by Lila Dubois
Luke changed position to kneel beside her, freeing her legs so he could spread them wide, opening her to let his fingers tunnel into her body. He pressed two fingers in, marveling at how sweet she smelled, how hot and tight she was.
With his fingers in her sex and his lips and teeth on her nipples, he brought her to fulfillment. He leaned back as she neared her peak, using his free hand to toy with her nipples, the earlier soft brushes and strokes turning into hard pinches and twists. While the sensation might have been too hard for her to handle at the beginning, she was so aroused, her body so full of the sweet chemicals that drove human reaction, that she could only feel, without giving those feelings the labels of pleasure or pain.
He was able to fit a third finger inside her, pressing deep into her as his thumb toyed with her clit.
“I still haven’t had my tongue here,” he told her, rubbing her clit. His voice was low, a rumble, and Luke could smell her fear spike. The spell that made him human didn’t always modulate his voice, allowing his true sound to slip through. Thousands of years of evolution had conditioned her to respond to the deep inhuman sound of his voice—his growl—with fear. But she was so aroused the fear was just another sensation, another touch.
She was beautiful like this—legs spread, one knee drawn up, breasts lifted by the position of her arms, her pale flesh silver and shadow in the dim light. Against the white of her breasts his hands were dark, menacing. He squeezed her left tit, digging his fingers in to watch the pliant flesh give.
“Please, Luke, please,” she begged, voice low and breathy at the same time, her head turning side-to-side. Luke pulled his fingers out, spreading the wetness his fingers had kept bottled inside her over the nude lips of her sex and up to the thin little strip of hair above. He coated her with her own thick fluid, making the place between her legs glisten. He pushed one leg further to the side, wanting to see her, wishing there was more light, wanting her to see herself like this.
He rubbed her sex, denying her the penetration or stimulation to her clit that would have trigged another peak.
She cursed him, ending in a soft little growl of frustration, the pleasure of the first orgasm only whetting her appetite for more. That’s what he’d been waiting for. Luke leaned into her, pressing his face into her neck and growled right back. Lena’s body arched up as fear spiked through her again. As her hips lifted from the floor, Luke slammed his fingers into her, flicking her clit with his thumb.
She screamed, a primal sound, raw and nearly agonizing. It was like the scream of a mountain lion. His instincts told him that this sound was more real, less studied, than her pretty moans.
Wanting to taste her raw passions, Luke sealed his mouth over hers as his thumb continued to rub her clit, her sex pulsing around his fingers. He pinned her at sex, breast and mouth, holding her as he brought her to a second orgasm. Muscles knotted beneath her skin, her entire body tense as a drawn-back bowstring.
His fingers kept moving, rubbing her clit, twisting her nipples, pinching and fondling her breasts. He kept at her until she let go of the cushions and scratched at him, her fingers raking over the marks of the spell that kept him in this form. She ripped her mouth from his, and screamed his name.
She pushed away from the couch, toppling him back onto the floor, greedy fingers skittered down his chest and abdomen to wrap around his hard cock, He remembered the thing she put on him, and scrambled for another one, fumbling with it until he slid the old one off and a new one on, her fingers tangling with his to help smooth it down.
Then she was on top of him, sinking down onto his cock, her hands curled into claws on his chest. A wave of pleasure washed over him, the first sensation of her on his cock so strong that Luke bucked up into her. Lena rode him, her head thrown back, one hand on his chest, the other fondling her nipple, pinching and pulling with more force and pressure than he would ever dare.
She was panting, little puffs of breath escaping as she bounced up and down on him. When she grew tired, thighs shaking from the strain, she sat fully upon him and rocked back and forth. Luke took advantage of her position to reach down and spread open the lips of her sex. He could see the place where the hard column of his cock disappeared into the flushed folds of her body, her skin stretched taut and shiny around him. The sight of that accelerated Luke towards orgasm, driving him higher, faster, than he’d ever experienced before.
