The Beckoning of Bravelicious Things (The Beckoning Series Book 3)

by Calinda B

  “Mi tesoro,” he utters. “My treasure.” He leans back to gaze at me. “What happened to you? You appear to have been in a fight with a bobcat.” He tenderly fingers the scrapes, scratches, and bruises on my face and neck.

  “More like mini-Maimers, pint-sized Decayers, tiny wizards, and so on.”

  He frowns. “I don’t understand.”

  “Today was ‘weakness sourcing’ day. Betty’s got a new Tarot deck. It’s a dynamic, 3D version that pulls forth images from my mind. Long story. I’ll tell you later. I’ve got other, more urgent, pressing needs.” I run my hands up and down the front of his trousers. “Pants off. Now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He lifts me, guides my legs around his hips, and carries me into the house, kissing me passionately as he walks.

  We’re entwined, lips, tongues, body, mind, and soul. Once we’ve crossed the threshold to the house, he roughly pushes my back against the wall, fumbles with his zipper, yanks my skirt up even further than it’s ridden until it’s practically around my waist, and tugs aside my panties. Without preamble, he guides his rigid cock inside me, making me gasp.

  “Oh, God, Daniel,” I moan, arms clenched around his neck as he pounds into me, his cool metal buckle branding me as our hips rock.

  In a few moments, we’re both reaching climax. It’s a quick, furious, essential process.

  Daniel groans and shudders into me. “Okay,” he says through ragged breaths. “Got the basics out of the way. Want to head upstairs and take our time?”

  “Yes,” I say, my sex throbbing around him like an open invitation. “I barely got a taste of you.”

  “Little more than a nibble,” he says, striding toward the stairs, holding me firmly against him.

  We enter the luxurious upstairs suite. I added my two cents to a recent remodel so the room reflects both our tastes. There’s elegant art on the walls, playful paintings, colorful photos, and even a paw print at dog’s eye level—I thought Sober should have his own art. Maybe I’m more into being soul bound than I like to think.

  One entire wall is made up of full length windows and glass doors which open onto a huge deck overlooking Puget Sound, but, as this moment, I don’t care. All I want is Daniel.

  He carries me to the king-sized bed and gently lowers me. “I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.”

  “You’re with me every day,” I say teasingly, knowing exactly what he means.

  “Teaching you how to fight is one thing,” he says, unbuttoning my blue and green rayon tunic. “Loving you is another.” He folds my shirt back and hisses as he sees my new, low cut, lacy, push-up bra. “Nice,” he says in a low voice. He slips my skirt free from my hips so I’m clad in only lingerie. “Stay,” he says, stepping away from me.

  “Where are you going?”

  A smirk appears on his face and quickly disappears. “Not going anywhere,” he says. “Shirt off,” he states simply.

  I slide the shirt from my arms and toss it on the floor.

  “Lay back. Against the pillows.” He leans against the wall, gazing at me, eyes a delicious dark blue.

  I fall into the luxuriously plump, soft brown suede and blue silk pillows that adorn our bed.

  He watches me, his thumb stroking his parted lips, his hand cupping his jaw. “Touch yourself,” he says lazily. “Touch your nipples.”

  I unclasp the front of my bra, letting it fall open. My breasts relax against my chest. I used to wonder if they were too large, too small, not enough—until I saw the delight in each of my lover’s eyes. Now I know they’re perfect. I take a nipple between the fingertips of each hand, twirling, tugging and pinching them into pert buds. “Like this?” I purr back at him, making a show of my moves even as I wish his hands were the ones on me.

  “How’s that feel?” He asks. His cock stirs, resuming its fullness, poking from his fly. “It looks like it feels good.”

  “Oh, it does feel good,” I say. “I like it when I tug them and make them hurt a little bit. Like this.” I pull hard on my nipples, twisting them back and forth, making them ache.

  “Do you?” He asks, unbuttoning his shirt. He strokes his stomach with his palm, up and down along his tanned, six-pack abs. He’s watching me intently.

  “Yes.” I swallow hard, studying him. He’s so beautiful. He makes my blood boil.

  A laugh escapes his throat as if he’s heard my thoughts. He probably has. He pushes his pants and boxers down his legs and steps free from them so that he’s nude from the hips down. “Touch your belly,” he states. His cock stands free, pointing at me.

