by Morgan Rae
“They called me your thing,” I complain to him. “Like I’m some kind of toy or something.”
He looks into my eyes. “You are my charge. I’m to protect you. They did not mean offense.” He rubs the cloth down my hand and gets each finger, one by one. When he rings the cloth back out in the basin, the water grows muddier. I didn’t quite realize how much I needed this until now.
“Is that what I am to you?” I ask. “Your charge?”
His eyes find mine now. “You’re my Goddess.”
“Right, you’ve said that, but…” I struggle to find my words. He watches me, expectantly, his dark eyes never leaving my own. Finally, I come out with, “It’s just, I thought we had something. In the lake. And then when I saw you with Leeleah…”
His eyebrows furrow together. “Leyana?”
“Yeah, you two just seem very close.” I, hold my breath, and decide to spit it out. “Is she your girlfriend?”
The fog of confusion doesn’t lift from his eyes. “Girlfriend?”
“You know…partner. Mate.” I’m hunting for words he understands.
The haze clears and a note of understanding sinks in. “She is my second,” he says. There’s a darkness in his voice as though he’s chastising me. “Not my mate.”
“Oh.” Relief stills the buzzing anxiety in my blood and I feel guilty for even thinking twice about it.
He reaches forward to pinch the flimsy sash holding my robe together. “May I?” he asks.
My mouth goes dry with anticipation and I nod. He yanks the knot loose and peels back the robe so it flutters from my body and pools around my feet. I’m completely bare now, but somehow I don’t feel self-conscious in front of him.
Garock wrings out the towel, again, and meticulously washes my body, dragging the damp cloth over my neck, my shoulder, and my breasts. The towel is still saturated with water and a couple of stray drops trickle down my chest. The coolness of the water is startling and it makes me gasp.
“Is it uncomfortable?” he asks.
“No, it’s fine. It feels nice.” I wonder if he’s purposefully trying to distract me, but he somehow seems incapable of ulterior motives. Garock tells you what he wants, there is no second guessing with him. I am incredibly aware of a cold drop that hits my hardened nipple and hangs off the tip.
Once again, the towel hits the water basin, gets wrung out, and then caresses my skin. He rubs it over my breasts, one by one, cleaning the sweat that’s collected underneath, and doesn’t comment on the tight pebbles of my nipples.
The water is refreshingly cold, but I’m burning hot between my legs. My sex feels swollen and aching and I’m doing a phenomenal job of keeping my composure. At least, until I feel a single drop trickle between my thighs and down between the puffy lips of my slit. I swallow hard as I try to absorb the shock to my system, but I can’t remember a time in my life I’ve ever been as aroused as I am right now. Garock could break me in half, instead, he chooses to pamper me like a queen. The thought makes me shutter.
“You should not worry about other women,” Garock says to me suddenly.
I blink at him. “Oh…no…I mean, I’m not jealous exactly I just…uh…”
“You just?”
“I just want you for myself.”
“You have me.” Garock draws the towel over my inner thighs and then between my legs. I’m trembling. His eyes flicker between my eyes and in between my thighs. “You are always ready for me,” he comments.
“I guess so.”
I’m embarrassed. Garock drops the towel, spreads my thighs apart, reaches between my legs, and begins to pet my sex. I gasp in sharp surprise; this man is a litany of contradictions. I don’t understand how he can so respectfully ask for my consent and then boldly take me with more casually dominance than I have ever felt from a man before. I wonder if he has ever not been the most confident man in the room, but my thoughts quickly scatter when he presses a finger between my nether lips, rubbing up and down, coating myself with my own slickness. My eyelids flutter and a moan escapes my lips.
“Do you see how you are now?” Garock asks.
I gulp and meet his gaze. “How am I?”
His eyes scan over my body in a very deliberate way that makes me shudder. “You pant as though you have run very far,” he says. “Your eyes close. Your mouth opens. You sing pleasure-songs.”
His finger has found the sensitive nub of my clit and when he hits it, my thighs snap around his arm, and a shock of pleasure bursts through me. Unable to control myself, another of my pleasure songs falls from my mouth in the form of a whimper.