His control was slipping. Decorative candles, scattered around the room, flicked to life, flames crackling with sparks that glittered green and indigo amid the orange flame. An orchid in a burnished stone pot sprouted three inches, blossoms of delicate lavender popping open all along the stem.
The muscles in his belly and back knotted with the need to have her, to fuck her, to drive into her harder and stronger than her gentle rocking. With a growl, he rolled her onto her back, taking the dominant position once more. He propped her legs on his shoulders and slammed into her, again and again until there was nothing but the feel of her around him and the drag of her flesh along his cock.
When she reached peak once again, face wet with tears, Luke also found fulfillment. The press of her soft hands on his shoulders, her body twisting against his, the way her dark hair spilled behind her head, all brought him up and over, causing him to spill his seed as he took those final thrusts.
His heart was beating hard in his chest, as was hers. Luke slid down her body until he could rest his head on her left breast, listening to her heart as she dragged in great gulps of air. Sweat slicked both their bodies, and her shiver passed to him as the cold air cooled wet flesh no longer fired by passion.
“Luke, that was, that was…”
“Beautiful,” he replied, thinking of her expression, lids fluttering, lips parted, cheeks flushed, as she reached peak.
“I was going to say ‘fucking hot’ but you’re right, it was beautiful. That orgasm put every other orgasm I’ve ever had to shame.”
Reaching peak must be called orgasm. Luke filed that away for future reference.
Realizing he was still lying atop her, Luke pushed himself onto his hands and knees. Lena grabbed his shoulder and used that to pull herself up to a sitting position. Luke curled an arm around her back, another under her knees and carefully rose to his feet with her, a move he’d admired in the movies.
Lena rested her head against his shoulder. Luke turned and kissed the top of her head, her trusting acceptance of his control of her body moving him to tenderness, not an emotion he’d ever felt before.
Chapter Five
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” Lena pushed aside a box of veggie chick’n strips and continued digging through the freezer.
“I am so glad you said that. I’ve been hungry for the past hour.” Luke’s voice dripped relief, and, with a laugh, Lena turned to look at him. They’d each showered, separately, and now he sat on the kitchen counter, wearing a towel around his waist, water dripping from his hair onto his shoulders.
Aware of the cold air that trickled over her shoulders and neck from the open freezer, Lena turned back to her search. Hidden behind the healthy stuff, in a place of shame, was a frozen pizza. Stomach grumbling at the thought of hot dough and melting cheese, Lena pulled it out and flipped it over to read the instructions.
She’d left the lights off in the kitchen, liking the dark, but that made reading instructions difficult.
“Will you flip on the lights?”
Luke leaned to the side, and a moment later the lights came on. Lena hissed at the sudden brightness, and turned back to her pizza. After settling the toppings laden pizza on a cookie sheet and popping it into the oven, Lena turned back to Luke.
Her comment died on her lips as she caught sight of his back, thoughts scrambled by the unbridled sexuality and beauty of his tattoo. How she hadn’t seen it, Lena would never understand. The dark and her orgasm-based distraction seemed pitiful excuses for ignoring such intricate skin art.
The tribal style tattoo covered
his left shoulder blade and the back of his left arm. The portion over his shoulder was a wing, the straight-lined feathers flowing over skin and underlying muscle, the pattern displayed in the presence and absence of ink. The tattoo continued where arm met torso, swirling in a dancing design of sharp, interwoven lines and bold patterns.
Lena put a hand on his shoulder and urged him off the counter. With a puzzled look, Luke obeyed, his face shutting down when he saw what she was looking at. Lena traced a single line of ink from its inception on his arm to one of the feathers on his back.
“Luke, this is beautiful.”
“You think so?”
“My God, of course. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it.” Lena spread her fingers over the wing and smoothed her hand up and down his back.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“This is tattoo art, no doubt there. Where did you get it done?”
“It was a, um, family thing.” Lena looked at the patterns in his skin, then to his heavy profile, and a little thrill went through her belly. He was Native American. She’d long ago given up trying to guess people’s ethnic background based on how they looked. L.A. was such a mish-mash of people and cultures that she was rarely right, but his looks combined with the distinctive tattoo sealed the deal.