  My hand grazes along my tender skin, circling my breasts, stroking my ribcage, drawing circles along my tummy. I let my fingertips flit back and forth, tracing my curves and valleys. “Mmm,” I say. “So soft.” My eyelids flutter shut. I drag them open and lock eyes with Daniel.

  His nostrils flare as he studies me. “Touch your pussy.”

  Pushing my silky panties down my legs, using my feet to push them off, I kick them to the floor. I caress my pubes, fingering the coarse hair before sliding my fingers into the crease between my legs. I bite my lip and explore the pink folds lining the opening to my sex. I’m wet, slick with need from our earlier, frenetic love-making. I plunge a finger into my slippery core, withdraw it, and bring it to my nose, inhaling deeply.

  He grasps his swollen flesh and strokes. “God, Marissa,” he says. “You’re fucking hot.”

  “Am I?” I say before tasting myself, drawing my finger into my mouth and savoring the musky fragrance. “Mmm,” I moan. I slurp the taste of me with my tongue, sucking, sliding my finger into my mouth. “I taste fantastic,” I say to him.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Daniel says, continuing the slow slip and slide up and down his length. “You’re a supremely sexy woman.”

  “Imagine these are your balls,” I say, placing three fingers into my mouth and caressing them with my slippery tongue.

  “Fuck, Marissa,” Daniel growls, still palming his length.

  “Yeah,” I continue. “I’m twirling my tongue around your testicles, sucking them softly into my mouth, one at a time, licking each one as I release it.”

  He hisses and his hand pumps harder. “You’re fucking hot,” he repeats. “You know that, right?”

  “I am fucking hot,” I say. “For you.” My fingers slide in and out of my core. “I’m going to make myself come. Is that what you want me to do? I’m so close,” I say, rubbing harder against my clit. “I’m on the edge of a delicious orgasm.”

  He releases his grip and makes his way to the bed, climbing on, crawling to me, until his knees are between my thighs. “Not so fast,” he says, grasping my hand.

  “Daniel, please. I was so close.” My body’s humming with the need for release.

  “No. Not yet.”

  I rock my hips, wriggling against one of his powerful thighs. “I want to come, Daniel.”

  “Stop, Marissa. I have something else in mind.”

  I still, my gaze suddenly wary.

  His eyes narrow and a strange look slides across his face, as if he’s contemplating options, a few of them not so fun.

  For a second, I falter, confused.

  Eyes locked with mine, his mind slips into dark mysteries, away from my reach, his fingers curled around my wrist. His gaze is unreadable. It’s as if he’s halted time and space, breaking the atmosphere in two.

  Daniel? Where’d you go? I implore him, a sudden, sharp panic flooding me. My arousal trip hops into fear. Daniel?

  Besides being able to command demons, he’s got this thing, this ability. It’s easy for him to meet someone’s eyes and ensorcel them, pinning them in place so he can do whatever he needs or wants to them. He tried it with me the first time we met. He hasn’t done it since…until now. It hadn’t worked the first time, but it seems to be working now—I’m paralyzed, watching him, unable to look away. My body feels incapable of movement, suspended, held in place by my panicked breathing. Then again, maybe I’m simply afraid, imagini
ng myself incapable of movement. I do have an active imagination. “What are you doing? Daniel?”

  He tips his head to the side, staring at me like we’re on opposite sides of a deep abyss. And then, like he’s made a decision, a smile forms, a sun peeking over the horizon at the dawning of a new day.

  “You’re back,” I say, relieved, feeling my body come back to life.

  “Never left.” His fingers trail up my inner thighs, almost absentmindedly.

  I shudder at the tender touch. “It seemed like it,” I say softly. “Whatever it was, don’t ever do it again. It was scary.”

  “I didn’t do anything. You’ve got an amazing imagination.” He shakes his head slowly head in negation. “Someday you’ll trust me.” His hands meander along my hips, stroking firmly, lovingly, his gaze locked with mine. He withdraws his palms and leans forward, his glistening white teeth flashing through a wicked smile.

  I gasp, raising my hips toward his mouth.

  He drops to all fours, his mouth and nose inches from my sex. “You smell great. You smell like you and me, combined.”

