Page 57 of The Librarian of Souls
Claws dig into my flesh. Augustine drags his thumb over my drenched core with a disappointed sigh that has my tummy fluttering. Tears leak from my eyes and stain the cushion beneath me.
“I can taste your disbelief, Joanna. I won’t stop until you believe the words.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur.
“You will be, mon abeille, my queen.” He whispers the words against my low back, kissing me there before the sands around me tightens further.
He spanks me again. The force of his palm meeting my heated cheek echoes around the office as I choke on a sob. It hurts. The pain of it burns through me. I pull at my bonds, to try and escape.
“The affirmation,” he hums, sinking his talons into my flesh until I am almost scared he has broken my skin.
“I am worthy,” I choke on the sourness in my words.
The next two cracks against my skin make my back bow and my feet kick out. Augustine is quick to wrap them in his sands as well. I repeat the phrase twice between gasping sobs. With each strike, his hand becomes firmer and my bonds tighten. The words pour out of my mouth until I am hoarse and they taste of sweetness. They caress my lips each time I say them and each time I feel it.
I am worthy.
“There she is,” Augustine hums softly, his touch turning just as soft.
He slowly massages my thighs and lower back, running his hands across my abused flesh while I sigh under the gentle pressure. My head swims as I lay against the damp cushion. This isn’t the usual feeling. Syrup doesn’t coat my thoughts, but the oblivion is sweet. My thoughts are quiet and a peace settles deep in my bones. When Augustine’s thumb brushes over my slit, still dripping wet and fluttering, I almost cum. My body is oversensitive and suddenly screaming anew.
The pain that had been so consuming melts into a burning need. My eyes are slow to open, but when they do, I am met with a look of such adoration it hurts. Augustine looks at me as if I am the finest thing he has ever owned, that it is an honour to have me in his possession.
“Own me,” I whisper.
“I do,” he says, plunging a blunt finger into me.
He fucks me with his finger slowly, stroking and moulding my body until it is the perfect shape for him. The sands holding me vibrate with need. They massage my limbs and stroke at my skin so sweetly. I moan as they pull at my nipples, as they stroke my jaw, and caress my fingers. Augustine’s thumb swirls around my clit as three fingers thrust into me. I moan with each retreat, my pussy squeezing him, trying to force him to stay inside me.
“Cum for me,mon abeille. Ruin your throne. Stain the leather so everyone who enters this room knows it belongs to you.”
“Augustine, please, I-”
I cut myself off. I don’t say the words on the tip of my tongue, but my body tells the story all the same. My legs shake and tremble as my pussy convulses and gushes. I feel it drip, hear the sloppy wet sound around his fingers as he keeps fucking me. My orgasm takes over my body and for a moment, I think I taste the ambrosia that Augustine always speaks about as everything goes black.
“Mon abeille, mon abeille, my beautiful Joanna, how I cherish you, how I worship you, how I love you.”
The words are whispered against my temple, and warmth bursts inside me, soothing and lulling me into a realm of bliss. The taste of honey touches my tongue, and my eyes flutter open. Augustine sits on the floor with me cradled in his lap. Red stripes coat my body where his sands have grated against my skin. His hands are black, the dark veins pulsing just underneath the surface of his arms, the sands contained but present.
I nuzzle into his neck and kiss his skin. My body hums with cosy warmth and the thrumming ache of my punishment. I am pieced back together, in control of myself once again. It would be easy to stay like this forever, or for as long as Augustine will let me, but I need to come back to the present. There is so much to do and discuss.
“Augustine,” I breathe out his name like a prayer.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, turning to kiss my cheek.
“Better, warm like the centre of a fresh croissant.” I smile at the image that comes to mind.
He chuckles and shifts, causing his thigh to press hard into my bruised butt. I hiss at the pain, but Augustine hums another kiss into my temple. A steaming cup of tea is presented to me in a fine China cup, honey and floral. My fingers shake as I take it, but their grip is steady as I bring it to my lips. It soothes the ache in my throat.
Augustine brushes sweat-damp hair from my forehead while we sit in silence for a few more moments. I drink my tea and let the warm honey flavour soothe the ache deeper inside of me. The one that I always told myself wasn’t there, or at least wasn’t something to worry about. My life always had more pressing issues: college, bills, surviving. I’m terrified of people letting me go, so I either keep them at arm’s length or hold on to them so tightly it breaks me when they leave.
But I need to leave. My job, at least. I need to end that relationship, but I am not sure how or when, but I can’t stay. Not after what Patrick has said to me, not after everything that has happened. There are dots that aren’t connecting, though. Something is happening at that job site, and I need to see the whole picture before I can go.
“It’s crazy to think that if I don’t quit my job, I will probably die,” I say, staring at the overstuffed bookshelf against the wall of Augustine’s office.
“You seem to be chasing away death left, right, and centre,mon abeille. First with me and now some desperate wretch at your office.” His arms tightened around me as he sighed. “I have bad news and a confession to make before we start our discussion.”
I wait for him to begin, unsure what Augustine could possibly have to confess to me.
