With both his hands guiding the rhythm, she rocked her head, shallow for a while, then doing a few strokes that went deeper to the very back. She tasted the first hint of semen.
“Enough,” he murmured, pulling her away. The roughness in his voice and hands thrilled her.
She looked up at him along the expanse of his abdomen. The rightness of this posture, of kneeling, of taking him in her mouth pulled at her and sent lust coiling in her groin. He knelt and kissed her eyebrows and each eye, her nose and her mouth, as if this were some ritual. The scent of him mingled in their mouths—her tongue playing over his before his invaded her mouth.
What with the insistent pressure of his lips and the primeval mingling of tongue on tongue, she could hardly remember to take in air, with most of it stolen from him. He placed his hands under her thighs and pulled her onto him, easily lifting her weight until she sat with her legs spread open across his thighs. She felt his cock push in and tease her lower lips. Heat flared, curling around, making her wriggle. Oh, if he’d move a little that way, the head of his cock would be in just the right spot.
“Unh!” There. Yes. “Wait,” she choked out the word, her voice thick with the lust jumbling her thoughts. She’d remembered an essential.
She leaned sideways to crab her hand across the floor, found the condom wrapper where she’d dropped it, then ripped it open. Though he frowned, looking as if he thought she’d done something odd, he allowed her to roll the sheath down over his cock. As the last quarter inch unrolled, he bent and swirled his tongue across her nipple.
While still sucking, drawing her nipple up tightly between teeth and tongue as if it were a prize he’d captured, he lowered her onto her back.
“Ahh.” She bowed her spine, pressing her breasts up at him. Changing sides with his mouth, he flicked at her other nipple with the tip of his tongue. When she put her hands up to wrench him closer, he swiftly collected her wrists in one hand and pinned them above her head.
For a few seconds, she struggled to free them, but it was as if manacles of stone had descended on her. Nothing moved at all—his weight and strength were too great. Surrendering sent first a tendril and then a cascading wave of liquid heat sizzling through her. He paused and waited with sinister patience until she stilled.
No, she thought. I don’t want this, do I?
The rapid rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed hard through her open mouth betrayed her arousal.
He smiled and lowered his mouth to continue his assault on her breasts with tongue and lips and nipping teeth. Pleasure and pain, predator and prey, and she knew so acutely which was which. She watched enthralled as he worked on her.
This was nice. Too nice. She groaned, arching again. Giving in, this once, couldn’t hurt. She smothered her misgivings.
He nipped and licked his way up the slope of her breast toward her neck and then rocked against her, his legs between hers, his cock slipping along her cleft in the liquid of her arousal. She felt deliciously trapped, caged with his flesh, the heavy muscles of his torso covering her, one of his arms propped at her side, the other reaching above securing her wrists.
When he had her gasping in time with each slide of his cock, he pulled away to wordlessly direct her—by grasping a tight handful of hair, or with touches at her shoulder, until he made her go to her hands and knees. And then he stopped. As if this was a runway, she found herself exactly positioned on the carpet with a view to the front door.
“Do not move,” he ordered, leaving her there, softly panting, on hands and knees. Then he drew back and stood so she knew he observed her from above.
She reveled in the taste and smell of the juices in her mouth, the ache of her vulva, and the warm places on her body where he’d handled her. Despite feeling his gaze on her, she squeezed her thighs together and felt the pressure build in her clit.
Slowly he walked around her, trailing his hand in her hair, and she lifted her head and rubbed against him. He continued, fingertips brushing her shoulder, then one fingernail drawing a line down her spine and off the side. Finally, he stopped with his hands resting on her hips.
“Oh.” She breathed the word. Even before he touched her down there, she knew from the sounds exactly where he was—kneeling behind her. Her mouth parted, her bottom tilted up, as she waited, anticipating the press of his cock. Instead his tongue pressed on her clit. She groaned.
“Oh, my God. Yes.”
