Mark of the Fallen: A Fallen Novel

by Jones, Tanisha

  “Do we need a safe word?” He asked, meaning to lightened the mood and ease his nerves.

  “No safe words. I never had any say and neither will you. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you,” she said, her lips close to his ear just as she pulled the towel from his hips. He wasn’t sure if it was her attitude or being naked and on display, but he moaned involuntarily, the tip of his penis moistening. When the first blow landed on his backside, his knees buckled as the sensation assaulted him. He stifled a grunt, but was soothed by the caress of her hand.

  That was unexpected, he thought, closing his eyes. He hadn’t expected his body to ignite so completely, either. She repeated the action, a solid thwack of the paddle followed by a smooth stroke of her palm over his stinging flesh. Sweat beaded his forehead, his body aching from the need of her. She struck him again, harder and his grip tightened on the posts, his knuckles bright white. Each new blow was harder, swifter and he felt himself weakening, his body going limp. Her final blow was loud and made his entire body rock forward and he was barely able to remain on his feet or control the force of his impending orgasm.

  “Oh god,” he moaned. He could hear labored breathing, and for a second, he thought it was his own until she moved closer, touching him with trembling fingers. She ran her hand from the nape of his neck upward, grasping a hand full of hair; she pulled his head back, her mouth at his throat.

  “Are you about to come?” She rubbed against him, her own body humming in excitement. She licked his face, and for some unknown reason, he shivered turning to look at her. She tugged his hair even harder, pulling his head in the opposite direction. “Are you?” She asked, biting his earlobe hard.

  “Yes,” he whispered, his throat tight.

  “Don’t. I didn’t say you could.” She released him and continued her exquisite torture, each strike bringing him closer to the edge, yet he held on, trying to obey. She made it that much more difficult when she reached around him, cupping him with a silken hand while she continued to whack away at his backside. He thrust into her palm with each new strike, biting his lip to keep from exploding, soft groans escaping him until he could no longer hold back. He came against her hand his knees giving, and he fell forward, his breath coming in hard heavy gulps.

  She released him from the restraints and he gratefully sat on the edge of the bed, trying to quell the tremble in his thighs.

  She moved closer, stepping between his thighs, her body pressed to his, sinking her hands into that thick dark hair. He was breathing heavily, his arms around her waist, as she lowered her mouth. Her breath smelled of wine and she reeked of vanilla and that unique sweetness that was all Celeste. He opened his mouth, inviting her tongue, but she didn’t kiss him. Instead, she grasped his face, her fingers biting into his flesh.

  “No. I was never allowed to use my mouth. No one was allowed my mouth, but they could put their mouth all over my body. They could lick, and bite, and taste every inch of me, but my mouth was never to be shared. Understand?” She asked. He nodded. “Say it.” She tightened her grip and he grunted at the sting of her nails.

  “I understand,” he mumbled. She released him, shoving his face away, turning his head so that she could run her mouth down the column of his throat, her fangs grazing his skin. She moved her hands down his bare chest, raking his nipples with her nails, moving down his ribs to rest at his hips. He wanted her to touch him, to feel her hands on him again, only she didn’t. Instead she reached for the towel and tossed it to him.

  “Clean yourself,” she said, her throat tight. Her heart was racing and she was so wet, she hadn’t expected to be so excited by this. She had thought it would disgust her, but his reaction, his moans of pleasure had spurned her on.

  “Lay down.” She said, keeping her back to him. She gripped the edge of the dresser and tried to collect herself. She could feel his eyes on her, feel him staring as he moved behind her. She swallowed and took a deep breath. You started this, she told herself, and you better damn well finish it.

  “I was always tied down,” she said, using the second pair of bangles to secure him to the bed. He lay, face up and spread eagle on the bed trying to control his breathing while she secured his ankles with the bangles that had just been at his wrists.

  “Always.” She tested the restraints, ensuring that they were tight but not painfully so. “Now the fun part,” she whispered with no real humor. She began with the cat-o-nine tails, holding it in her hand, giving it a few test swings before she struck. There was a loud whoosh, and then a smack as the soft leather trailed across his chest. She wasted no time building up her strength, the first blow was quick and hard.

