The Price of Brimstone

by Allie Gail

  “Giving you what you want. That's why you're here, you know.” He carries me to the bed, then gently lays me across it and hovers over me, murmuring, “So I can give you what you want.”

  “I thought I was here to give you what you wanted,” I whisper, entranced.

  “And so you have.” His eyes are smoldering as he smiles down at me. “And so you shall.”

  “You scare me sometimes, when you talk like that.” I can't look away from him. Those eyes are like bottomless blue lagoons, and I am drowning in them.

  “Why? Because you still don't trust me?”

  “You know that's not a fair question.” My lashes flutter as he skims his knuckles down my cheek with a butterfly's touch. “How can I? How could I ever trust someone like you?”

  “Soft as a rose petal. Fragrant as a cherry blossom.” He inhales deeply, then releases his breath in a strangely erotic groan. “Beloved. Do you honestly believe that I would intentionally do anything to hurt you?”

  “I don't know. I didn't, but now I don't know what to think.” He makes it impossible to do anything with a clear mind. All it takes is one look, one seductive word, and my senses are reeling. “I never know what to think with you.”

  “There is a simple remedy for that. Don't think. Just feel.” His teeth capture my bottom lip and tug gently. “Feel this.” A soft kiss follows. “And this.” The stiffness of his erection presses against me as he whispers, “And this.”

  I arch my hips, already craving the feel of him inside me. My body, so recently awakened to the pleasures of sex, is now hopelessly addicted. What will remain of me when this is over? Will it be like waking from a dream, where the captive in the basement eventually becomes a clouded, distant memory? I almost hope that's the case. It would be better that way. Easier.

  But it's hard to think of the future when the present is sending sweet little shivers all the way down to my trembling thighs.

  We are undressed in one heartbeat, locked together in the next. My legs are wrapped around him, urging him closer. Closer. Closer. I want every square inch of his hard, warm flesh touching mine. He is beauty and mystique and dark magic and all things potent and powerful, and I am embracing my own destruction and it feels so good.

  So. Damn. Good.

  He nudges my entrance with the thick head of his cock, then without preamble slides deep inside me with a groan. I love that sound, that low rumbling in his throat, like the roll of distant thunder. It lets me know that his carefully guarded control is slipping. That now and again, he is just as vulnerable as me.

  My eyes close in bliss as he fucks me slowly, gently. Our bodies are moving together in an erotic sway that I want to go on forever. And maybe Loc senses that, or maybe he just feels the same way, because we go on this way, on and on and on, with him pacing himself in long, leisurely strokes, delaying the inevitable for as long as possible. His stamina - not to mention his self-control – is otherworldly.

  As for myself, I struggle to keep my climax at bay for what seems a very long time. But there comes a point when there is no holding back, and all I can do is give in while my fingers dig into his shoulders and his name rolls off my tongue like a benediction and a curse.

  Only then do his hips move faster, his muscles taut and straining, jaw set tightly as he growls something I don't understand in a language I've never heard.

  I tighten my legs around him, draining every drop of his orgasm. There is something intensely arousing about watching his face when he comes. As beautiful as he is, he is never more so than when he is caught up in the throes of passion.

  Sated and spent, we lie on our sides facing one another, legs still tangled together. Waiting for our heartbeats to slow. Gazing at one another in silent retrospect. I can't begin to guess what he's thinking, but I am trying to memorize every contour, every detail of his face. Carefully storing this moment away so it will never be lost.

  Because the bittersweet reality is that our time together is growing short.

  And there is still so much that I don't know.

  “Can I ask you something?” I'm whispering, reluctant to break the silence.

  “You don't need my permission.”

  “How old are you, really? And don't tell me you don't know. I'm not buying that. You know everything else; surely you know your own age.”

  “How old do I look?”

  “I already told you. You look like you're in your mid-twenties. If that.”

  His lips curve into a sleepy smile. “I suppose I should be flattered, then. I've been around for twenty-nine years. No more, no less.”

  “That's all?”