He licked upward along her cleft, then back again to her clit, and as he moved his tongue across, she felt his nose pushing into her. Again and again. Fingers slicked the liquid everywhere along the line of her bottom and back and along again. The tension built with each circuit. He slipped his fingertip into her anus, and she gasped out a whispered, “No.” Unsure why, for she didn’t want him to stop. “Ah. Keep—”
And then she forgot her words as his warm mouth covered her clit and sucked, and the finger slipped farther into her back hole.
Bent like a taut bow at ass and neck, shaking with the tension, she was wrenched to the crest…and engulfed in orgasm. For one long, shattering moment, nothing mattered except the juddering of her body. She panted through bared teeth, her head slowly lowering. While the waves of sensation still possessed her, she felt him push against her cunt. She whimpered as his cock breached the tight entrance. Her vagina rippled. Tip then shaft slid moistly in, until his body jammed against her, and then he slid out.
She shuddered and moaned as he thrust again and again, rocking her, slapping flesh hard against flesh. Sensitized by her own orgasm, every movement inside sent her higher and almost to the crest of another orgasm. She tilted her ass up farther, crouched lower on her arms. The extreme angle and the thud of his cock on sensitive tissue sent her insides humming tighter, spiraling into the moment, tighter. Mouth gaping open, she stopped breathing.
Ah! The flood of climax tore into her, shredding her into a million pieces. He delivered a last thrust, crying out, throbbing within her. So aware was she of the size and shape of his cock inside her, she choked out a small sound, feeling the engorgement as semen pumped and pumped through it. They stayed there, melded together. She shut her eyes, simply wanting to be there, where she was, absorbing his heat and breath and sweat.
He pulled away from her a moment, and she thought he removed the condom, but didn’t want to move. Moving might make her forget all he’d done to her. On his return, he kissed along her spine, then wrapped one arm under her and gathered her to him as he lay down on his side on the carpet.
His chest heaved against her back as he caught his breath. Slowly their breathing synchronized until each inhalation of his was met by hers. Sweet tiredness washed through her, dulling her thoughts.
From somewhere down the hallway she heard the tap and scratch of Killer’s nails on the polished timber beside the carpet. Through the slit of her lids she saw him come toward her, before lying down a few feet away, head on paws, staring with that all-encompassing doggy trust in his eyes. No matter what she did, he approved.
It made those questions float to the surface of her mind again. The questions any sane girl asked of a man who’d just made love to her. Or, preferably, her other self told her wryly, asked before he fucked her.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
“Heketoro,” he murmured back, kissing and licking away the sweat trickling down her shoulder.
“But who is that? Where do you come from?”
“I am a prince, of an Underworld.”
“Joking, huh.” ’Cept, she thought sleepily, it sounds like truth. She snuggled in closer to him. “I’ll find out. I have my ways.”
“You should sleep now.”
“Here?” she said, though even before she said the words she felt herself drifting away. Her last thoughts a baffled wonderment at what she’d done with him—like someone clutching a big new present at Christmas, one they’d not asked for. She never let go of control, never.
Oh, but Heketoro was so warm, and big, an
d he made her feel so safe…
Chapter Three
Morning—the sun leaked through half-curtained windows, and the stippled glass of the front door wrote strips of squiggled brightness on the walls.
Propped on one elbow, Heketoro looked down at Danii. She lay on her side, innocent, nude, and so vulnerable, he ached to kiss her hard and pull her gasping with lust from whatever dreamland she inhabited.
Gently, he moved aside a curled strand of the auburn hair that lay across her ear. She wrinkled her nose and made a small sound. He smiled, barely holding back from taking her little earlobe between his teeth and biting. The warm scent of her aroused him, sank into him; a musk of sex and sweat tangled with a hint of some sweet perfume and made his already hard cock swell even more.
The contrasts within her had intrigued him more and more since she had reached adulthood.
A body of sumptuous curves, yet the muscles and instincts of a huntress—he sensed the weapons in secret places within this dwelling. Strength and delicacy. Cautious, yet wild as a cat in heat.
