Dragon Bond: A Curvy Dragon Romance (The Rama Dragons Book 5)
Page 4
* * *
Eman’s gray eyes stared coldly into Annabelle’s in the pitch darkness, his face not even a nose length away from hers. Annabelle remained quiet, feeling helpless and submissive to this complex brute of a man.
* * *
Annabelle maintained eye contact, and Eman didn’t break. Minutes passed and the music swelled, thumping drums accompanied the music and drove the song to a fever pitch. As the song reached its crescendo, Eman — without breaking his stoic stare — removed both his shirt and hers and placed his naked stomach against hers.
* * *
Annabelle felt the warmth and the hard ripples of his abdomen against hers and quivered with delight. Eman closed his eyes and began to sing the lines “You find it then it’s gone, you find me then I’m gone” into her ear in a hushed whisper, matching the lyrics coming from the speaker. Without warning, he shoved his tongue into Annabelle’s mouth, roughly kissing her from her lips, to her cheek, to her ear.
* * *
A sudden draft of extreme cold with seemingly no origin blew in like a hurricane, smacking Annabelle on her naked torso with the feeling of an icy frost. Underneath her feet the floorboards began to rumble — unable to stand up Annabelle fell, landing on her bottom as the room continued to shift and morph, the cold becoming more and more intense. The music rose and swelled, the recording of the piano screamed as its keys were pressed with force and the speaker shot out wonderful thumping sounds of chaos and frenetic energy.
* * *
Suddenly, Annabelle could feel nothing — it felt as if Eman had disappeared — or perhaps she had? It was freezing, Annabelle wished she’d kept her shirt on as a bright white light began to engulf her vision.
* * *
The music stopped suddenly, and Annabelle seemed to hover like a ghost above this white light, until she was suddenly looking at herself from outside of her body. She started to hear voices — shopkeepers talking about putting away clothing. Annabelle looked at this figure in front of her — it was a woman that looked much like her standing in front of a full length mirror in what appeared to be a changing room.
* * *
The woman pinched herself on the belly, turning backwards and forwards to examine her body. Annabelle remembered this, she was in the fitting room of Roxi’s department store. Softly, the woman Annabelle watched began to cry, placing her bare back against the wall of the changing room and collapsing to the ground. The woman continued to cry, and Annabelle’s floating form observed her younger self in this room and felt terrible for her. “Comfort her.” Eman’s deep, disembodied voice said, and like a sheet in the wind Annabelle floated imperceptibly onto the floor, in front of her younger, crying self. Annabelle knelt down besides the crying woman and told her everything was okay.
* * *
“Shhh.” Annabelle said, the whole experience had completely encompassed her being and she thought nothing odd about comforting the girl in front of her. “God… Damn!” Annabelle began to moan, as she took her younger self in her arms. “He said I’m too fat! I-I don’t know why I even why—“ the crying woman attempted to stammer out, and Annabelle remembered her ex boyfriend remarking that she was too big to be shopping at Roxi’s. She empathized deeply with her former self, and hugged her tightly. The more warmth and comfort Annabelle gave her former self, the more pleasure she felt herself. She couldn’t understand, and didn’t attempt to.
* * *
From the blinding whiteness above them she heard Eman’s voice continue to sing, and felt very relaxed and at ease. In her mind she had become a sort of clay for Eman to play with, and she was loving every second. She felt all of the physical sensations of lovemaking as she held herself, and her grip on herself tightened as she kicked forwards and behind herself in an expression of pure physical delight — she had never shaken or convulsed like this before. It was a frightening feeling but it excited her to no end. “Yes!” Annabelle yelled into the ear of her younger self as she wiped her tears, and the white light appeared once more. The music swelled and Eman’s voice deeply sang those same lyrics. The drums of the music thumped and banged as the piano keys colored the notes of the drum with pastel pinks and lavender, smells of wafting cinnamon entered her nose and the feeling of intensity in her body grew until she couldn’t bear it. “Oh God!” Annabelle yelled, and from her position floating like a sheet in the air she fell back to Eman’s floor.
* * *
The music continued through the speakers, and Annabelle was laying on her back, quivering. The inside thighs of her jeans were soaked, and her nipples nearly burst through her exposed bra. They felt tender and sore as if they’d been played with and chewed, but there was no physical evidence of it happening. Annabelle’s breath was ragged and fast, she was nearly gasping for air as she came out of her experience.
* * *
“I don’t, I don’t, what? Eman? Where are you?” She asked, panicked. The room was pitch black.
* * *
“It’s the mixture, of trauma and love. Comforting yourself in your weakest moment is such a radically comforting feeling. Use that trauma to go further with me, to go deeper. To reach ecstacy. Pleroma.”
* * *
The white light beamed once more and Annabelle found herself in a grassy field, looking at a younger version of herself holding a stack of books on the Concord University campus. Her younger self was dejected, with downcast eyes as a skinny man stood in front of her. “It was a fucking joke, okay chubs?” The man began. “I’m sorry I asked you out but Jeremy thought it’d be funny, you know?”
* * *
“Yeah.” The former Annabelle said, turning to walk away, tears beginning to well in her eyes. “Enter her.” The booming Eman commanded, and she felt her body floating towards her younger self. Like a tracing, Annabelle’s current body draped its cloud-like form onto her younger self, and her younger self began to speak.
* * *
“Fuck you.” The younger Annabelle said.
* * *
“Pardon me?” The skinny man replied.