  “That's all. Why, what did you expect?”

  “I don't know. You said your life span was a lot longer than that of a human. I thought if the aging process was delayed...”

  “That you might be hooking up with someone old enough to be your grandfather, is that it?” He chuckles softly.

  “Um. Gotta say, it had occurred to me.”

  “Silly girl. Would it even matter at this point? What if I told you I had been born, say, a century ago? Or two, or three? What then, Lolita?”

  What then?

  That's a good question. What difference could it possibly make now? It's not like I can go back in time and undo any of this. Still, it's good to know that the age difference is relatively minimal. I don't know how I'd feel about finding out I'd given up my virginity to a centenarian.

  No worse than giving it up to a disciple of Hell, my conscience sneers.

  Sometimes my conscience can be a sanctimonious bitch.

  “You're such a funny little thing,” Loc murmurs, interrupting the pious voice of reason in my head. Which is fine because I'm ignoring it anyway.

  “How am I funny?”

  “You just are. You obsess over the most irrelevant things.”

  “Oh, you want relevant, hm?” I prop myself up on one elbow. “Okay then. I have another question for you.”

  “Somehow that doesn't surprise me.”

  “But first you have to promise me you'll tell the truth. Will you do that?”

  “If that's what you want to hear.”

  I hesitate, if only because it crosses my mind that maybe the cold hard truth isn't something I want to hear. Nevertheless...

  “I want to know, once and for all, did you have anything to do with what happened to Owen and Skylar? Or is it more like you were made aware of the details after the fact as...sort of an uninvolved third party?”

  His response is carefully constructed in a way that sends up a dozen red flags. “I was not present during the abduction, if that's what you're asking.”

  “It isn't, and you know it. See, you're just trying to dodge the question. What I want to know is, did you have anything to do with it? Anything at all?”

  He stretches languidly, not even trying to hide his cat-ate-the-canary smile. “I may have been...shall we say, indirectly involved. To a minor degree. But in my defense, I didn't have much choice in the matter. And if it makes you feel any better, none of it was my idea.”

  “Then whose was it? And why?”

  “That I can't say, love. I'm afraid I'm bound by secrecy.”

  “You can't tell me? Or you won't?”

  “Judith, really...your friends are back.” He sounds mildly annoyed. “They're safe. Everything worked out. What do you hope to accomplish by unearthing every trivial little detail?”

  Trivial. Great. I can see I'm going to get nowhere with him. It's frustrating as all hell too, because my curiosity is killing me.

  Where were they all that time? What was done to them? Who took them? And most importantly, why? These are all things I'm dying to know.

  Actually, there's a lot I'm dying to know. Sucks that I probably never will.

  “Will they ever remember?” I venture to ask. “What really happened, I mean.”

  “Not unless those responsible want them to remember.”

  “Even if we try to jog their memories by blowing
the cover on your lame-ass alien abduction baloney?”

  “Even then. Sorry.” He reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair away from my cheek, but his smile borders on a smirk, as if he thinks kidnapping people and planting false memories in their heads is just one big joke.

  I bite my lip worriedly. “How do I know it won't happen again?”

  “Your friends have served their purpose. We have no further use for them.”

  Their purpose? If only he'd give me some hint as to what that was! “Then what about Russ? And Max?”

  “What about them?”

  “Loc...” I gaze at him earnestly. Desperately. If ever there was a time when I needed him to be sincere, it's now. “You have to promise me. You have to promise me when all this is over with, whatever happens, they'll be safe. Promise me no one will bother them. Or hurt them. Please. You have to protect them. For me?”

  “Ah, my poor precious dove...” Cradling me in his arms, he pulls me even closer and I press my face against his hard, smooth chest, inhaling his luscious scent. “No one wants to hurt you. Or your friends. Or Max, or your brother...or anyone else, for that matter.”

  “You promise?” I whisper.