  He grunted, his sex coming to life again. She continued her delicious torture until his body arched up to meet the leather tongues as they worked down his torso to his abdomen, then across is aching groin. He rolled sideways, struggling against his restraint, his balls tightening when she repeated the action. With each grunt of approval she struck him harder, her excitement getting the better of her. His skin was red and raw, but he didn’t seem to care, as a matter of fact, he seemed to get off on the pain. She dropped the whip, turning away from him so he could not see what she was doing.

  When she turned back, she held a thick white candle in her hands, her teeth worrying her lip as she considered what she was about to do. She looked at him, blowing until the flame disappeared and he gave a short, pained nod of agreement.

  The hot wax touched his skin and he felt every nerve alight with a pain that was sharp and surprisingly wonderful. A long deep hissing escaped him as she lay a trail from his chest down the center of him, stopping just above the soft curls below his waist. He watched with baited breath as she did it again, covering his nipples and collarbone with the last flow of liquid. With her fingers, she traced patterns in the hardening wax, making his skin feel as if it were on fire, each touch making him harder until the pain was a dull constant ache.

  She reached back to her table of toys, as he now thought of it, coming back to him rubbing her slick, shinning hands together. She placed her palms on his hips, sweet smelling oil cooling his heated skin. A small smile started at the corners of her mouth and he found himself smiling as well. The room filled with the scent of, was that…? “Is that coconut?” He asked.

  “Yes,” she said, her hands massaging every inch of exposed skin He stared at her, caramel golden skin shimmering from the glow of candlelight and oil, the smells of vanilla, lavender and coconut filling the room. She stroked his thighs, ran her nails over the hypersensitive wax caked nipples, down the contracting muscles of his abdomen, but avoided the place he wanted her hands most. She lubricated her already slippery palms and reached for him. Instinctively, he tilted his hips toward her, silently begging her to sooth his angry erection. She touched him, her slick, vulpine hands moving over the stiffness of his shaft until he practically hummed and vibrated like an engine being revered but given no way to accelerate.

  “Look at me,” she said, and he turned his eyes to her, licking his lips as each stroke brought him closer to fulfillment. With each caress, he thrust into her hand, his eyes on her face, watching the delicate hitch in her breathing, inhaling the aroma of her arousal; he imagined that he was pushing deep inside of her. He would take the pain, he would take it all over and over if it would make her want him again. She tightened her grasp, tugging at him until his hips lifted, licking her lips, her cheeks flushing at her growing vigor. Harder, faster, the oil on her hand felt like a satin glove on his fiery skin, until lids drifted shut from the sheer bliss.

  “Look at me, I want to see your eyes when you come.” Her voice was tight and strained as she tried to keep her own emotions in check. She wanted to mount him, to straddle him, sink down onto him until she could feel the heavy weight inside of her. She wanted to take him into her mouth, taste all of him, warm and sweet on her tongue, but not just yet. He wanted her to use him, and she was going to use every inch of him tonight. Her hand moved faster, her eyes locked on his
when his eyes rolled back and his body twisted, hips pistoning faster. He grasped the bedposts and made soft choking noise with each euphoric sweep of her hand.

  “Oh…. my…fuck,” he came again, his body shaking from the sheer pleasure of it all, his eyes closed as waves of ecstasy overtook him. Celeste took great joy in having complete control over him. With each new experience, his body roiled with desire and she wanted him more.

  “Oh god, I need to touch you, azizam,” he pleaded. “Please.”

  “Do you want to taste me, Karim?” She leaned forward, biting his bottom lip, abandoning her rule of him not using his mouth. She wanted his mouth all over her, she wanted him all over her, inside of her. She wanted to taste him, to run her tongue over every delicious inch of Karim’s body. Only not now, now he was wound too tightly, his body tense, every muscle standing out in strained relief. He was on fire; she could feel the heat rising from him, smell the pungent aroma of a sea breeze and sand. He mumbled a response, fighting the restraints until the wood creaked under the force.