* * *
The younger Annabelle dropped her books, stepped towards the skinny man and repeated herself. With two voices, one slightly older than the other, Annabelle repeated. “Fuck you. I don’t let other people determine how I feel.” She said. The skinny man began to speak and was interrupted by the sensation of Annabelle’s fist connecting with his jaw.
* * *
The man fell, stumbled to his feet and hobbled way holding his face. Annabelle’s heart thumped faster and faster as she felt the pleasurable sensations of love between her legs, her airy form whisked itself away from her younger self and began to float on its back in mid air.
* * *
“God… Eman! It’s too intense!” she cried as she began to reach completion, vibrating her entire form with unabashed naked pleasure. Eman offered no response, and the white light surrounded her form and deposited her inside of a dank, dark room with a solitary light hanging from a string. An older man with concern on his face was smoking a cigar and drinking a glass of whiskey while his small daughter stood near him. The little girl was trying to show her father a painting, but he was too occupied with the newspaper in front of him. Irritated, the man slammed his glass on the table, shattering it and sending the little girl running away in fear.
* * *
Annabelle remembered, it was the first time she had felt such terror. The first time she saw her father as a stranger. She even knew what happened next — she would go and hide under her bed until her dad passed out. She floated down the hallway after the girl, and soon found her climbing under her bed. Annabelle joined her, the little girl cried softly as Annabelle lay next to her.
* * *
“You know he loves you, right? Sometimes the people we love do things we don’t understand and it makes us scared. But that’s okay, isn’t it?”
* * *
Tearfully, the little girl agreed.
* * *
“Tru
st me, don’t hate him for this. He doesn’t know any better and soon he’s going to need you more than you need him. Do you understand?”
* * *
The girl nodded once more. Gently, Annabelle wiped the tears from the little girls eyes, and heard a high pitched “Goodbye!” from the girl as Annabelle was swallowed once more by the white light. In the purgatory of this light, Annabelle had lost it. Her knees kicked savagely in front of her as her shoulders tensed, she bit her bottom lip hard enough that she drew blood as wave after wave of pleasure showered every inch of her body with the intensity and power of a sun. Annabelle shrieked, brought her legs bent into her chest and held on in the fetal position as a torrent of pleasure assaulted her. A whirlwind of memories flashed inside of her mind combined with scenes of savage lovemaking. The comfort of assuaging her traumas combined with the lovemaking led to the most intense tactile sensations she had ever experienced, and soon the music slowed and she found herself back on Eman’s floor.
* * *
She was in complete disarray, shivering to the bone and her legs shaking as if she were near death. Eman hurried, flicking on the lights and grabbing a tan duvet to wrap Annabelle in. He tightly wrapped her in the blanket, and laid her on the floor as her convulsions began to slow.
* * *
“I had, I had, the minutes felt like hours. I’ve never felt something so so so POWERFUL in my body! I saw myself, three times!”
* * *
Eman comforted her by placing his bare chest on hers and breathing deeply — after about a minute Annabelle’s heart rate started to slow and her breath began to match Eman’s. He placed his hand on her mouth once more, and they both lay half naked in a pool of sweat on the floor. Eman held on to her until she was completely calm, and then spoke.
* * *
“I am known as the Aeon Henosis, and what you’ve just experienced was a small taste of Gnosis. When you awake, we have much to discuss.” Eman said, as he slowly rocked Annabelle to rest.
* * *
TO BE CONTINUED
4
End
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Dragon Lust SAMPLE
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Dragon Lust
(Excerpt Below)
* * *
Insecurity, for Anya, was a familiar face that she had known since she was a child. It followed her, and manifested itself into an acute self awareness that made her obsess over the smallest details of herself. It must be said that she didn’t dislike herself, rather, she found it increasingly difficult as she entered adulthood to find pure contentment in herself. As a young teenager, she had given up the idea of happiness. All she asked for, and what she never received, was the ability to be content with the way that she looked. She cursed her personality for being bland, and she cursed life for providing her with it. And then, wrapped up in the disquieting thoughts of adolescence, the spiral would begin. Anya lay in her bed, doing that thing that people tend to do when faced with a bout of melancholy. Re-enacting moments of fear and anxiety — replaying them in her head and thinking up different clever retorts to what had been said. All the while allowing the waves of desolate, dry and shivering fear to crawl up her skirt — beginning at the toes, until it has wrapped its way around her throat and placed its hand upon her face — pushing down with intensity, her eyes growing heavy and her heart, with what little reserve it had, giving way to the troublesome feelings of dread.
* * *
As her eyes began again to well up with familiar warm tears, she thought of Cyrus — that allowed her mind repose in the face of a trembling pressure. She relied on Cyrus, in the way that a calf relies on its mother for warmth and safety — she imagined the words that Cyrus would tell her to try to bring her out of her sadness, and through the imaginative process she was able to. Cyrus had become to her a symbol of strength and power, something that at once could dominate and heal. Her brief interaction had never left her head, and the thought of her body hovering over hers made her feel weak and helpless. She didn’t know it at the time, but she found a certain security in knowing that she was able to be weak and helpless and have someone strong over her. Someone with arms, strong arms, and delicate fingers that could glide over the stomach, gently. Anya slipped her hands between her thighs and touched her sex, moist. Cyrus, with her cold glare staring at Anya as he pleasured her. Cyrus, with her forearm pushing the weight of her body on top of Anya’s chest as he plunged inside of her. Anya couldn’t take it, and her body quivered as she forced her eyes closed and allowed her legs to convulse in delight.