  “I swear it. You have my word on that, as a gentleman and a scoundrel. Once you leave here, your life will go on just as before. Nothing to fear. Nothing to dread. Just as before. Now I won't have you needlessly worrying yourself over nothing. Tell me, what do I have to do to make it all better?”

  “Just keep your promise. That's all I ask.”

  “That's all?” His lips graze lightly down my neck, just barely touching me, and I break out in a shiver of goosebumps. “Are you sure?”

  My heart skips, then picks up in double-time as he nudges my legs apart with his. I nearly stop breathing altogether when he begins rubbing my clit in teasing, circular motions.

  “Because right now your body's telling me that's not all you want.”

  Stupid, traitorous body.

  Two fingers glide their way inside. Oh, oh-h...

  “I have an idea.”

  “Um...what's...what's that?” It's almost impossible to form a coherent sentence with him expertly finger-fucking me into Xanadu.

  “Why don't we take your mind off everything else by seeing how many times I can make you come before sunrise.”

  Definitely not the worst idea I've ever heard.

  I shudder in delight as he curves his fingers, causing my back to arch as he skillfully caresses my g-spot. Oh my God, how can he be so good at this? How can someone so self-involved be this tuned in to the physical sensations of another person? I've never known anyone who was such a walking contradiction.

  And God help me, if he doesn't stop doing that I'm going to come again already.

  “Wait,” I gasp. Pushing his hand away, I wriggle out of his grasp before he can send me past the point of no return. I flip myself over on top of him, straddling his erection. The solid but velvety hardness feels incredible, and I slide my slickness up and down the length of it several times. Oh, yes...that's nice.

  “You have no idea how sexy you look right now,” he breathes, arousal dancing like fire in his eyes.

  “You think I'm sexy?” I've never thought of myself as the sexy type, but the way he looks at me makes me feel like a vixen. Locking eyes with him, I lower myself onto that big, delicious cock. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, one sweet inch at a time. Oh-h...oh, fuck...

  “Darling, you could bring a saint to his knees,” he groans, eyes flitting shut.

  “And you?” I raise my hips until the head almost, almost pops free before gradually sliding back down to the hilt. Holy shit, this feels incredible. “Saints are one thing, but sinners like you...I don't know. Something tells me you'd be the one to bring me to my knees.”

  “I'll have you on your knees before the night's over.” He smiles, eyes still closed in ecstasy.

  “Is that right?” I bounce up and down a little faster. Oh, my...I'm not going to last long at this rate. “Maybe I'll have you on yours.”

  “Maybe you will,” he murmurs. Unexpectedly, his eyes fly open and he clenches my hips, staring up at me with a hungry look. “Fuck, baby. Maybe you already do.”

  I can't say who is in control of who right now, what with his fingers digging into my sides, guiding me while he thrusts his hips faster and faster, meeting every bounce with perfect pace. It's like a dance, and we're gyrating our way toward the grand finale. The delightfully familiar tension is building up, that quivery feeling that will soon explode into a cascade of fireworks and shooting stars.

  “That's it, honey. That's it...ride that dick. Ride it, baby. Fuck me like you mean it.”

  I fall forward, my hands pressed against his chest as I do just that. I ride him like a runaway stallion. And maybe it makes me a perv but man-oh-man, I love it when he talks dirty. Nothing sends me over the finish line faster.

  “Yes! Fuck, YES!” I'm practically screaming with the intensity of my orgasm. It doesn't just wash over me, it slams into me like a derailed freight train. I don't just see stars, I see supernovas. Loc erupts inside me with equal ferocity, crying out in a primal howl that sounds for all the world like the call of some beautiful wild animal.

  And even before I've drifted back down from the sexual high, his words come back to haunt me.

  Once you leave here, your life will go on just as before.

  I wonder.

  Does he even begin to realize how utterly impossible that will be?

  ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I jerk into consciousness, startled awake by the panic of some bewildering dream whose details are already fading away.

  Rolling over, I pull the covers up to my ears and snuggle deeper into them. How long did I sleep? It can't be all that late, surely. Doesn't feel like I've been out for more than a few hours.

