by Lila Dubois
Michael saw red.
“Don’t threaten to separate me from Jane. She is mine.”
Michael clenched his fist, the phone shattering between his fingers. Rage bubbled in his veins, his shoulders itched with the need to sprout wings and lightning flashed in his eyes.
“I’m ready to go.” Jane came out of the bedroom, wearing a casual skirt and shirt with sandals, her tone clipped.
Michael leapt across the room and grabbed her, lifting her off the ground.
“You are mine,” he growled, tone so deep the words were garbled.
“M-Michael?”
“Mine. No one else must touch you. No one else will have you. You are mine.”
“What happen—”
He cupped the back of her head, his other arm around her waist, and kissed her. He forced her mouth open with his tongue, tasting her. She was his. His.
He spun and pushed her back to the wall, hiking her up a bit then pinning her with his hips. He broke the kiss and she let out a small sob.
You’re too rough. You’re scaring her.
“Please don’t fear me,” he begged, his voice broken and guttural. He cupped her cheek. “Please.”
“Your-your eyes.” Jane’s eyes were wide, the white visible all the way around, as she looked into his. Michael lowered his lids, knowing that his eyes were no longer human.
He did not want her to see this, yet he could not let go of her, not yet. He needed to touch her.
Stroking her cheek with his thumb he kissed her again, hard, but not with the brute force of the first one. He felt her shudder in response, and deep inside his monster sighed in satisfaction. His skin began to tingle, and magic swelled to the surface. The spell that bound him to human form was weakening due to his emotional state.
He broke the kiss, easing Jane down the wall with hands that trembled from the strain of being gentle.
“I’m losing control,” he growled, gaze down and to the side so Jane couldn’t look into his inhuman eyes.
“What does that mean? What should I do?”
“Run.”
She took a single step, as if to obey, but stopped.
“I’m not going to run, Michael, something must have happened, something that upset you, and I want to help.”
His back crawled, as if the bones of his wings were running under the surface, waiting for him to weaken just a bit more. He shook his head at her, too caught up in his internal fight to verbalize anything more.
“Should I go get Henry or Luke?”
She seeks other males above you. She is yours. You must fight for her. This human body is too weak. Show her what you are. Make her fall to her knees in awe.
Michael roared, throwing his head back. Pain consumed him as his monster form broke free, beyond his control. Wings ripped through the skin of his back, dripping blood and scattering flecks of flesh.
Jane ran. Michael leapt, scooping her up in arms that were still human. She screamed and screamed. Michael pressed his lips to her ear and whispered in the old language.
She slumped in his arms, unconscious.
Michael’s monster grumbled in satisfaction. Wings flexing behind him, he turned and laid her on the couch. He ripped her clothes from her body, laying her bare before him. He stroked her, shoulder to knee, and when he touched her cheek, she turned her face into his palm. That small action was enough to quiet Michael’s beast. Shaking his head to clear it, Michael pulled his monster form down into his core, the tattoo that represented his monster reforming, his wings folding in and disappearing.
He paused, hunched over Jane’s naked body as pain swept him. Normally it didn’t hurt to change forms, but he hadn’t allowed himself to become fully monster, and was suffering for it.
Through his body’s painful metamorphosis he concentrated on Jane, keeping the hand on her cheek gentle even as his other hand clenched in a fist and he gritted his teeth.
His muscles relaxed and he shivered slightly. He stripped off his torn and blood-flecked clothes and kissed Jane’s forehead.
“Jane,” he whispered, leaning low. “My Sleeping Beauty. Wake up, please.”
She whimpered, shifting slightly. He picked her up, cradling her against his chest, and then stood so he could sit on the couch with her on his lap.
Speaking those words to her had been a rash act of desperation. He hadn’t even known it would work, it had been more instinct than anything else. He’d been told that humans stopped responding to the old language. There had been a time when the power of that language had been the ultimate control over humanity, but as their numbers grew and sensitivity to magic diminished that power was lost.
