Page 105 of Blackwicket
“Victor, you didn’t...”
“We’re not done.”
Raising me off him, he changed our positions, flipping me so his length, still hard as steel, was pressed into my back. He directed his hand between my breasts, fingers climbing to my throat, rocking me forward onto his arm until I bent at the waist, raising me from my feet to perch me backwards on his lap.
He sat me firmly onto him, sheathing deep. The noise I made was cut short, not from the pressure upon my throat, but from the eruption of new desire. Inspiring my enthusiasm was Victor’s terrible power, risen to gorge on my magic, the pain of this tugging no less erotic than that of Victor’s teeth on my breast.
I leaned forward to brace myself on his legs, and found them corded with muscle that undulated, growing. He was changing, his body elongating beneath mine, the snap and cracking ofbones deviating into new positions, startling me. The obelisk of his manhood was not immune to the transformation, and I stretched to accommodate him, overfull. I moaned, digging my fingers into the hard flesh of his legs, which had become thick and fluted as the trunks of hornbeams.
“Having second thoughts?” His phantasmal voice caressed my ear.
He was too much, but still I wanted him.
“No,” I breathed, “Let me have every part of you.”
He rumbled an approval as he drew me to his chest, resting me long against him, my thighs splayed wide over the width of his massive lap. The red mist of depraved magic coiled around us, nipping at my skin with cool touches, creating tideways of magic in all the most sensitive locations.
“Hold on to me, Curse Eater.”
I did as instructed, raising an arm behind me to grasp at the back of his neck, thick and knotted with sinew. Saturated in my previous climax, he moved in me, the friction equal measures disorienting and ecstatic. This side of Victor didn’t care for restraint; it claimed recklessly, and I could barely do more than cling to him as he plundered my cunt. Despite this overwhelm, or perhaps because of it, pleasure built, my body sensitive from its previous rupture.
“I want to see your face,” I gasped.
“Another time.”
Ignoring his refusal, I attempted to turn my head, but the monstrous hand at my neck kept me fast in place.
“If you can’t be content with just my cock, Curse Eater,” he rumbled. “Take my magic. Let it know you.”
While he claimed me, his dark energy heightened its rhythmic pull, tumultuous and compelling, powerful but never cruel. His fingers, sinuous and tapered, returned between my slick lips to stroke me. I became a pillar of sensation, exclusivelyaware of the possessive drive of his unnatural body into mine, and the frenzied rise to my next orgasm.
“That’s right, Eleanora. Come apart on me.”
He cupped my chin in his palm, tilting my head until it rested beneath his chin, running the rough pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. My tongue snaked along the pointed tip, and in response he groaned, the sound like the earth tremoring. For the second time that night, I splintered, my cry rising above the crash of waves, echoing into the night from the open window. With my release came a flood of magic, raising gooseflesh on my skin and pouring into Victor. In three harsh thrusts, he finally met his ecstasy, his laudations shaking the timber of the dock house as he pulsed inside me, the sensation teasing my still quivering sex, extending the pleasure for a few blissful moments more.
His release relieved his beastliness, temporarily satisfying its cravings. It retreated, returning him to the form I knew best, a better fit against and inside me. He held me, my head resting on his chest, both of us breathless.
He kissed my bare shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” And it was true. Then, as an afterthought, “Will that happen every time?”
Victor’s laugh was genuine and unexpected, warming me through the way no sunbeam could dare hope to. I wanted to hear that sound more times than a hundred lifetimes would allow.
“I’ve never tested it,” he admitted, still chuckling. “Was it unpleasant?”
“I was unprepared,” I admitted. “But it was nowhere near unpleasant.”
He turned his face into my hair, knotted and wild from our activities, his fingers pressing into the soft swell of my belly, gentle. I turned my head to look into his face, pausing as the low firelight gave me a glimpse at what our magic had unwittinglyconjured. Above us, a cloud of unwoven curses lulled in the air, pulled from our bodies through the bedlam of magic we’d produced together.
“Yours or mine?” I asked, delirious, unable to tell if the Drudge lingering among my ribs was reduced.
“Ours,” he answered, his lips finding mine.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
We lay on the blanket-draped cot by the fire, entwined with each other. Victor solemnly watched the flames, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns on my hips. He was more at ease than I’d ever seen him, and I could sense the metrical ebb and flow of his magic, mirroring the heartbeat in his chest, though the darkness there lingered, present always.
“What triggers the change?” I asked, careful to phrase the question gently, recalling the self-loathing in his voice.