  Reluctantly, I pry one eye open to check. Golden rays of sunshine are streaming through the window, spotlighting the fact that Loc's side of the bed is empty. Figures. The guy doesn't seem to need much rest. Must be nice to have a never-ending reserve of energy.

  I should probably get up, too.

  Although staying put also sounds good. A little procrastination never hurt anyone, right? Plus, I love this bed. Love it. It's so comfy. Give me a stash of snacks and the remote I could hibernate here for the winter.

  I stretch beneath the covers, groaning softly. Ahh...I could easily nod off again. At the moment I feel as if I could sleep for two days straight. But that would be dumb, wouldn't it? I should be making the most of what little time I have left.

  Meh. Screw it. I can catch up on my sleep when I'm home.

  Fighting back a yawn, I force myself to throw aside the covers and sit up. My muscles are sore, and there is a tenderness between my legs that is, weirdly enough, not unpleasant. In some perverse way, I like it. It reminds me of all the wonderfully dirty things we did during the night. Just thinking about some of them has my lips curling in a complacent little smile.

  Mm...yes. Last night. I can't even count how many times we ended up tangling the sheets. We might have broken a record, had either of us bothered to keep track. No sooner would my pulse return to normal than he was inside me again, pumping his hips, whispering filthy things that kept me unbelievably wet. I never wanted him to stop.

  And he didn't. Not until dawn came creeping in and I collapsed into a sex-induced coma.

  Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is a surefire cure for insomnia.

  Boo-yah!

  Suddenly feeling wide awake, I spring out of bed with a renewed burst of energy. I quickly slip into a fresh pair of panties and the shirt Loc was wearing last night, pausing to inhale the lingering scent of him. Then I take a moment to brush my teeth before skipping downstairs.

  Loc is just where I expected to find him. Nursing the ubiquitous cup of coffee in the kitchen. He doesn't see me at first. I pause just inside the archway, transfixed by the way the sunlight reflects off his hair. Is i
t sacrilegious to think that the light almost resembles a halo? He's dressed to the nines, I observe, in a dark suit and tie with a contrasting royal blue shirt. Looking for all the world like he's posing for a photo shoot.

  What's with the fancy threads? Are we going somewhere? I can't imagine where we'd be going that would require formal attire.

  Strange that he's not doing anything. He's just sitting there, half-empty mug between his hands, staring bleakly through the glass at the mountains off in the distance as if he's hypnotized by them. Deep in thought, or at least that's the way it appears to me. I'd love to know what's going through his mind right now. Hell, I'd love to know what's going through his mind at any point.

  “Hey there,” I say softly.

  Starting from his reverie, he turns his head to gaze at me with an expression that reveals nothing. “Ah, I was just about to come wake you. Did you sleep well?”

  There is an array of food spread out on the table, and I reach for a cranberry muffin as I sit down. This Thaddeus, whoever he is, reminds me of the Flash. In and out like a streak of lightning. I still have yet to see him. Well, maybe if I got up before noon once in a while, I would.

  “Like a rock. And what are you up to this morning?” My eyes dart over to the microwave, where the display reads 12:18. “Or afternoon, if you want to get technical about it. You got a charity fundraiser to go to?” Yes, I'm being a little facetious.

  “Actually, I have a business matter that requires my attention this afternoon,” he informs me brusquely. “I'm afraid it will keep me indisposed for the remainder of the day. I hope you understand.”

  I stop chewing. The muffin crumbles to sawdust in my mouth. So this it it, then? Just like that, our time together has come to a screeching halt. It's one day, one measly day, but the disappointment is crushing nevertheless. “You're sending me home early?”

  “Of course not.” To my delight, he seems offended that I would even make such an assumption. “I'll be back later this evening. And then we can begin celebrating your birthday early. How does that sound?”

  “Oh. Okay.” My smile returns, and suddenly all is right with the world again. Which is stupid, so stupid. Even I know how shortsighted I'm being. What difference can a single day make? It's just postponing the inevitable.