She had a quick sepia-toned fantasy featuring herself in a torn-bodice western settler’s dress, draped over the arm of a loincloth clad Luke. Giving herself two mental slaps, one to calm down her libido, the other to punish herself for being culturally insensitive and historically inaccurate, Lena leaned forward and kissed his tattoo.
“Whoever did it, it’s gorgeous. And guys with tats are hot.”
Luke turned and slid his arms around her, backing her against the fridge. He placed his lips at her temple and repeated, “I’m glad you like it.”
Lena’s sex flooded with cream, her nipples drawing up hard and sharp against her robe. All it took for him to arouse her was the touch of his warm, strong arms, his voice in her ear. His breath against her temple pulled something deep in the pit of her belly. It astonished her that he made her feel deeper, truer arousal, the kind that was of the heart and mind and as well as the body. He did, with only a few words, what others could not do with sex.
She slid her hands around his waist, loosening the towel until it fell around their feet. She felt him smile against her temple as she danced her fingers over the sweet little dimples just above the cheeks of his ass. They were both worn out from earlier. Lena felt tender, almost abused, but in a good way. Luke cupped her neck and jaw, tilting her head up for some soft, easy kisses, while she dug her fingers into his ass, pulling his hips into hers.
His cock was soft, still worn out from earlier and Lena reveled in the rare experience of a man’s soft cock pressing against her. His hands stayed away from her breasts and sex, cradling her face as he pressed a parted lip kiss to her brow, cheek, eyelid and the corner of her mouth.
The ding of the oven timer startled them both.
Luke started to pull back, but Lena grabbed him, reeling him in for a last long, wet, kiss, before she released him and slipped away to pull the pizza from the oven. They munched on pizza while sitting on bar stools, Lena plucking off her pepperoni and dropping them on Luke’s slices. They finished the entire pizza, and Lena, who, like most women in L.A., was a chronic dieter, reveled in being totally stuffed.
With the food came exhaustion, not surprising as it was moving towards three a.m. and Lena had started her day with a six a.m. yoga class. She yawned and tipped her head onto Luke’s shoulder.
He reached for her, slipping his arms under her and pulling her into his lap. She wasn’t a small girl. Five foot eight, even if you were skinny, was not light. The fact that he could, and did, lift her, was unexpectedly touching. As she curled herself into his lap, one arm across his bare back, cheek on his shoulder, Lena took a moment to analyze the night.
The sex was incredible, no arguments there. She had never been so overwhelmed by sensation or felt so completely focused upon as she did with Luke. He touched her as if he really cared about her pleasure, rather than because he knew he should. And he wasn’t always gentle.
Lena’s breasts were tender, and when she’d come out of the shower she’d seen faint marks—bruises and teeth imprints. He was such a genuinely sweet guy she expected the sex to be good but unremarkable. Instead, he turned out to be an aggressive and inventive lover.
Her most vivid memory of the evening was being trapped between his hard body and the couch, her fingers dug into the cushions behind her head as he assaulted her. She’d had nowhere to go as he kissed her deeply, pinched and twisted a nipple and fucked her with three hard fingers.
And now he was back to being tender. The dichotomy of it, first being roughly, passionately fucked, and then tenderly cradled, did dangerous things to Lena’s heart.
Luke’s arms tightened around her. He stood and walked with her to the couch, where he sat and situated Lena on his lap. She stretched her legs out along the cushions, and Luke stroked her from ankle to knee and back again. In this position she could faintly see the tattoo, black against brown, barely visible in the light from the window and the faint illumination that spilled out from the kitchen. She swirled her fingers along the lines that wrapped to the front of his arm.
She yawned and let her eyes drop, fingers still curled over his biceps.