“Why would I touch anyone else,” Garock continues, “when I have a Goddess who sings for me?”
It sounds so simple when he says it.
“Not a Goddess,” I correct. “Your Goddess.”
His eyes flash. He presses a finger inside of me, just one is enough to make me feel full, and I gasp sharply and squirm. Just when I feel myself growing hot, he reaches down with his free hand and unhooks the buckled straps around his chest and waist. They fall off, leaving him naked in front of me, all strapping muscles and cinnamon skin.
He’s gorgeous. An Adonis. I want to touch him, but my courage leaves me at the last second. His body is almost too perfect, like something at a museum that it meant to be admired, not touched. All I can do is squirm and want. Garock, of course, has none of my reservations. He takes my hand and sets it on his thick manhood, which is already half-hard. He’s huge and he grows even harder under my touch. Fuck fear, I decide. I begin to polish his cock as though it’s made of gold. No, harder than gold, like iron and hot, like a freshly cast sword. It even shines, the head slick with his anticipation.
“Do you see how you drive me to madness?” he asks. I can hear the thick growl in his voice.
I shudder and my sex pulses around his fingers. My reaction spurs one of his own and he twitches in my hand. We’ve both had enough foreplay. He pulls his hand out from between my legs and the emptiness makes my hips involuntarily push forward for more. I’m buzzing between my legs, aching for him, but he moves his hand to the back of my neck instead.
“Lie back,” he tells me.
I obey. He lowers me down and his dark eyes devour me. The floor is layered with a patchwork of course quilts and the stray hairs tickle my back as Garock positions himself over me. He parts my legs, reaches between me, and wraps my thighs around his hips. I let him arrange me exactly how he wants me and bite my lip in anticipation. His fingers find my sex again; I can feel him separate the petals before he aligns his erection at my entrance.
His eyes lock on mine as he eases himself inside. I gasp sharply. He’s huge and I feel like a rubber band pulled too taut. He stills, hovering over me, and asks, “Am I hurting you?”
It takes me a second to find my breath to speak. I shake my head, but then try, “Maybe just go slow.”
He watches me intently, studying me for any flicker of discomfort, as he takes his time. Once he’s fully inside of me, he lingers there to let me catch my breath as I dig my heels into his back. I’m overwhelmed by how he feels inside me and my head spins with this complicated sensation: immense pleasure interrupted with barbs of anxiety wrapped around my heart.
This is more than letting him in my body, I’m letting him in, in my heart, in my emotions, making myself vulnerable in a way I haven’t before. There are cobwebs in my chest and they rustle as he threatens to tear it all down. Shallow, frantic pants rise and fall quickly in my chest.
I find his gaze. Garock is without a doubt the biggest man I’ve ever been with, full of muscle, with shoulders that would put a quarterback to shame. He has the hair of a lion and his mane frames his face. He could easily tear me in half. He could pin me down, take what he wants from me, and break me. But he doesn’t. He’s impossibly gentle with me, as though he’s handling a delicate glass doll. Even despite the obvious ache in his cock, how hard he was in my hand, he has no probl
ems taking his time, my pleasure is paramount even to his own.
There’s nothing but devotion and adoration in his eyes. It takes an extra couple seconds before the stubborn, rusted locks around my heart begin to give way and I can breathe again. I trust this man. Despite this new world with its new rules and new dangers, I trust this man. Unconditionally. Irrationally. Completely.
My body gets the memo and I burn with need, even my cheeks flare up hotly. A flood of arousal releases between my legs and it drips down my thigh. I can take him in deeper now, my body molding a cast to his, and I eagerly grind my hips on his, urging him on. He hits places inside of me I never knew existed before, my face flushed and sweat collecting in the dips of my body.
I feel each thrust. I feel each low, deep swing of his hips as he pushes his every inch deeper inside of me. He takes his time with me, and lavishes me with affection. I’m wound tight, every muscle tense, and out of habit my hand snakes down between my legs. As he thrusts, I begin to flick my clit. I’m so wet and slippery, I can barely get any friction, but I can feel the swollen, diamond-hard numb underneath my sensitive folds and I squeeze my eyes shut and pant heavily as I work myself into a frenzy.
