Page 43 of Bound By Darkness

She nods. “I’ve thought the same thing more times than I can count.” She chews on her lower lip as though she’s deep in thought. “It bothers Dragan that we’re in this… room together.”

“I know.”

“He’s jealous and possessive of me and yet, he hates me just as much as Cambion does.”

“For different reasons,” I say. “Both bred from fear.”

“You don’t hate me.”

I shrug. “Why would I? You and I are one and the same.”

She nods again. She’s been long aware of this fact as well. “I thought you hated me after I destroyed theTransmutation Stone.”

“Let us just say you weren’t exactly my favorite person. For perhaps a few minutes. Until I realized what the stone was doing to me. And then I was grateful to you.”

She smiles slightly and then grows silent, glancing down at the water that steams inside the tub.

“Eilish?” I say and she looks up at me, reminding me of a frightened rabbit or fox. It’s her eyes—they’re so large in her small face. “Do you want to feel me inside you?”

A blush crops up immediately on her cheeks and her eyes go even wider. She holds my gaze as she opens her mouth and then closes it again. She appears completely flummoxed. Finally, she says, “yes.”

“Then carry on.” I motion to the tub.

She appears confused for a moment or two, but then lifts her bound wrists and allows me to pull the dress down her stomach and her hips, until it pools at her feet. She steps out of it and lifts a long, slender leg over the edge of the tub and sinks it into the water.

I feel my eyes raking her nude shape. Her breasts are full, her nipples small and pink. Her waist is small but flares into broad hips and thighs. There’s no hair covering her mound, and her lips are swollen and prominent. I imagine she’s already wet for me.

She hisses as she slides her other leg into the hot bath. Then she sits down, relaxing against the back of the tub. Her eyes drift closed and she lets out a breathy moan that sounds filthy on her lips. When those beautiful eyes open, she lifts her bound hands above the smooth surface of the water. She glances down at them.

“You can’t wash yourself,” I notice.

“No,” she says and then looks up at me.

“Is that a request?”

“Yes.”

The redness around her wrists where the rope bites into her flesh shouldn’t be tantalizing, but it is. I like to think of her inpain. I like to think of her being punished, but only by my hands. I could give her that—pleasure that makes the pain exquisite.

I drop to my knees beside the tub and roll back my sleeves. Her eyes drop to my forearms and lust causes her pupils to dilate.

Perhaps taking her from Anona’s enslavement was crueler than Dragan imagined. A Succubus can find happiness fulfilling the duties of a whore. But I suspect it’s the angel within her that gives her the air of innocence that beguiles me. She watches my hands as I reach for the oils and soaps, as well as a rag beside them.

I lather the scrap of fabric with a generous amount of soap and begin to work it into her shoulders as she leans forward, allowing me to reach her lower back. The suds chase away the muck and grime that has built up over the course of our journey.

“Stand,” I order, and she finds doing so difficult with her hands bound. I don’t offer her any assistance, but I watch as she pushes off the lip of the tub and stands. Her round, wide ass is directly in my face now and I continue with my ministrations, scrubbing her backside, down to her legs.

“Turn around,” I command next, and so she does. Her mound is now at eye level. I lather the rag again and bring it up each of her legs. When I reach her abdomen, I push the fabric between her legs, rubbing it against her clit as she closes her eyes. No sound escapes her lips, though I can see the desire in her expression. I wonder if she’s afraid to alert Dragan. Probably so. I rinse the rag and lather it again, this time leaving her vagina and moving upward until I reach her breasts. I stand then and tower over her, enjoying the fact that she’s so much smaller than me.

I lather her breasts and watch her nipples bead into pebbles. Her eyes are still closed, her eyelashes fluttering against the highpoints of her flushed cheeks. She brings her roped handsforward and her fingers curl into the front of my shirt, soaking the fabric and causing it to cling to the muscles of my chest.

“Please?” she asks as she opens her eyes.

“What do you want?” I ask, my voice much thicker than I expect.

“Take it off.”

“What exists underneath isn’t attractive,” I assure her as my eyes dance back down her body. She is perfection. I am not.

---