Finn moves behind me, the subtle chime of bells announcing the presence of his wings. Then he brings something to my face. A blindfold. He pulls it tight over my eyes and fastens it gently. “Can you see?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No. I cannot.”

“Retract your wings.”

I hesitate. I thought he was going to tie me up. I pictured him looping the rope between my breasts, binding my wings tightly, then fucking me while I cannot move.

“I said, retract them.” He gives my left wing a sharp tug that causes me to moan with both pleasure and pain. When I do as he asks, he whispers, “Good girl,” then slides his hand between my thighs and cups my pussy. Applying pressure – hard but not moving – he blows warm air on my neck, then grazes my flesh with his teeth.

I flex my fingers, scraping the stone with my nails.

“Don’t move. Unless it becomes too much.”

I swallow hard. The power emanating from Finn’s body and mind seeps into my skin and turns to liquid heat in my core.

He steps away from me. I hear him removing his clothes, then feel him draw closer once more.

With my sight removed, everything feels heightened.

His back meets mine. I wait for him to turn around so his cock is pressed against my ass, but he doesn’t.

If he’s not going to fuck me from behind, what in the stars is he going to do to me?

For the longest time, he doesn’t move. His presence becomes a column of heat. And then I feel his wings emerge. At first, they caress my back, fluttering gently. A pang of sympathy swells in my chest because I know how badly he wishes they were bigger, bolder, stronger.

But then their pace changes.

He is beating them harder.

The gentle stroking begins to sting. I wince, but he beats harder still.

And harder.

And harder.

The motion sends whip-like ripples through the air, each stroke needling my exposed flesh. Notes of pleasure and pain rise from the core of my being. I give in to the pain. I slam my hands against the wall but do not move.

I can take it.

I want him to know I can take it.

“Finn . . .”

He stops for a quivering, pulsating second, but does not answer me.

Panting, I rest my forehead on the wall. My back burns. Pain radiates down over my ass to the tops of my thighs. My legs tremble.

There is a heavy pause. Finn releases a guttural roar. I expect to feel the thrum of his wings on my flesh but, instead, his hands are on my hips. He pulls the blindfold from my eyes, spins me around, and strokes my face.

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