Sweet Goddess! That was one hell of a piece of equipment. It jumped a bit with her attention. Elle normally preferred female lovers, not for their physical appearance, but their minds were more focused, easier to tolerate, especially among the women of her coven. She wanted a man but could not bear their jumbled thoughts.
She went around behind him to examine his injured wing. It was completely healed. The only evidence of an injury was a few blood drips on the concrete. Reaching out, she couldn't help touching the leathery surface. His quick intake of breath broke the silence. Their wings were supposedly extremely sensitive and she felt remorse for hurting the beautiful things. They were the same gray-brown of his hair, not feathered but more bat-like. She touched each place where her buckshot had torn a hole. The skin was thinner and lighter there, giving it a speckled look. After she made sure there was no permanent damage, she pressed her lips to them in apology.
It seemed to have some effect on her Nephilim; he began to shake as if he were having trouble controlling himself. She left his wings and went to the table. She grabbed her whip and stood in front of him where she knew he could see her feet. She could feel his desire to kiss them and she granted him silent permission. It was different, refreshing, not having to speak to communicate.
In order to reach her, he had to nearly put his chest flat on the ground. To keep his balance, he spread his wings. They knocked over several chairs and tables on either side. He took such joy in kissing the tops of her booted feet. He wanted to touch her skin, needed to worship her. She needed to ensure his compliance. A Nephilim's true name was their most sacred secret. They guarded it with their lives, going thousands of years without sharing it with a single soul. It could be used against them, to bind and hold them, and on the wrong tongue it was dangerous.
He knew what she required before they could move forward physically. He hesitated, straightening up, but keeping his eyes down. Hesitation irritated Elle. Snapping the whip twice in quick succession, she made contact with his shoulder, drawing blood. Tucking the whip's handle under her arm, she threw the snapping end around his neck, looping it in a loose knot. When she tugged, the knot caught under his chin, forcing his face up. "Your name," she insisted.
"Sorath Lamechial Maru," he replied aloud.
"Well, Sorath," she repeated, "Where the hell have you been?" She thought of all the years she'd gone with little to none of the physical interaction every human craved. He had been out there, somewhere, living it up, taking lovers, feasting without her.
Elle felt instant remorse for her selfishness. His response was, "My apologies, Sinnis," but his thoughts told her the story. Sorath had surrendered himself to the Akhkharu prison even though he was no monster. He had done it at the request of women of his bloodline, Elle's distant relatives, when his gnawing hunger and violent thoughts threatened to drive them mad. He nearly erased his own family with his lonely agony; many fell into despair, taking his hurt for their own, and ending their own lives. Elle thought her suffering great but it was nothing compared to the centuries of isolation he had endured so that she might be born.
"No, it's me who's sorry, Sorath." Then something from his memory struck her. The only time her predecessors had felt relief from sensing him was when they were in direct contact. She wondered, and put her hand on his shoulder.
Absolute silence.
Glorious, unprecedented quiet.
He heard the question in her mind. "You make me strong. Your touch gives me hope and silences the beast."
Smiling, almost drunk on the new sensation, she removed her whip and went in for more. Elle put her hand flat on his chest over the place where his heart sat. The hair there tickled her palm. Elle found that once she'd started, she didn't want to stop. Freedom to connect physically with another was a rare commodity; one she cherished and relished. Closing her eyes, she heard something, like a whisper in the wind. It wasn't silence she heard from Sorath; it was her own thoughts and desires reflected back to her. He yearned for the same thing she did: to touch and be touched by each other.
"You may touch me."
Sorath didn't need to be told twice. His arms, which had been laying at his sides, fisted to keep from touching her before she was ready, now moved to wrap around her. Even with all her muscles, Elle was a quarter of the size of Sorath. His arms alone probably weighed the same as her whole body. She allowed herself to enjoy the innocent pleasure of that first hug before noticing that he was fumbling with the zipper on the back of her skirt.
He had waited his whole life for this moment, that first taste of love and freedom. He wanted to move slowly, savor every second. His hunger beast, who'd starved in prison for two centuries, wanted anything but. It wanted to feast, to gorge. Her proximity might silence the beast but her touch, her smell, inflamed it.
She took a step back from him and he growled. "I said you could touch, not undress me." Elle wasn't ready to give up the security that having that little bit of clothing gave her. Dressed, she still had some semblance of control.
He nodded his acceptance but there was a puckish look. She could see in his thoughts that he planned to make her beg him to remove her coverings. If it was a battle of wills he wanted, Elle would oblige even though she was fairly certain of her impending defeat. She stepped forward again, within his reach, signaling her permission for touching to begin again.
For being incarcerated for the last hundred years, Sorath had experienced hands. There was no hesitation. He instantly knew where she liked to be touched and how. The hot weight of his palms on the fronts of her thighs. The rasp of his nails behind her knees. The feather-light feel of his fingertips tracing the lines of her well defined stomach muscles. The gentle brush of hair off her cheek. Even in the most innocuous of places, his touch was erotic, sending twinges to her erogenous zones.