But Jane responded to it.
The ramifications of that was something to worry about at another time, for now he had to wake her up, and then start apologizing.
Michael stroked and kissed her face and shoulder, then jiggled and shook her. She did not wake. He pinched her hip, hard. Still nothing.
Michael was starting to panic. He didn’t remember how to wake humans from the induced sleep. He couldn’t call Luke, as Luke might tell Lena, and he didn’t trust himself to call Henry. Despite the fact that Henry hadn’t done anything, he felt that Henry was a threat to his relationship with Jane.
Maybe because deep inside he worried that Henry was a better match for Jane than he was.
He wouldn’t think about that now, the current issue was waking Jane up.
She shifted in his arms, rubbing her cheek on his shoulder, her breath hot and wet against him. His cock sprang to attention.
“Damn it, bad timing. Come on, Jane, beautiful Jane. Wake up.”
Cuddling her, and manfully resisting the temptation to fondle her unconscious body, Michael started to hum. The low throbbing notes were nothing like the formulaic five-minute songs of modern human music. It was more of a thrumming chant, a legacy of his clan’s magic and powers. There was even a human title for it, though he didn’t like to acknowledge it.
Remembering the way she’d responded to the music at the club, Michael pulled Jane closer against his chest and continued his guttural song. There was a time when music had power, no matter who played it. Both humans and monsters has known its power, and utilized it to its fullest. The monsters humans called sirens had used their songs to bring in humans, while the far mountains of what was now Russia had once been inhabited by humans who could use their song to lull a monster to sleep.
For all her pretty refinement and friendly manners, there was something in Jane that responded to this base power. It used to be said that those who could empathize, those who could see the plight of others, were old souls, and their insight was residual memory of similar sufferings. If that was true then Jane was an old soul, and something in her, something in her past, remembered what it was to stand naked in the forest and dance to the beat of drums, chase game across the plains to the call of the horn, and heal through prayer and song.
Michael focused on her, letting instinct guide him to change his chant to match her, to call to her. He sang to her, and the emotion that song brought out in him was an ache in his chest, a pressure in his mind. It was intimate and moving.
Jane opened her eyes.
“Jane, how are you—”
Jane sat up, quick as a snake strike. She spun, repositioning herself so that rather than sitting across his lap she was astride him. She pressed forward, squeezing his erect cock between his belly and her hips. Michael hissed out a breath.
Jane fisted a hand in Michael’s hair, holding his head still as she traced her lips over his face. Her touch was delicate, barely there, her breath hot against his cheeks, nose, eyelids and lips. Finally she settled on the corner of his mouth, licking and kissing it.
Michael slid his hands up her splayed thighs, digging his fingers into her ass and grinding her forward so their bodies massaged his cock. He then stroked one hand up her back, fisted it in her hair to parallel her posture, bowing her body backwards and exposing her breasts.
<
br /> She leaned her weight into his arms, completely trusting, and panted, her tightly beaded nipples dancing with her jagged breaths. He took advantage of her breasts’ vulnerability, swooping down to bite and fondle them with teeth and lips. She moaned and yelped and he tugged the soft points with his teeth, sucked on them, and soothed them with the lap of his tongue.
“Yes, yes, I want you,” she panted, voice breathy. She was restless in his arms, selfish, greedily tugging his mouth to her nipples when he abandoned his play.
Michael suckled at her left nipple as he toyed with her right, tilting his head up just enough so he could look at her. Her head tossed restlessly side to side as her hands slid over his shoulders and back, tangling in his hair and pulling at his ears.
Here was the Jane he’d imagined, the passionate female in desperate need of a good fuck.
Lucky for her he knew just how to handle this…
Michael lifted his head from her breast, giving each nipple a parting nip.
“No, don’t stop,” she demanded.
Michael ignored her comment and tilted her up so he could look her in the eye.