Luke tilted his head to look at Lena, but the movement was hindered by her head, which she’d tucked against his neck. He continued to stroke her leg, just wanting to touch her. He turned his attention to the night sky, visible through the large glass balcony doors. There were no stars. In this endless city of no sleep, the lights crowded the night sky, hiding the stars. The denuded sky brought him a brief pang of homesickness. In his homeland the stars were so plentiful and bright they almost overwhelmed the dark of space. But the stars were still there, even if he could not see them, and this city contained things, people, particularly one precious woman, more brilliant than that diamond sweep of stars.
His night with her had been like nothing he’d ever known. Even the wildest tricks of the cynical and world-weary succubae he’d mated with before had not given him the same deep reaction. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was about her that touched him so. She was beautiful, that was certain, and kind. Her confidence was also attractive. He needed someone who could take the lead, as so many things in the human world were still unknown to him.
He hadn’t thought to ask the spell-caster if human emotions came with a human body, or if the acceptance he was experiencing in her arms was causing an emotional chain reaction.
Lena’s fingers flexed against his arm, and she mumbled, “We should go to the bed.”
Luke curled his arms under her, bracing his calves against the couch and used his thighs to lift them out of the soft cushions. He carried her to the bedroom, which he’d peeked into while she showered. A large window, facing the same direction as the glass doors in the living room, let in enough light to allow him to see the bed. He laid her down, Lena smiled sleepily up at him and Luke’s heart stuttered in his chest.
He maneuvered one of the covers out from under her, stared in puzzlement at the two other blankets of varying thickness and then crawled in next to her, pulling the thickest and fluffiest of the blankets over both of them. Lena was curled on her side, facing him, so Luke settled on his back. His hand searched the bed until it found hers. He laced their fingers together.
With his head down on the pillow Luke realized how exhausted he was after the long day and longer night. It had been years since he’d had sex, and the “marathon” sex they’d had tonight wiped him out. He blinked several times, trying to stay awake.
There was something in the back of his brain, a nagging thought that he’d forgotten to do something. But the warmth of her body next to his, the pleasure of her fingers tight in his and the cocoon of covers, seduced him into sleep.
Hands laced together they both slipped into
the deep-soul and mind-repairing sleep of exhaustion, neither aware of the magic that crackled around them.
Chapter Six
Lena rolled from her back onto her side. She might have been able to continue her rest of the wicked had the new position not allowed a shaft of late morning sunlight to strike her closed lids. She cursed and threw an arm across her eyes, but it was too late, she was starting to wake up. With one hand cupping her eyes, Lena yawned and stretched her toes down towards the bottom of the bed.
Muscles deep in her belly and down the insides of her legs twitched as she stretched, and Lena smiled. She was sex-sore, delightfully so. She entertained herself for a few moments by recalling her favorite parts from last night. The memory of his fingers, mouth and cock drew her from sleep.
With a good morning smile on her face, she opened her eyes.
And screamed.
A heartbeat later she was off the bed, back against the wall by the door.
The thing on her bed moved, its massive body twitching just a little, and Lena screamed again.
It sat up, the shaggy head turning towards her.
Feeling another scream might be repetitive, Lena scrambled for the doorknob, throwing the door open and then raced down the hall. Pure unadulterated terror thrummed through her bloodstream like a live electrical wire. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.
Get away, get out.
Yes, that was it, she needed to get away. With her “flight” response firmly engaged, Lena turned to the front door, just as the thing emerged from the hall. It didn’t matter that the thing was now between Lena and the door, because the sight of it froze her with a renewed rush of terror.
Monster.
It was a monster. Great black wings, glossy as obsidian, towered from its back. The center points, which came to hard inverse V’s, brushed the ceiling. The bottoms were ragged as torn paper. The greatest human bodybuilders were still not as large and muscle-bound as the monster, whose body looked rock solid and heavy, like a stone gargoyle with burnished maroon skin. His chest and belly were studies of muscle definition, his stomach sporting eight, not six, distinct muscles. Vein-roped arms ended in three fingers and a thumb, each with long curved claws.