  Celeste climbed on top of him, sleek, damp warmth brushed his lips and he licked, tasting her through the silk of her panties. She made a soft purring sound, her hips rocking against his mouth, her hands in his hair. He lifted his head, trying to get closer, the bracelets cutting into his wrists as he pulled in an attempt to go deeper, taste more of her. Then she was gone, he followed her with hungry eyes. She stood above him, slipping the silk from her hips, gently placing them on the bed before returning, her hips lusciously close to his mouth.

  “Beg,” she said. He looked into her eyes neon eyes and licked his lips, savoring her taste.

  “Please,” he whispered. She went to her knees and his tongue touched her, a velvet stroke against her feverish skin. She pitched forward, bracing one hand on the wall, the other knotting in his hair as he continued the smooth, tantalizing movement of his mouth against her. When he found that tightness at her center, he began a gentle sucking; the feel of his sharp fangs against hypersensitive skin sent her reeling. His fangs grazed her inner core and she trembled. He did it again, wanting to sink his teeth into her, to drink from her and mark her in the most intimate of places, but he couldn’t. Something was blocking him, deterring him from the thing he wanted most. But he continued, using his tongue and teeth to make her thighs tremble as she rode him hard, her hips rocking against his mouth. When he began the whirling, twisting assault again, she held his head tightly to her, thrusting her hips against him until his tongue slipped into the honey at her core and she exploded against him. The sweet nectar of her poured into his mouth, filling him in a rush and he swallowed, reveling in the sweet essence of her. The wood of the bedposts protested as he fought against them, wanting to touch her, to hold her as she came all over him, into him. The she was gone, leaving him panting for more, his eyes shining bright white, his fangs bared in a disappointed hiss.

  “Come back,” he growled. “Please, come back.” He hissed through clenched teeth while his sex strained achingly hard against his stomach. He felt like an addict begging for one more hit, just one more to relieve the thundering throbbing at his hips. She trailed kisses down his body, moving lower until she was crouched between his thighs. He looked down at her, her eyes like beacons of light before her lids drifted shut when her tongue traced the tip of his sex, before she took him deeper.

  “Oh, sweet Jesus.” He choked, his body went rigid, the twin weights heavy and tight beneath his aching shaft. As if she could read his thoughts, she cupped the throbbing spheres in her hands, the pull of her lips stronger. His body arched upward with each pull of her lips, the pressure building in him so quickly, that he couldn’t hold on. The feel of her soft lips, the gentle graze of her fangs against his skin and the steady rhythm had him writhing in divine agony. The creaking of wood and the gentle sounds of her wet, hot mouth were only interrupted by his gasps before his tenuous hold snapped. He exploded and she continued to suckle, pulling everything from him, milking his seed from him until his body bowed and shook uncontrollably.

  She sat back on her haunches, licking her lips, a devious smile on her swollen lips as she him struggle to contain himself. She touched him, and he quailed, every nerve in his body on fire with an all-consuming want. She ran her fingertips along the smooth contours of his inner thighs, up to his hips. He cursed as his body grew hard under her gaze, the feel of her fingers on the tender skin tantalizing him. It was like he truly was an addict, and he needed more. He wanted to be inside of her, filling her tightness, making her moan and writhe as he’d done for her.

  “What have you done to me? Why can’t I get enough of you?” He whimpered, watching her straddle his hips. Convulsively, he thrust upward, easily slipping into the tight, heat at her core. He opened his mouth to say something, to have them filled with the moist silk of her discarded panties. He expected her to start slow and easy, giving her body a chance to stretch to accommodate him, but she was already beyond that. Digging her nails into the red tender flesh of his chest, she lifted her hips, then slid back, taking the full length of him into her. Her eyes closed as she began intense, heavy thrusts that left him breathless. She rode him hard, her body slamming against him. He thrust upward, trying to catch her erratic rhythm only to be thrown back against the bed, the taste of her in his mouth, the feel of her around him as she tightened and rocked. She grasped him around the throat with one surprisingly strong hand, stealing the air from his lungs. A new level of unexpected pleasure rocked him when he grew lightheaded and his eyes drifted closed.

