Page 118 of Taken By Touch and Torment

He grabbed my thighs and forced me down, not even allowing me to think about my self-consciousness before he’d found my clit with his wicked tongue. I let out a raspy moan as he flitted against it, teasing before he began to lap me up. He slid his tongue across my folds before piercing my opening. He moaned like he was tasting the most luxurious dessert, pulling me closer as he slowly closed his mouth around my clit.

He sucked and pulsed, and flooded with his desire, I allowed myself to lightly grind against him. I closed my eyes, and I lost myself to pleasure.

How strange it was that an act that was meant to bring me pleasure, that was meant to show me Rune’s devotion, was the one that had me tightly wound. Not the acts that degraded me, that hurt me. It was yet another victory to let go of this shame and claim these building waves of ecstasy instead.

I deserved pleasure. Reverence. Love. I deserved all of these aspects of my sexuality—from the painful to the sublime.

Rune consumed me. It was concerning how good he was with his tongue. His shadows held me captive above him as my eyes closed. He grabbed my ass, his fingers digging into my flesh.

I envisioned that divine violence as I rode peak after peak of rapture. I remembered my anger, my utter fury at being so fucking used by everyone, my whole life. Just a pawn, an object, a doll on a shelf. A sex toy.

A blood bag.

I imagined how it would feel to cut into Durian like he’d carved into me, over and over again. What would he look like kneeling before me begging for mercy? What would a fair punishment be for chipping away at my sanity, for beating me until I bled, for touching me and traumatizing me so he could get off to my pain and humiliation?

A severed head seemed far too lenient of a sentence.

I saw myself, powerful and healed, not a single mark on my skin save Rune’s. This woman was a dark goddess, a being that didn’t belong in this realm. The men who’d hurt her were bent at the knees, pleading for undeserved grace. They learned how it felt to see prayer after desperate prayer go unanswered.

How deeply, viscerally satisfying would it be to show the born elite that the human they enslaved in the name of Lillian was really her daughter and harbinger of their destruction?

They’d let a demon into the henhouse.

And they were so enamored with her that they were going to do it all over again.

My body was molten, my mind delirious with gratification. Fate was thunderous and melodic in my ears, my heartbeat a steady certainty.

My legs trembled, and Rune’s grip on my ass tightened, his shadows coiling around my body. When his fangs lightly scraped against my most sensitive flesh, I cried out. The building tsunami crashed, and I rode Rune’s tongue until I claimed every drop of my release.

“Your stance is substantially less shitty,” Uriah commented with a nod. “Remember what I said about your grip around the hilt.”

I adjusted my fingers, facing down a dummy with the dagger Phillip gifted me in hand. A crowd roared at my back. The turned had gathered for a night of play fighting, tournament style. Uriah and I found a secluded nook for our nightly training session. Other than the stray lingering stare, we were left alone.

Snow was watching from a respectful distance, but Rune was nowhere to be found. I’d been right that it was best he didn’t train me. There were too many emotions involved. Not to mention the violent lust.

It only took one attempted lesson between us to prove the hunch correct.

When my blade connected with the dummy, I imagined it was Durian.

“Good shit, Trouble,” Uriah said with a beaming smile. “You hit the heart. Nearly guaranteed chance of vampire death. But remember, given the difficulty of hitting such a small target hidden by all those pesky bones—there’s no shame in aiming for somewhere easier first. The blood onyx is going to weaken a vamp enough for you to recenter. The poison will be most effective where?”

“Major organs and arteries,” I said, catching my breath.

Phillip’s handcrafted weapons were forged with flecks of blood onyx, possessing magick that was paralytic and weakening to vampires. It was one of the many magickal ingredients Valentin supplied to Ravenia, the exports that were even more important during wartimes.

Uriah gave me a brief anatomy lesson.

We finished with strength training, my least favorite part of our sessions. Mostly because Uriah had no filter and routinely commented on how it seemed impossible for someone to be so physically weak.

By the time I’d collapsed on the dead grass next to Snow, I’d somehow stripped to thin layers, sweat beading along my forehead in the dead of winter.

She was sitting with her knees to her chest. She looked down at my sweaty, breathless form and laughed.

“Shut up,” I snapped.

Uriah placed his hands on his hips, standing over us with a wide grin. “We all have our talents. I mean, your upper body might be comically feeble, but look what you did to the entire castle earlier…”

Snow flushed bright red, glaring at Uriah.

---