Page 39 of Drawn By Dragonblood
Something inside me whispered a single word, a voice that tickled at my memory, but I couldn’t place. Shaking my head, I pulled my hand away, my gaze landing on the numbered squares above. I brushed my fingers over the pad, pressing when the keys warmed beneath my touch.
The lock clicked, and the knob gave way beneath my other hand.
I glanced up the hallway, adrenaline pumping through my system, but the magical pull of Elijah didn’t caress my skin. His scent, while lingering in the bowels of his home, didn’t make me salivate like when he was nearby.
Palm on the door, I pushed it inward, not leaving my spot on the threshold. Soft light flooded the area as the door swung open, illuminating a cavern-like room that looked hewn by centuries of water or fire.
Singeing heat raced through my blood like a kick to my groin as I realized the room’s purpose.
I’d found Elijah’s dungeon.
The one I’d been fantasizing about, the chains and harnesses hanging from the ceiling, the black Saint Andrew’s cross against the far wall, along with a spanking bench and peg boards where all sorts of toys hung. Canes, whips, floggers, and dozens of other implements I didn’t have a clue about.
My focus returned to the cross and the shackles at its four corners. On instinct, I walked across the dungeon, my hard cock leading the way, until I stood before the large X. Hand shaking, I reached out to touch the scale-like material covering wood, the slightly bumpy yet satiny soft finish warm beneath my tingling fingertips.
An image flashed through my mind of me strapped tight in its bindings, my head tipped back and mouth opened on a groan as slashes of pain radiated through the fronts of my thighs and straight to my dick.
I palmed myself, finding a slickened mess dripping from my slit, and I moaned for real while sliding my grasp down to the root and back up again.
I knew who wielded the flogger in my imagination, and my body ached for the fantasy to come true. Unable to help myself, I jacked my straining length, the wet sound of the hand fucking and my sharp breaths the only noise in the room.
Yes.
The voice whispered again, and I gripped harder, jerking with a frenzied passion I didn’t understand but didn’t want to stop no matter how wrong it might be.
“Fuck.” A growl rose from my chest as my balls swelled and tingled, and my eyelids fell shut, bringing his eyes to mind. I moaned. “Elijah...”
Cum shot from my shaft with such force my knees buckled, sending me to the floor. One hand on the ground, the other milking my spurting cock, I hung my head and panted as wave after wave of euphoric, pure fucking bliss rolled over me.
My dick pulsed to completion, and I groaned.
“Christ.” I swore a few times, realizing I’d shot my spunk all over the cross and floor. Shivers coating my body in goose bumps, I sat back on my haunches and glanced around, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Towels were stacked on a bench by the door but looked like they’d been sitting there a long fucking time.
Sure enough, by the time my shaking legs got me across the dungeon, I found a good-sized coating of dust on them. I scanned the room, paying closer attention. Everything from the toys to the larger apparatuses appeared unused for a dozen years or so—except the cross, and a swept path leading to it from the door.
My focus honed in on the black covering. The lack of dust on the cross’s four shackles. I grabbed a couple of towels from the bottom of the pile and wiped myself off while returning to the X. Every inch had been recently cleaned.
I leaned forward and sniffed along one of the upward-reaching arms—Elijah.
My dick actually fucking twitched again. Jaw clenched, I cleaned up the mess I’d made and left the room, vowing to shut the memory of what I’d just done deep in the recesses of my mind, never to be thought of again or talked about with another soul.
I tossed the towels I’d used into the washing machine, retrieved the two bottles of wine from the hallway, and made my way back upstairs.
Dakota was putting the dried dishes away as I walked through the door. She smiled at me, righting the axis of my off-kilter world. “I set out glasses,” she said, glancing at the island.
Forcing a smile as though happy as hell like I’d been the previous couple of days, I went about opening the first bottle, pouring a glass to the rim for myself. A few gulps revealed the wine was expensive as shit and would quickly fuzz the memory of what I’d done.
“Sybil, play 2Cellos,” I said, wanting Elijah yet not.
I poured a half-glass for my wife as the duo slid out in a song I didn’t know and meandered to the couch where I tried to relax, focusing on Dakota as she puttered around Elijah’s kitchen. She curled on the couch beside me a few minutes later, her and Elijah’s combined scents like a soothing balm to my tense muscles.
“Are you happy, baby?” I asked with my lips against her temple, her hair tickling my nose.
She hesitated for a second. “Yes.”
“Best vacation ever,” I said, not wanting to question why she hadn’t answered immediately because if I’d been the one asked, I’d have done the same damned thing.
“Better than Bermuda could have offered, that’s for sure,” she said with a sigh, snaking an arm around my naked chest and resting her cheek on my shoulder.