  She let go just when he thought he'd pass out from a sweet agony he’d never known existed. She continued to move over him, slick and hot; she rolled her hips, the friction of his heavy pelvic thrust touching the tender nub at her core until her body moved on its own. She made a soft whining noise and he could feel her nearing the edge.

  “Oh yes, yes oh god, yes.” She moaned, her head thrown back as she moved like a woman possessed. He thrust up hard, wanting more, needing more, and she matched him, until her legs tightened at his hips and a rush of moisture poured from her. She shook; her legs trembled as the force of her organism sent him into overdrive. He continued to buck against her, not wanting the pleasure to end; he closed his eyes and drove up hard and long, each stroke deeper and deeper, until she moaned again, her head falling to his shoulder as she panted against his sweaty chest.

  She peppered his chest with tiny bites, her nails digging into him leaving points of bright red blood on his skin, as she rose and fell against him until the sound of their bodies meeting filled the room. She inhaled sharply and another uncontrollable wave moved through her and he was filling her with his own heat, a muffled groan escaping him until his body relaxed and he lay still beneath her.

  She collapsed onto him, her breathing a pant against his skin, her own body damp with sweat. When she collected herself, she removed her panties from his mouth and released him from the cuffs. She was going to roll off of him and free his ankles, but he held her steady, kissing her neck, cheeks and finally her lips, his hands moving from her shoulders down to cup her bare backside, holding her still.

  “Don’t move,” he croaked, “I want to stay inside of you as long as possible.” She sat up and looked at him. He was a mess covered in his own seed and sweat, his hair plastered to his flushed face, red welts and blood rising on his skin. Angry red marks were beginning to rise on his chest and legs and she could only imagine what his backside looked like. She had done so much to him and he still wanted her. He was insane. Or she was.

  “Did I hurt you? I got carried away and I didn’t even use everything…” She sniffed back her tears. Karim brushed her hair from her face, and looked into her eyes. “Was I too rough? Was it too much?”

  “No, azizam. You didn’t hurt me. You could never hurt me. What you did is temporary. What I did …” She shook her head, kissing him, her mouth sweet and hungry against his. He didn’t need to apologize anymore; he’d just let her take out years of aggression
on him. All apologies were done; there was nothing left to say.

  “I don’t want to talk about that.” She sniffed and hid her face as the tears continued to flow. She couldn’t stop them, it was as if something, some wall inside of her had cracked and now the emotion flooded out, pouring from her in a wild torrent. She began to silently sob into the pillow, not wanting him to see. All of the hurt and anger poured from her, her body shaking from the release. She didn’t want him to say anything, fearing that if he spoke, she would be completely inconsolable. Instead, he sat up, holding her close, stroking her hair until she had no more tears.

  ***

  Remy crossed the condo’s lobby, waving at the concierge who greeted him pleasantly as he made his way to the elevator. As usual, the elegantly decorated white marble foyer was empty, save the evening concierge. He was grinning from ear to ear as Remy approached, standing a little straighter at the approach of one of the buildings more gregarious residents. Unlike most of the staid, upstanding individuals who lived here, Remy was by far the most popular with staff. He threw wild parties and gave the biggest tips; he greeted everyone by name and acknowledged them as people, not just fixtures in the exclusive high rise. Two of the condo association past presidents had tried to have him evicted. The first had given up when he discovered that Remy Kent was that Remy Kent. The second had not cared about his pedigree, insisting that he was bringing down the property’s value. One time he’d nearly been voted out, until he’d made his entrance into his first and only association meeting. In true Remy fashion, he stormed into the room wearing a towel around his hips, barefoot and still dripping from his abruptly ended shower.

  “Mr. Kent,” the pious little woman pulled at the sleeve of her pink Chanel suit as he entered, his face twisted in anger. “We are about to hold a vote,” she said.