“Why did you stop?” she asked.
“I want to be certain you’re ready for what’s about to happen.”
“Why are you hesitating now? Isn’t this what you wanted? Me all riled up? Well here I am.”
“I’d prefer it if I hadn’t had to knock you unconscious to get you to this point.”
“What are you talking about?”
She didn’t remember what had happened.
Michael dropped his head onto Jane’s shoulder and gritted his teeth in frustration. If he took her now, like this, she wouldn’t trust him. Later she might think that the words he’d used did this to her, like some sort of spell when, in all likelihood it was the chanting that did it. That wasn’t exactly a whole lot better. Either way, her current state was a result of his loss of control and the old magic he’s used to prevent her from fleeing.
“Damn it,” he whispered against her shoulder. Why did she have to smell so good on top of everything else? It was torture to have her naked body pressing against his but not be able to do anything about it.
Jane’s hands slid through his hair, her touch gentle.
“I’m sorry, Sleeping Beauty, we have to stop, this isn’t right, you don’t know what you’re—”
Jane’s fingers fisted in his hair. She jerked his head up and savaged his mouth with a kiss. Her free hand slid down his chest and wrapped around his cock in a touch that was just short of painful.
Arousal spiked in Michael’s body, potent as adrenaline. Michael’s reservation went out the window as he grabbed Jane’s wrist, prying her hand from his cock.
He grabbed her and flipped her facedown over his lap, where she landed with an oomph.
“So you want to play, do you?”
Jane bucked across his knees and Michael pushed her down with a hand on the small of her back. He spread her legs, pushing one of them off the couch to expose her sex to his free hand. He stroked the lips of her sex and then pinched them together. Jane yelped.
“I’ve had enough of the back and forth, now it’s time to play. You will do as I say. First, you are to tell me what you like and don’t like, what feels good. Second, you will do everything I say, when I say it. Third, you will not wear anything. Do you understand me, Sleeping Beauty?”
“Yessss,” she hissed, spitting mad as a cat that he was holding her down.
“Repeat the rules.”
“I won’t.”
Michael swatted her ass. “You will do as you are told. Repeat the rules.”
“Talk. Obey. Naked.”
“Good.”
Michael dipped his fingers into her sex, which was dripping wet, and stroked her clit. Jane relaxed against him, moaning as she spread her legs farther.
He pulled his hand away.
“Bastard.”
“Stand up, spread your legs and play with your nipples.” When she obeyed, Michael reached between her spread legs and opened her sex, admiring her. Jane pinched and twisted her nipples, eyes closed, breath coming in short pants.
“Your sex is dripping wet,” he told her, running a finger through the slippery moisture, “and very hot. The lips of your pussy are fuller than yesterday, and redder. Your clit is nice and round. Stop playing with your nipples and reach down and spread your sex open for me.”
Jane’s hands slid down her belly, nails lightly scrapping her own skin, and spread open her sex.
“Wider, Jane. I want to see all of you. Wider. Good, yes, good girl.”
Michael leaned back, gaze on her swollen, red, wet pussy, and stroked his cock. Jane watched him stoke, sucking her lower lip into her mouth.
“What do you want?”
“I want your cock. I want your cock in me right now.”
“You can’t have it.”
“Why not?”
“We made a deal. No sex.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“That’s not how it works. We have to stick to the deal, and by the end of the week I’ll have you begging for my cock.”
“Please, I need you in me.”
“My poor Sleeping Beauty.” He leaned forward and tapped her clit with two fingers.
“More, please, more.”
“Sit on the table, legs spread, and keep your pussy spread too.”
Jane obeyed, sitting on the table. Michael grabbed her legs, pulling them up on the couch on either side of him, then had her lie back. Her pretty white nails contrasted sharply with the bright pink inner lips of her sex.