Garock takes my wrists and pins them above my head in one of his hands. The lack of touch makes my hips jerk and my eyes fly open. There’s no aggression in his eyes. Rather, I’m a doll and he’s twisting my limbs exactly where he wants them. Once he fixes me in my place, his eyes rest on mine.
“Be still, my Goddess,” he tells me. “Let me.”
I would let him do anything to me at this point, so I just absently nod . “Sorry,” I stammer. “Bad habit.” I want to tell him how I’m far more used to pleasuring myself than allowing someone else to do it. I want to tell him that I’d never had a boyfriend get me off unless I was also playing with my clitoris. I want to tell him that it’s not personal, it’s just that I’m bad at giving up control.
His eyes drink in my form and my words die on my tongue. With his free hand, he very lightly brushes his fingertips over my chest. “From now on,” he informs me, “when you reach climax, it will only be my cock or my touch that gets you there. Understand?”
Oh holy hell. I can’t tell if this is his way of taking care of me or if he’s marking his territory like an animal, laying claim on my orgasms. Maybe it’s a little of both. All I know is that, between his words and the way his deep hazelnut eyes are staring at me, my sex is pulsating. I’ve never had a man watch me so intently before, as though he were invested in every micro-expression in my face.
I’m stretched out underneath him, my hands above my head, my legs around his hips, completely bared for him. I should feel self-conscious, but I don’t. I feel like a Goddess. For a second, as his eyes drink me in, I let myself believe in the fairytale.
“You are beautiful,” he says as though he can read my thoughts. I swallow hard as my heart flips. His fingertips trace down my chest and brush my skin, his rough hands feather-soft in the way he touches me.
“You are quiet,” he continues. “Do I frighten you?”
It’s a jarring question and, just then, I wonder if I should be frightened. My flight and fight responses are not what they used to be. This warrior of a man, a man I barely know, has me completely at his mercy. I should be screaming, but I’m not. I feel incredibly safe here. Safer than I’ve felt in a long time. Fear has been such a big part of my life and yet, at the one place I should be terrified, I’m not.
“No,” I whisper. “I’m just…I don’t know. I feel like I’m hypnotized by you.”
There’s a dark shift in his expression The corners of his mouth tightens mouth and says, “Do not be hypnotized. Be here. With me.”
He activates his markings, but instead of the full flash of white, the glow starts off low in his chest around his heart. The markings along his arm begin to light up, one by one, a bright, white glow approaching his wrist, to the hand at my chest. I shudder in anticipation, a little anxiety sinking into my bones now, and ask, “What is that exactly?”
“My Kaul. My life energy. I want to share a taste of it with you.”
“Share?”
The markings on his arm shift, from a bright white to a low burn blue, and a static spark vibrates from his fingertips. His fingers hover over my body, not touching, but I can feel him on my skin, somehow, his hot energy vibrating over me and sending shivers through my body. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, but rather it keeps me on edge. It’s as though I’m magnetized to his touch and all my nerve endings rush to his fingertips. He traces a circle around my breast and, when he gets to my nipple, he flicks his finger once.
That’s all it is, a light flick, but a warmth floods my body, pleasure hitting me like a wave. It coils through my blood, lighting up my skin, and I blush up my throat and into my cheeks. A second waves rolls downward off the precipice of my breast and crashes over my sex. I am hyper aware of every sensation as my labia swell to full tension, my little bud engorged and throbbing angrily.
I gasp, tremble, every muscle taunt as I thrash underneath him. I have never been this turned on in my life. His hot manhood twitches inside me, but he remains focused. I am far less composed. The ecstasy is so overwhelming; I can barely remember my name. All I can do is whimper and moan and jerk as his electric fingers graze my skin and tease the hardened peak of my nipple.
He retracts his hand and his blue markings go black again. My skin buzzes as the electric heat fizzles and quiets. My heart is pounding in my ears and I can barely catch my breath. Did I just come? I can’t tell, but it certainly feels like it with the wetness coating my thighs as I drip around his thick shaft. I know it must have only lasted a couple seconds, but it feels like his hands were on me forever.