Hmph. What would his sister, Jani, think of such thoughts? That he’d gone mad? She’d always said he would ruin himself tearing through life, enjoying everything too much without thinking—that he’d wake up one morning with his foot, or worse, in a trap. She’d been right, though even she couldn’t have imagined he’d kill the son of the Goddess. Or that he’d do it because their half sister, Aroha, misled him. Aroha… He prayed she’d not interfere in this. The hundred years of exile had taken its toll on her mind.
Was Jani still alive even? Or the rest of his family? The ever-present sadness, lurking at the back of his mind, threatened to overwhelm him. He crushed it down. Sadness was a weakness. Here and now, he needed to keep his goal in mind—returning home.
The punishment had been just, in a way—he could escape if he was single-minded enough. It had taken him the first fifty years here to understand how stupid he’d been. And, he smiled down at Danii, it had taken fifty years to appreciate the qualities of these people.
Making love to her had been like drinking the finest ambrosia. In part, it was her need to stay in charge of her world that attracted him. Watching that need crumble, seeing her panting at his feet, glaze-eyed with wanting him, and trembling when he touched her—there was nothing headier.
A small, wet nose snuffled at his armpit—the little creature she kept had woken too. He shifted to look, barely dodging the tongue it tried to swipe across his chin.
“Good morning, Killer,” he whispered.
The dog laughed at him, tail wagging and eyes bright.
Slowly, he reached over, then placed his hand on the beast’s head to ruffle the fur.
“Shhh,” he told it.
Happy at being greeted, the dog walked back to a mat by the front door and lay down.
Careful not to wake Danii, Heketoro slid away and stood. Her plump breasts rose and fell, pink areolae flat and unaroused, her thighs drawn up a little, exposing the lips of her sex. He smiled down at her—innocence and sexuality in one delicious package.
The curse compelled him to live in the waters of the lake or the creeks feeding it, and so he could only select a woman who visited the lake. He could venture a short distance away, but farther than that and the curse’s power dragged him back. This house strained at the very limits.
Over the years, he’d watched her many times as she walked both here and around the lake. He’d seen her weaker moments as well as seen her generosity, and he knew there were things that tore at her sometimes. The drink called scotch was as much her companion as the dog. He’d be leaving this world, one way or the other, soon, but perhaps there was a little something he could try that might help her.
Despite her fierce independence, Danii had willingly followed wherever he led her in their lovemaking, but he’d not pushed her far, not yet. Getting her to understand who he was, to believe in him and trust him enough to want to help would be as difficult as the rite itself. The risk of injury for the woman had been partly the reason he’d stopped trying for so many years. With Danii he was almost certain they could succeed in the ritual. Was it worth the risk? Was it selfish of him to even try?
He pressed both his hands to his face, drawing them down, hard, across his skin. He’d left this to the very last moment. Three days. Decide, he told himself, decide—either give up and accept the inevitability of his death, or try.
He whispered the Word, opened his palm and stared at the toah egg he’d created. Shimmering blue, half as long as his thumb, yet the power it could contain was immense, and this was the only way he could harness the energy to reopen the portal. He passed his hand over the egg, and the blueness shimmered with silver specks. A little glamour would help her to accept this. Just this once. He hated the deception, but this meant she’d forget it was even there for a while, made it likely she’d rationalize a reason to keep the toah, or at least…to keep it long enough to give him a chance to explain his dilemma.
He went to his knees and reached for her.
* * *
A rooster crowing at the dawn sun in some distant yard drew her from the depths of sleep.
“You are so beautiful.” Heketoro—it was his quiet voice. It hadn’t been a dream this time, unless she still slept?
She felt the empty coldness behind her and the rough surface of the rug and rolled onto her back. They’d slept in the hallway all night. As she stretched and yawned, Heketoro’s hands gently coaxed apart her thighs. His tongue—as hot and supple as she remembered from the night before—licked at her cleft and up to her clit, then stayed there while his tongue and lips did everything so right.