Others had described the heavy feeling of need in their wombs but Elle had never experienced it - not like this. When he threaded his fingers through her hair and cupped her nape, pulling her face to his for a kiss, she didn't stop him. She heard the mental argument that kissing was touching and so technically fell within her permissions, not knowing if it was her thought or his.
Then that kiss erased all cognition. If he had experienced hands, his lips were expert. Elle lost herself and was floating in a sea of pure sensation. His mouth glided over hers with such need that goose bumps rose all over her body, despite the warmth of the club. Slanting her head in the opposite direction as his, he parted her lips and slid his tongue just past the breach of her mouth. She could do nothing but meet it. They collided, tangling, drinking deeply of each other. She tasted of fruit and he of dark chocolate. They went perfectly together.
Elle realized her arms were hanging loosely, dumbstruck by missing something she'd never known. It had become second nature, the not touching, and she was uncertain what she should do with her hands. Timidly, she put them on his broad shoulders, and then more confidently ran them up and down the smooth hardness of his arms.
Nephilim fed on blood and sex. They consumed the prana, or life-force, of another person, but none was as nutritious as the orgasm of their specific Sinnis. Elle was the one woman in the whole world who could satisfy his hunger and she had told him that if he came to her, submitted to her, pleased her, she would let him drink his fill of her. He had fulfilled his part. Now she must uphold her end of the bargain.
Not that giving him what he needed - her pleasure - was an inconvenience. Elle was a bit worried, having never had an easy orgasm with another person. She was always too distracted by a partner's jumble of thoughts to truly give herself over to sensation. Guiding one of his massive hands between her legs, which she had to spread slightly to accommodate, she showed him what she wanted.
Though Sorath was capable of moving so fast as to seem to vibrate, he moved slowly. He knew she could climax with a piece of equipment that did that very thing - he could see the frequent, lonely memory in her mind. He wanted to give her what she craved - the human e
xperience. Sorath hated the strip of material that separated her flesh from his but if she needed it between them for a bit longer, he would suffer it.
The latex panties she wore left little to the imagination. He could feel every hill and valley, easily locating her swollen, achy nerve bundle. Moving over it, across and back, at an almost sluggish pace, he felt her every heartbeat, each rush of liquid desire. "Stop," she ordered him.
He might not have known about the BDSM lifestyle before now, but at that moment he knew everything she did. She might be in control but as the Domme, Elle had a responsibility to ensure her submissive mate had what he needed. She had to provide for him. She had to give him what she'd promised when he gave up his freedom. The shepherdess girl had been spared only because Elle swore to end his thirst if he submitted to her. He'd met his end of the bargain. It was her turn.
She couldn't waste a climax trapped inside her garments, not when he hungered for it so badly. That would be too selfish to even consider. Elle didn't have to say anything aloud. They were in sync. Sliding over the outsides of her hips, he gripped the waistline on each side and pulled. The latex stretched for the slightest second before snapping and falling to the ground with a loud flap.
Elle stepped up, putting her left boot on his thigh. He made no protest, not even as the heel dug into his flesh. His other leg was spared because she lifted her right one and rested her knee on his shoulder. Her ass fit comfortably in the seat he made for her in one of his hands. Using it, he pressed her mound against his face.
A growl was torn from somewhere deep within him. Everything about her was perfect: her smell, her flavor, her skin, her body, her response to him. It is a heady mix, to be the object of a 10,000 year old creature's desires, a being completely devoted to providing pleasure to her. It was so different than any other experience she'd ever had. With previous lovers she'd always heard those errant thoughts about little deficiencies. Sorath didn't think she had any.
It was in that moment that she lost control. Whatever shred she was holding onto ripped. She fisted his hair in both hands, holding on for dear life. Elle stopped breathing when the shakes started. This buildup was slower and much more intense than any she'd ever had with her battery powered lover. The tingling that started in her core and spread through her limbs came a bit later than she was expecting.
Using the prehensile tips of his wings, he took her hands from his hair and pulled them over her head. He lifted the boot that was standing on his thigh and put that knee on his shoulder so that Elle was kneeling on his shoulders, sitting on his upturned face. Undulating her hips, she ground her clit back and forth on his nose.
Kissing her nether-lips just as he would her mouth, he used his teeth, tongue and lips on her opening. Sorath drank in every drop of her arousal, allowing her to bring about her climax on her own schedule, using him as her tool, her vessel. He pushed his tongue far into her, angling the tip so that with her every move it rubbed that slightly rough spot he knew brought such pleasure to women.
She broke apart, losing all rhythm as she came. Elle's body took over, convulsing, twitching, clamping. When it was over she felt boneless, but Sorath certainly didn't. She slid down, her arms resting where her knees had just been, her legs hooked over his elbows, her pussy pressed against the head of his erection.
Sorath lowered his arms, allowing her weight to bring her down around his cock. He watched her face the entire time, enjoying that look that said she couldn't decide if it was painful or pleasurable. The line was as blurred for her as it was for him. He had been isolated for longer than she and any touch, no matter the hurt, was sensual, erotic.