His dark eyes find mine. “How did that feel?”
My throat is dry and I can’t remember how to speak for a long time. When I find my words, I rasp out, “Again.”
The corners of his mouth curl, pleased. “As you wish, my Goddess.” His markings glow again along his arm as he curls his finger and runs a single line down my middle. Again, my nerves bundle under his touch and I come alive, my body buzzing and aching deliciously. He ignites another spark of pleasure on my belly and it bounces through me like a pinball as I twist and turn, struggling to find a way out and simultaneously never wanting it to end. It’s too much and not enough. I tighten my jaw and groan, back arching. His fingers tiptoe down my belly, do a loop around my navel, and slip through the coarse hair between my legs.
I’m panting. He’s so close now. I need him so badly I can taste metal. I whimper and want to beg, but I can barely form the words. I don’t need to. He reads my body and, finally, gives me what I need.
“Let go, my Goddess,” he says. With that, his fingers slip between my legs, part my slit, and trace over my clit.
I hit the fucking wall. “Oh my god…Garock!” I cry out. His fingers are on my sex, drawing circles on the slippery lips until he bumps my clit. Pleasure explodes through me, starting between my legs with hard, pounding throbs, followed my strains of ecstasy that sizzle through my blood all the way from the curled tips of my toes to the tips of my fingers. I try to grab for him, but I’m woefully trapped under his strong grip and it’s all I can do to shout over and over as this powerful orgasm rips through me. It’s merciless, strong, and it doesn’t stop for a long time, squeezing every last ounce of pleasure from me until I’m so satisfied my limbs feel like jelly and it’s a struggle to catch my breath. Even then, my pussy butterflies around his cock with small throbs.
It’s not until I’m fully satisfied that he takes his own pleasure. I’m open to him, as pliable as melted candlewax in his arms, and he takes me how he wants me. Garock tightens his grip on my wrists, holds my thigh to his hip, and spears his cock inside of me. I whimper with every thrust, overly sensitive now and helpless against the small bursts of pleasure that come with each pendulum swing of his hips.
His tie comes undone and hi
s long hair cascades down his shoulders now and tickles my breasts. It doesn’t take him long to find his release. He lets out a moan from deep in his chest, like a low boom of thunder very far in the distance. His markings burst neon blue before he twitches inside of me and he releases, filling me with his hot seed. Even as he comes, he’s controlled, powerful With the last energy I have, I hook my thighs tightly around his hips and hump his cock. He growls in response. Each time he’s fully sheathed inside me, he gives me a little more. It’s not until I have every drop that I relax, collapsing underneath him like a puppet with her strings cut.
I’m doused in sweat and my own stickiness and I feel like I’ve just had a religious experience. I pant hard to catch my breath and my tongue is dry. Garock releases his grip on my wrists now, giving me the freedom to move about underneath him.
“Oh my god,” I murmur as I rake my fingers through my hair. Even my scalp feels damp.
“My Goddess,” Garock corrects me.
“Yeah, that too.” I’m dazed, blinking spots from my eyes. I feel him growing soft, but I keep my legs locked on his hips, keeping his warmth inside of me.
Garock shifts to grab the lip of the water basin and drags it over. He cups a handful of water from the clean basin and brings it to my face. When he tilts his hand at my mouth, a trickle of fresh water pours over my lips and down my throat. He gives me another handful, his hands are so big, he can fit about half a cup’s worth in there, before he brushes the traces of excess water from my face. There’s something intensely erotic and incredibly sweet about the gesture and my heart constricts in my chest. How did I get so lucky?
“Well?” he asks me. “What do you think of my Kaul?”
“The light show?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” I say. “I am suddenly very envious of Swing.”
He laughs. I’ve never heard him laugh. His laughter is like the low pounding of a drum, the booming break of thunder. It puts lines in the corners of his eyes and erases some of the harsh, weathered look from his face. It is, decidedly, a very, very good look on him.
