Page 113 of Snatched By the Sandman

“Feel me, Zenya. Know me. Tonight will be a test. I will touch you. The bone trees around you will touch you with their claws. A reward of an orgasm will come if you can ascertain which touch is mine. Or a punishment if you guess wrong.” I clutch the side of her face, gazing at those deep marine pools. “Like my brother, I will mark you whenever you guess wrong, but since that is not a deep enough punishment, you will be denied your release.”

Her brows knit into a frown, and I twist my lips into a side smirk. “I am not done yet, my little killer.” I touch one skeletal finger to her lips. “Before I fuck you, I will hunt you through these woods. You must lose your footing, trusting in me to help set you on solid ground when the time comes. You must also root for me. Only then, will I fuck you as you desire.”

“Nyxion…” Morpheus interrupts from nearby, but one glaring look from me warns him not to interfere. He sighs but nods, trusting in my judgment, in my power here.

I give her no hints. No implications of how tonight is but an echo of our first night together.

Break for me.

Fall for me.

“I’ll do my best,” Zenya says softly, balling her hands into fists.

“No.” I shake my head with a smirk and tip her chin with one phalange. “Do yourworst, little killer.”

She rolls her eyes, but when I wrap a blindfold around her eyes, it stops any sass. I won’t make it easy on her. I won’t give her any practice runs.

No time is wasted. For nightmares are like a thief tearing the precious dream away.

One flick of my wrist, and a tree’s femur bone creeps behind her before sweeping her legs out and knocking the wind out of her. Flat on her back, gusting for breath, she groans and mutters, “That was so you, Nyxion.”

I love how the dirt cakes onto her skin.

Before she may rise, I sharpen one of my phalanges into a keen bone needle and draw it across her collarbone.

She struggles and shrieks from the pain while I add the double torment of rubbing her slick, needy folds. By the end of the night, the entire left side of her will mirror her skeletal framework.

Kissing her brow, I finish the first mark, give her pussy a quick, hard slap, and growl, “Try again.”

“Mmm…fucking bonehead,” she spits out.

Morpheus chuckles, but I brush the edge of a scapula bone along her inner thigh, testing her again.

“Please…” she whimpers. “Please, Nyxion. Y-you,” she shudders. “Please say it’s you.”

I will show her.

Slamming my mandible against her mouth, I spear the pointed end of the longer acromion bone into her center, hitting her secret place while stabbing my tongue inside her mouth. I devour her scream, her rattling bones, her writhing hips as she shatters so beautifully.

More testing progresses until Zenya is covered in my marks, and she is wrung out and exhausted from the orgasm denial.

This time, I take the tip of one skeletal finger and touch her pretty, swollen clit. She hisses, licks her lips as if warring with herself. Whatever delicious thoughts are in her head, she takes a deep breath, and parts her lips to utter, “You. Nyxion. You.”

I put my mouth to her folds, sealing myself to her sex, drinking my fill, and pleasuring her, licking and tonguing that beautiful pearl with all its hypersensitive nerve endings until she falls apart for me, falls for me. Covered in mud, bone dust, and my skeletal marks, I’ve never seen any creature more beautiful.

The sight of my brother fisting himself, his cock overcome with hunger intensifies the scene.

She lifts her hips and grips the sides of my skull, seeking more, demanding more, commanding me to go deeper. Injecting three phalanges in her, I pump them in and out and drag my tongue in a long, possessive stroke before circling and flicking and working her clit. She clamps around my bones and rocks and shatters, screaming my name to echo throughout the forest.

After her climax, I remove my fingers and smirk at how she’s fallen onto her side, her lips open, careless of the soil brushing against them.

“Go, Zenya.” I grip her wrist and yank her to a stand, not giving her rest.

Morpheus screws his brows low as I shove her forward, those small, plump tits jiggling. If she succeeds, my teeth will soon mark them.

When she pauses, her breath seizing because I haven’t removed the blindfold, I give her a hard swat on her ass. She must move. No matter how disorienting, she must lose her footing for me and root for me.

Like the night she broke the mask, her bonds, and fell for me, I trust her to understand…and follow every command.

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