He knew what it was doing to her to be denied any real stimulus as he felt the same, his cock aching with the need to bury itself inside her. But they couldn’t have that, not yet, and if he gave into her demands, if he didn’t teach her how complex and powerful sex could be, it would all be for nothing.
“Play with your clit. You have one minute to make yourself come. Go.”
Jane’s fingers dipped into her sex, and began rubbing her clit in hard circles. Within a few seconds she was panting, her heels digging into the couch on either side of him, her hips coming up off the table.
“Tell me how you feel, what does your pussy feel like against your fingers?”
“Hot, I’m hot, all over. I want…I want this, I want to come, I need to…”
Her voice trailed away as her hips bucked up in a hard arch, her body bent back, pressure on her heels and shoulders, only her fingers moving, circling, circling.
She screamed when she came, screamed through clenched teeth. Michael grabbed her hands, pulling them away from her body. He grabbed her hips, holding them in place, leaned in and sucked hard on her orgasm-sensitive clit.
Jane screamed again, a high breathy sound of shock. “Michael! I can’t… I can’t!”
But she could, and would. Her fingers fisted in his hair, her hips twitching as she tried to get away, but he held her in place, forcing her to accept the second orgasm, built on the peak of the first. Her clit contracted against his tongue with each swipe. He closed his teeth over her and licked. When his mouth needed a break, he pulled back just enough to slip his finger over her clit, rubbing side to side. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, savoring the taste of her, and then went back to work, his lips taking the place of his finger, kissing her clit reverently, before he parted his lips and sucked the sweet bud between his teeth.
“Yes, yes, more, please.” Jane’s high pleadings were breathy, unbearably arousing, and Michael let go of one of her hips to reach down and fist his cock.
He closed his lips and pressed them against her clit in a kiss, then started rubbing them back and forth, turning his head slightly as he did so. The point of her clit slipped between his lips, bumping along his teeth, as his lips caressed the hood and sensitive bottom. He kept going, letting the rhythm and repetition drive her. Again and again he played with her clit, face buried in her sex, her legs tight around his head. Her fin
gers were fisted in his hair, her nails pressed into his scalp. Her thigh muscles trembled against him.
Again and again he rubbed his lips over and around her clit, patient, willing to do this for however long it took, and then it happened. Her whole sex contracted, her clit jumping against his lips, her thighs vising his head.
Michael wiggled his hand up between her legs, and slammed three fingers into her just as the first hard pull of her orgasm broke. His fingers gave her body something to tighten around and the pleasure ratcheted up.
He held her clit as the orgasm shook her, her body straining, wet with sweat, high inarticulate noises escaping her.
When the pulsing subsided he eased himself away with a final lick to her clit that caused her legs to twitch.
Jane lay across the low table, panting and sweaty, legs splayed, her fragrant sex flowered open.
He could do what he’d done the night before, tuck her in bed and then come sleep on the couch, but tonight he wouldn’t be so easy on her.
“Sit up, Sleeping Beauty.”
Jane blinked owlishly at him, then sat up, using her arms to help herself. “That was, that was… Is that what they call multiple orgasms?”
“Oh yes, though I know you can do more than two.”
“In a row? You mean more than two back-to-back like that? I don’t think so.”
“Oh yes you can.” Michael reached for her sex, but Jane yelped and closed her legs. The orgasms seemed to have returned her to her normal self. When she looked at him it was with the same mixture of sweet innocence and worry in her eyes he’d come to know. Gone was the passion-driven wild woman who’d demanded he pleasure her.
She may be satisfied, but Michael was not. He stood, pulling Jane up with him, and walked them away from the couch to the open space of the living room.
“On your knees, Jane.”
Chapter Twelve
“On your knees, Jane.”
Jane blinked up at Michael. Surely he couldn’t mean he wanted her to… No. They were done, time to get dressed and get some lunch.
“Do you remember the rules?”
Frankly, the past half hour, besides the orgasms themselves, was a bit blurry.
