Page 12 of Sons of Sorrow
Sylvain cocked his head inquisitively. Again with his selective understanding of human slang. I frowned.
“I’m talking about — you know what, never mind. It’s not like I spank you or anything. Unless that’s what you wanted?”
He smirked, setting down his watering can by the base of the potted plant, an odd thing that grew to chest height in a tangle of leaves and vines. “Is it what you want, Lochlann? Bringing it up so subtly and casually in conversation?”
I scoffed. “Hardly. I mean, I haven’t really thought about it. I don’t think I’d mind some light spanking. Although — well, never mind.”
“Speak,” he said, making the word sound like both a request and a demand.
“Well, we’ve splashed around in this particular puddle before. Some light teasing has always been fun. You know, a bit of denial? Sometimes, a little restraint?”
Sylvain frowned. “Restraint? You mean like this?”
He clicked his fingers. The plant at our feet sprang to life, its vines whipping out of the pot and straight for my body. I yelped in surprise at the rapid overgrowth, but more from how the vines were strong enough to restrain me, shackling my wrists at my sides, holding my ankles in place.
The towel fell from my waist. My cheeks, my chest and neck burned from blushing.
“Sylvain!” I snapped. “This wasn’t what I meant at all and you know it.”
He only smirked, not a word from his lips. Was he admiring me, assessing me?
“This is wild and unfair,” I said, squirming, struggling. “Put me down already.”
“I grant that it is wild, for certain, little human. But unfair? Hardly. Why, this very same thing happened to me not too long ago. Earlier today, if I recall correctly, and you took your sweet time freeing me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I started to say, but the touch of his hand was too distracting.
His fingers traced a gentle, infuriating line down the center of my chest, the groove in my stomach muscles, down to the hair at my crotch. My cock gave a curious, hungry twitch, but I clenched my teeth, refusing to cave in, to give even the slightest indication that any of this was turning me on.
Sylvain’s hand stopped there. I bit at the inside of my cheeks, holding back a desperate whimper. I wanted it, and I didn’t want him to know that. But somehow both his fingers and these sentient vines had avoided touching me there, exactly where I was most sensitive. He knew. They knew.
His hand went back up to tweak my nipple. I bucked, I hissed, playing up my anger, except I could tell I’d already lost the game. Clearly. I was the one trussed up and suspended in midair. Sylvain’s lips curved into a smile, the pink of his tongue sweeping between them in a momentary, tantalizing flicker.
“You’re enjoying this, Lochlann. You refuse to admit it, but you enjoy giving in, surrendering yourself to my power.”
“I don’t know what gave you that idea,” I said through gritted teeth, defiant to the bitter end. “But if you think for one second that I’m not going to get my revenge as soon as I break out of these — ”
Sylvain rolled his eyes and cut me off with a loud, overdramatic sigh. He raised his finger and twirled it in a lazy circle. The vines obeyed, turning me so I was facing the wall, my ass fully exposed for all to see. And I knew it was only me and Sylvain in the room, but that didn’t make the humiliation sting any less.
“Enough already,” I whined, testing to see if I could tug at his heartstrings. “Sylvain, this game is cruel and unusual.”
“You say these things with your mouth,” he muttered, so close by my ear. “But your body tells a different story.”
“Then just get it over with,” I snarled, growing harder and harder by the second, because he was right, damn him. I could deny it as much as I want. The steady drip from the tip of my cock, the buck of my hips against his touch — too much. I couldn’t lie to him if I tried. “Fuck me and get it over with.”
“As you wish.”
Slick fingers probed at my hole. I shut my eyes, shuddered, moaned. Sylvain was already prepared with a handful of delectable nectar, that native Verdance flower that produced lubrication. His fingers pushed deeper.
His other hand closed around my cock, squeezed, stroked, that delicate, silky fluid spreading over my shaft, over my swollen head. And at the same time, his fingers tweaked my left nipple, as well as the right, and — wait. My eyes flew open.
“Sylvain,” I stammered, looking down at myself. “Whose hands are — oh, gods.”
The vines. It was the same potted plant restraining me, only it had extended more vines to tease me, trigger every erogenous zone on my body. I gritted my teeth when something tickled the underside of my balls.
“Are you doing this?” I breathed, already struggling to hold myself together.
I could hear the grin in Sylvain’s voice. “Doing what, oh summoner?”
