Page 104 of Blackwicket
I led my hand up his shaft, beginning at the thick base.
As with the first time I’d held his rigid cock in my hand, I was daunted by his size, aware he’d restrained himself when I’d tantalized him with my mouth. This memory turned me liquid, and I dipped my head to take the swollen tip, sucking.
His groan was low, and he dragged my lips open with his thumb, though he didn’t encourage me to accept him further. I taunted the head, licking along the ridge as I handled him. He kept his hold light, giving me freedom to acquaint myself with the shape and taste of him without taking claim of my throat, raw from our ordeal. I reveled in pleasuring him, the catch of his breath punctuated by an obscene instruction I obediently followed. At length, his grip on me grew tighter, but before his composure fractured, he withdrew.
“Let me look at you,” he said, his tone coarse, guiding me to recline. I rested my weight on my hands, chest arching. He brushed his knuckles down the side of my ribs, instructing me to raise my hips so he could divest me of the last remaining item of fabric separating us, my linen underwear. When I was bare, his gaze brushed like feathers across every soft slope, drinking me in.
As I’d already determined he appreciated, I brought one heel to the table, opening myself to his view, running my fingers from my abdomen, through the curls of my mound, shuddering as they slipped along the hill of nerves, already screaming for release. He captured my hand in his, bending to replace my fingers with his mouth.
I cried out, the transition so sudden, I hadn’t anticipated the sensation. As his tongue worked competently, the muscles and bones of his back shifted, shoulder blades momentarily jutting as his more ruinous soul rose. He grasped my hips, pulling me further forward as he skillfully devastated me. Tightening my fingers in his dark hair, I pressed him ever closer, entreating him to continue with greedy, insistent pleas. Just as my end began to build, he ceased his ministrations, surging up to besiege my mouth, the taste of me on his lips. But there was no room for complaint, because his insistent length rested against the tender flesh of my sex. He purposefully avoided my wet slit, sliding his cock over the sensitive bud of my sex in slow, torturous strokes.
I couldn’t protest, my mouth too occupied with his, his magic coursing in punishing, rhythmic waves, like the pulse of bodies moving together.
At last, he positioned himself at my entrance. I grabbed hold of his sturdy shoulders, half in unhinged hunger and half in anxiety of what I was about to experience.
His body tremored, form oscillating. The divine pressure of him, so close to claiming me, receded.
“No! Don’t stop,” I implored.
“I can feel your uncertainty, Eleanora,” he murmured.
“It’s not uncertainty, Victor, for god’s sake.” I couldn’t explain my trepidation without seeming like a virginal twit.
“I need to be sure you understand what you’re risking,” he cautioned. “If you give yourself-it will be to all of me.”
He was talking about the Drudge, the monstrous side of him surfacing, driven by lust. I’d already been held by that body. Yet as I looked into Victor’s face, I bore no apprehension.
“I give willingly,” I insisted. “Please don’t pull away. Not after everything that’s happened.”
“I could hurt you.”
“I don’t care,” I said recklessly, body throbbing, aching for him.
“Is this what you want?” In his voice, husky and strained, was anguish, a loathing for himself that I couldn’t bear. “To be defiled by a Drudge?”
My heart split open.
“There’s only you, Victor.” I passed my fingers along the scar on his cheek. “In whatever form, I crave you more than life.”
He lifted a hand to my face, brought his lips to mine.
“Then I yield to you, Eleanora,” he said, and in one smooth shift of his hips, he broke the barrier, thrusting into me. In the gorgeous, blinding moment of shock, I moaned, clenching, strung so tight even this was almost enough. My body spread to form to him, and he filled me so completely that there was barely room for breath in my body.
He unsheathed himself to the tip, driving forward again, setting a rhythm of harsh, shattering strokes. My legs ached beautifully where he held me open to him, the vicious impacts rocking the sturdy table beneath me. In the fire’s glow, a primal magic flickered across our skin, summoned by our fierce will to exist in a world where neither of us was welcome.
I gazed down to witness the shadowy merger of our bodies, and the sight sustained my ascent to an incredible height. The angle of my hips allowed him to stroke where I needed, the size of him promising the elusive place couldn’t be missed.
“Be a good girl, Eleanora,” he growled, sensing in our connection that my desire was coming to a crescendo. I wasdesperate for release while simultaneously yearning for the bliss to continue escalating forever.
“No,” I panted. “Not yet.”
He released a harsh breath, a laugh, never easing the rhythm.
“There’ll be another,” he promised darkly, and the corrupted magic that had remained latent emerged, its intensity snapped my will along with the purposeful circling of Victor’s thumb across my clit. Overcome by the onslaught, and with his name on my lips, I broke apart, the climax a salvation.
I arched, and Victor pulled me close, slowing his onslaught to savor the quake of my body while I clung to him, enduring the waves of euphoria. His heartbeat drummed vigorously, and I pressed my face into his warm neck, kissing his throat. He maneuvered me twice more along his shaft, lengthening my fading rapture, enjoying the final pulses of my orgasm around his arousal, which he hadn’t relieved.
This left me with a foggy sense of frustration.