  Unable to speak, I nod, filled with scorching desire.

  He rises from between my legs, inclining his head. “I want you to trust me.”

  A small frown appears before I can catch it. “I do trust you,” I say, after a second’s hesitation.

  “No,” he says, “you don’t.” His fingertips play along my sides, not quite ticklish, causing me to flinch away. “I want you to trust me with your life.”

  “I…I…” I can’t think what to say.

  “Shhh,” he soothes. “Hands over your head. Let your light free.”

  Another frown escapes. What does he want from me?

  Shhh, he silently conveys.

  I close my eyes, sourcing the place from where my energy flows. I sense its movement, erupting from my core, a wash of crackling blue and white lightning that streams through my spine and limbs, making me feel powerfully alive. “Like this? Is this what you want?”

  “Yes,” he says. “Like that.” His hands navigate up my sides, tracing my ribcage, the hollows of my underarms, the sensitive skin of my inner arm, until he’s lacing his fingers with mine. His strong body is poised over me, hot, sexy, his breath landing on my cheeks, warm and moist. “I want you to trust me,” he repeats. He releases my hands and drags his fingertips along my wrists, stroking gently, deliberately, as if shaping and guiding my light.

  Before I comprehend what he’s doing, my wrists draw together, bound tightly by filaments of light. The light buzzes and crackles, producing a slightly disturbing sensation in my wrists. “What’s this?” I say, a short laugh bursting from my throat. “I can just slip free from this, you know.”

  He shakes his head, a small smile flashing across his face like quicksilver. “No,” he says. “You can’t.”

  This is that other thing he does—since we’re soul bound, he can combine his energy with mine and use it in ways I never dreamed. I tug and pull against my magnetic restraints. Nothing. “Okay, so maybe I can’t in this second. I’ll figure it out,” I say defiantly.

  Another small shake of the head. He lifts his arms, like he’s the conductor of the Philharmonic Orchestra.

  My arms lift into the air. “What? What’s going on here?” I scramble to keep up with my arms as they’re tugged, firmly bound, heading toward the ceiling. When they’ve reached a height where I can barely touch the bed with my toes, they stop moving. I see myself in the mirror on the far wall. I’m being suspended by strands of silvery blue light which disappear into God knows where. I look pissed, confused. I am pissed and confused. He’s never done this, bound me like this, without my consent. “Wait a minute. Yes, you have,” I state, in answer to my unspoken question. “When you bound my soul to yours.” Anger rips through my eyes. “We barely knew one another!” I say hotly.

  Daniel steps off the mattress, heads to the exotic wood stand next to his side of the bed, and slides open a drawer. He retrieves silk scarves and climbs back up, standing behind me. He guides the silken fabric along my back.

  It’s cool, soft, and feels like feathers. I close my eyes, lulled from my anger for a moment, by his touch.

  “That’s better,” he says. “Trust me.”

  I open my eyes and watch him in the mirror.

  He places both scarves in one hand, draping them along my breast, then takes his hard cock in his other hand and touches the soft head to my ass.

  I hiss in response.

  He draws both the scarves and his cock in a gentle upward motion, over and over, his hips rocking slightly in small thrusts. His face is a study in pleasure, lips parted, eyes darkly hooded. He catches my gaze in the mirror. “This is private,” he says. He places one of the scarves around my eyes and ties it at the back of my head.

  “Hey, I liked watching,” I say in protest. “And it’s not private. It’s you and me.”

  “Shhh,” he soothes, guiding the other scarf around my mouth. He presses against me, his erection against my spine, as he knots the scarf in place.

  Can’t see. Can’t speak. I can still communicate to you in my mind, I convey.

  Shhh.

  I don’t know what or how he does it, but it’s as if he drapes a cloak of black velvet around my mind. I grow still, tense, as I drift into this place where Daniel dwells and demons roam. I’m literally immersed in a place of absolute black, deathly quiet, total darkness.

  The only thing I’m aware of is the buzzing of electricity encircling my wrists, and every millimeter of my skin in a state of high alert. The muscles around my lips bunch, words trapped inside my mouth, but the scarf has been deftly tied to restrain me from speaking. I hear clicking, snapping sounds, like someone’s walking through a field of hard-shelled insects with steel boots. I can’t tell if the racket is inside my brain. I incline my head, listening intently.