Up and down, he lifted and lowered her a bit more each time, allowing her lubrication to cover him and her body to stretch to accommodate. Throwing her head back when he finally had full penetration, she called his name. This position exposed her neck and the thirst for her blood built. It wasn't from her throat that he wanted to take his first drink. Nuzzling her breasts through her crop top with his stubble covered face brought her nipples hard against the material. He nibbled them until she couldn't stand it and wanted to be naked.
Her permission given, however silent, he took no time giving her what she wanted. Never stopping their motion, he clenched his teeth on the neckline on either side of the silver zipper. She could have removed it herself but not lost in sensation as she was. He was enjoying her abandon too much to allow her to drop back into reality, even for a moment. He ripped a strip from the clothing and tossed the piece aside.
Sorath pressed his lips to her breastbone, his stubble scratching her, then the smallest movement had her bosom exposed. They were firm, like the rest of her, with small rosy pink nipples, but he took no time appreciating them. He would have her whole life to study and worship her body. Right now, his beast was screaming at him to take what was his. Taking her left breast almost entirely in his mouth, his incisors slid into her skin like a hot knife through butter. From right over her heart, he made his first draw of her blood.
She moaned with pleasure but it was nothing compared to his. Her blood was heaven, more delicious than he'd ever imagined. With every pump of her heart it pulsed over his taste-buds, the flavor exploding with sweet tangy richness. That blood connection made his thoughts more focused. Clearly she could see that he wanted to hide the truth of his nature, to shelter her, but with the beast inside him there was nowhere to hide. He thought of himself as full of evil darkness. It clouded his view of the world but she was a bright light burning through that fog. He wanted to save that light but his beast called for her death. He couldn't escape that fate unless she showed him how.
When the first two punctures stopped flowing, he made a second set and the sensation was enough to push her over the edge. Crying out, she climaxed again, bucking.
Sorath was forced to release his hold on her tit or risk tearing her beautiful skin. He found her looking down on him and when their eyes locked, he came undone himself. Elbows still under her knees, he moved his hands from holding her weight, up her back and over her shoulders. He pulled her down harshly and she made tiny circles with her hips. She kissed him on the mouth, her eyes forced open in shock when he jerked inside her, spurting his seed. His breath came out in halting huffs and Elle took it as her own.
When they were both finished, she rested her head on his shoulder as his member softened and began to slide from her. She groaned at the loss. Her gaze fell to the single drop of blood, now drying, that her whip had drawn. Elle was overcome with a completely foreign desire. That word didn't properly describe the need she felt to taste his blood. Stretching her tongue out, she almost reached it before he pulled back from her.
He saw what she thought would do the trick, and was adamantly opposed. He'd been imprisoned this whole time. He had no idea how the Sinnis responded to drinking Nephilim Blood. He didn't want to turn his Elle into Vitala, always hungry searching for blood, or worse yet, Lilitu, a virtual whore who would do anything to get the sexual fix it needed to survive.
"You won't," she assured him. Elle had heard his thoughts, knew he feared his beast would kill her unless she could show him how to convert her. "Are you certain I am your Sinnis?"
He looked at his necklace, pulling away from him, like it was magnetized and she was metal, and nodded. It was so. Never before had his birthstone done anything but hang like a rock around his neck. Never had it glowed nor pulled towards another. If it wanted to be a part of her, a part of him would reside inside her, and it was true. Elle was his Sinnis.
"You are just going to have to trust me, Sorath. We are not the first, not by far, to do this. We must make love - check - then you drink my blood - check - and I yours, then you tabalu us both. Reform me and I promise you I will not die. I will be like you and we will be together forever."
He refused to fail her out of fear. Sorath feared giving another access to his blood though he had no choice but to trust that she knew more about this than he. Standing with one fluid motion, he broug
ht her with him as if she weighed nothing at all. Elle wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles behind him as he walked them out through the hole he'd made in the wall for his entrance.
Sorath found the nearest spot of land not covered with concrete, sighing in relief as he dug his feet into the dark rich flesh of the great mother. When he seemed calmed, she reminded him, "After I've fed, you'll need to move us through the earth. It will be fine, I promise." She nibbled a trail from his ear, down his neck to the place where it met his shoulder and the vein was pulsing close to the surface.
She didn't have the ability to grow her teeth into sharp piercing weapons as she would after the conversion was complete. He knew she would have to break through the skin with her dull flat human teeth. Glad that this would take a moment, he relished the feel of her mouth on him. She turned her head slightly to the side to bite down with her incisor and bicuspid. Sliding her hand up to cup his cheek, she felt his jaw clench. Grinding her jaw back and forth did the trick. She broke through and got her first taste.
Gulp after gulp, she sucked down his essence. His rich taste was invigorating at first. Quickly she felt sluggish and weighted down. Her grip on him went slack and soon she was held up by his strong arms alone. Her head fell against his shoulder, her mouth having lost its suction. She couldn't speak. The cloud in her brain made it impossible. Darkness overtook her before she could experience the bliss of being broken down cell by cell, moved through the earth, and reformed.
Beating Hearts (A Contemporary and Paranormal Valentine Anthology) Page 6