“Ohh.” Blindly, only half-awake and happy to just feel the burgeoning sensations, she nudged her pelvis toward his mouth. “That's what I call a good way to wake me up.”
His hands rested flat across the top of her inner thighs, holding her open—she couldn’t have closed her legs if she’d tried to—with his thumbs pointing toward her entrance. Already moisture leaked from her. She wriggled, aiming to move those thumbs inward. “In there.” She panted—short, barely audible breaths.
“Don’t move. Don’t speak.” His words low in pitch, like a tiger warning rivals away from a mate.
She stilled. With her thighs demanding that she thrust, and him commanding immobility, she quivered, the ache intensifying as his tongue did slippery circles around her clit. His thumbs reached her labia, pulled her lips apart, crept a small way in, and stopped. She moaned. The very tip of his tongue teased the hood of her clit with glancing momentary dabs. Blood pulsed there. Nothing mattered but that he should put his mouth down on her, hard. She thrust a little. He stopped.
She raised her head, eyes still scrunched tight, then opened them a tad, willing him to continue. The pulsing agony in her lower parts screamed at her. Another moment and she’d be there.
“Done?” he asked.
She groaned, flopped her head back down to the floor so suddenly the timber thumped. Not daring to speak, she made a guttural sound and prayed he knew it meant yes.
His tongue started that infuriating dabbing and circling. Torture, pure and simple. She’d have grabbed his head and pressed his hot mouth to her, only with heavy neck muscles like his, she dreaded failure. The throbbing and teasing went on. Her hands clenched into fists, her fingernails digging into palms.
“Now,” he murmured, breath heating her clit. His thumbs plunged smooth as oiled pistons into her wet entrance and up as far as they’d go. His tongue lapped across her clit. His entire mouth sucked on the swollen nub. She screamed and, lost to instinct, arched up into his mouth, the release thundering through her. He stayed, sucking, his thumbs pumping though the wetness inside her, making her arch even higher, gasping at the aftershocks.
When she finally relaxed, her bottom sinking to the floor, she heard him move.
“Keep this inside you,” he whispered, and he slid something up inside her as far as it would go. She groaned as pleasure stir
red again.
He got to his feet. What was he up to? It was too bright to contemplate opening her eyes. Besides, her senses were more alive with her eyes closed. She could feel that thing, smooth and snug, as if it pulsated with a life of its own. The rest of her, every muscle and nerve was limp and satiated. She couldn’t have moved if someone had zapped her with a cattle prod.
“The bathroom’s down there,” she told him, curling up on her side again. She was mumbling, she knew, but you couldn’t get lost in this little house.
Somehow, she drifted off to sleep again, though gradually the silence of the house penetrated the haze in her mind. Killer was snoring. She opened her eyes, blinking away blurriness, and saw the dog lying a few feet away. But that was it—no other sounds except for the distant traffic and the ticking of the kitchen clock.
He was gone. If it weren’t for the exquisite aches of her body, she might have thought last night imagined, like those hundred other nights. Had she really slept with him? The stickiness between her legs, said yes. Yet still she found it hard to believe.
She climbed to her feet and wobbled down the hallway, checking each room before she went into her bedroom, found a pair of denim shorts and a white, strapless, bodice top, pulled them on—buttoning and zipping automatically.
Shower, she told herself blearily. Supposed to shower first. Aw, heck—the washing machine could deal with it. She’d shower in a minute.
He was gone, and it was near midday already.
She sat on the bed, awake properly now, put elbows to knees, clasped her hands together. Remembering. Wow. Details swam back to her, everything they’d done…and she hadn’t had that much scotch.
“Oh, boy.” No one to blame but herself. That had been halfway to BDSM; next thing she’d be dressing up in latex and getting whipped. And how would that go down at work if they found out? No. Wasn’t going to happen. “Jesus. Okay, girl. Enough is enough. It was nice while it lasted—”Nice? Her mind went blank. The orgasms had been more than nice.
Three Days of Dominance Page 4