  A crunching noise follows, like fangs to bone, the way I’ve heard the dark demons when they’re gnawing on someone’s or something’s remains. My face recoils in disgust. The snarls and growls of the worst predators imaginable are heard around me, like I’m standing in the middle of an African savannah at midnight. A sharp coil of fear causes me to twist and writhe.

  A feather tracks up my back, the tip undulating back and forth along each vertebra. One sharp inhale. Breath catches. I tense, waiting. Two feathers tease my neck, tracing soft lines along the curves, finding their way to my underarms, stroking up along my triceps. I shiver. The downy quills paint my arms with sensation, brushing my breasts, taunting my nipples. They tease a trail down my belly and land between my legs.

  My big toes barely touch the mattress. I extend my legs, inching them apart with the tips of my toes, straining to keep contact with the bed coverings. When my legs part, the soft plumes land on my pussy, making me gasp. The touch is almost unbearable, it’s so intense. I’m struggling to keep my legs apart, to stay open to sensation and stimulus. My legs start to tremble and shake from exertion. A hand grasps my ankle, lifts my foot, and places it on a pillow. The other foot is similarly seized, landing on something cool and hard. A book, maybe?

  Able to balance now, my attention is drawn back to the fluffy wands of tortured pleasure. They’re swept across my pink folds, catching every once in a while on my juicy skin. I swear I’m going to come. I rock and grind my hips, seeking release. The feathers are withdrawn. The props are removed from my feet, leaving me to dangle. I moan through my mouth restraint.

  Whiffs of scent come next, each one varied and distinct. Coffee. Inhale. Chocolate. Exhale. Jasmine. Inhale. Mint. Exhale. Nothing. Deep breath. Nothing. Deep breath. Nothing.

  Stillness settles around me like a shroud. I’m back to being immersed in darkness, the rise and fall of my chest my only comfort. I wait. And I wait. And I wait some more.

  I hear what sounds like a match being drawn against the striking surface of a matchbox, across the room. The smell of sulfur greets my nose. Candles? I wait. Listening. Tense. Aroused.
Intense liquid heat lands on my right breast, rolling to my nipple before it quickly cools. My body arcs, writhes, pulls away. Beeswax. Fuck. Pain. An ice cube follows, trapped in Daniel’s fingers, seemingly attempting to seduce my tender flesh into calm, but it’s so intense, it’s as excruciating as the candle wax. Then, Daniel’s tongue tenderly soothes my hot skin, licking and caressing my breast, his teeth flicking aside the candle wax.

  He withdraws, leaving me literally hanging, wondering what’s next. Another smell wafts in my direction. Expensive cigars. I smoked them once before when I was trying to deceive a sorcerer. As the memory blooms in my brain, a stain of terror and victory, I’m both frightened and aroused. If it’s Daniel smoking the cigar…mmm—that’s hot. If the demonic El Demonio de la Muerte is sitting there….I killed him, right? Didn’t I? It’s got to be Daniel, doesn’t it?

  He wants me to trust him, I think. It’s got to be him smoking. This is a test. I relax, inhaling the scent of tobacco. And I wait, imaging him enjoying the hell out of his cigar. And I wait.

  I sense warmth, heat, the kind Daniel emanates, as if he’s near me. I wiggle my legs, kicking toward the warmth, seeking contact. Nothing. And, my arms are growing numb. Is he next to me or is he not?

  A noisy exhale, and a plume of smoke is blown in my face, followed by intense heat just millimeters from my cheek, as if he’s holding the end of the burning cigar close enough to brand me. I stiffen, swallow, and grow rigid. That burning ember is close, so close. If I move one bit, I’ll be burned. Something else, pointed and sharp, lands on my other cheek, like the faintest kiss of steel.

  I start to pant. What must be ash flicks across my belly, producing quivers. Stop, I tell my body. An ember could be next. The deadly blade touching me could slice my cheek. Shivers and sweat ripple across my skin. I grow cold, so cold, my teeth start chattering. I do not want to be burned, carved, or diced.

  He wants me to trust him, I repeat. I do my best to relax, suspended by my own silvery restraints. I don’t know if I can. I tense again, despite my attempts.