by Poppet
Oh lordy this feels good. This dude is a Zen master with his black belt in relaxation techniques. I'm slipping under the hypnotic pressure into sleep. So relaxed. So warm …
*
I am rudely roused with a sharp cold in my navel. As my eyes fly open in shock, a finger is pressed against my lips insistently. I pinch the skin on his hand in response.
Bugger! Give me heart failure.
Gripping the ice cube, I flick it at him in silent challenge.
How long have I been sleeping?
I feel exposed and vulnerable again as it dawns on me I was sleeping on my back with this perv watching me.
He languidly laces my hair through his fingers, pulling the hand through it. Snatching it back, I use it to give myself modesty. Long hair rocks.
Retrieving the candle, he threatens me with it. Tilting my head, I glare in mock response, considering my options.
A smirk morphs his mouth when he offers me a knife. Ha! Game on! I nimbly steal it from his fingers and pretend I'm going to cleave him like a bad B grade black and white horror movie. I so desperately want to laugh.
When did you lose your shirt?
My eyes zone in on his skin, so pale under a tan, sexy. Holy cow, in this lighting ... calm down body.
Isn't it a sin to be that sexy?
He catches my wrist and pushes back. I strain down, wanting him to at least feel the threatening kiss of cold tempered steel. Leaning in, he starts tickling under my arm.
Not fair!
Squealing loudly, I get up onto my knees to push down against his strength. His free hand forces a knuckle into my wrist. Instantly my hand goes limp; the knife drops from my fingers, landing next to his thigh.
Oh, it's a horrid feeling. Like hitting your funny bone. I try to pull away, but my arm is pathetic and weak. Useless. He easily pins me back down, resting his body over mine, before kissing me seductively.
I'm bored of the silent game. As he draws away, I whisper, "How did you do that?"
"Pressure points. You can render the biggest and strongest man useless, if you get to know them."
"Are we allowed to speak again?"
"Obviously, or I'd be holding your eye over that candle."
"My god, Seithe! That's a bit demented, don't you think?"
He leans heavily on me again and I stare up into brown eyes appearing charcoal. "Why do you assume you can trust me?"
"You haven't hurt me."
"Is that a sound reason to trust someone?"
He has a way of making me doubt my own judgement. I wonder what he's not telling me.
"Seithe, are you crazy? Did you escape from a sanatarium or something?"
He wraps an arm underneath me and flips us over so I'm laying on top of him, hot breath bursts out of him in laughter. "If I was insane, would I know it?"
"You didn't answer my question."
"I could lie."
"But you won't."
"Why not?"
"It's not your style. You like shocking people."
He smiles, forcing a dimple into the middle of his chin. "No, I am not crazy. I have only escaped hell. Nothing more, nothing less."
I reflect on his words on my being half dead and half awake. I don't feel that way now. He told me the key to freedom was in my heart. I think I understand the metaphor. He's escaped the hell of being only half alive.
"What are we doing, Seithe?"
"Playing. Humouring each other."
"Oh, so you find me entertaining? At least you're honest about it."
I feel slightly wounded. Although, let's be frank, it's not like he and I have been to the opera, followed by an in depth analysis of nuclear fission, and what it means to understand occultation.
He can't know I have a brain, so I am just amusement at this point.
I decide to respond using his game. Leaning my face into his neck, I mercilessly clasp the skin between my teeth. He starts to tickle me again, causing me to let go, just to bite into his shoulder.
He grips my hair so tightly I can't move. Lifting his head, he sneers those long incisors at me. For fake teeth they look a shit load more real than mine do. He then clamps them into my shoulder.
Pain shoots through me, unbearable heat, burning. A cry wrenches out of me in agony. He pulls away, blood on his lips, and hisses softly, "Don't start games you aren't prepared to finish."
I'm at just the right height and angle on him. I lift my knee and force my weight behind it. "Pain for pain, Seithe. Game on."
Chapter 7: Trust
That manages to get him to release my hair. I crawl away, to a safe distance from him. My hand over where he bit me; it's really bloody hurting. The throbbing is so intense that my impulse is to cry.
"Come here."
I shake my head in response, grateful for the long hair shielding my naked torso. Keeping my hand squeezed over the injury helps to dull the pain. I don't want to move, it hurts too much.
Warily, I follow his movement. Hollows of shadow dancing with muscular highlights from the dim candle. He pulls me between his legs and moves my hair. "Let me see."
Retrieving the shaking hand from my shoulder, I glance at it. It causes instant distress as I see my hand slick with blood. His grip is firm; air makes the wound feel even more painful.
"I'm bleeding."
My eyes are trained on his face, trying to read what he sees by his expression. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. They open and stare at me watchfully, silver orbs floating in near onyx darkness.
"Phoebe, I can make the pain go away, but you're going to have to trust me."
Nervously I twitch my head in assent.
"Does it hurt?"
"What do you think?"
"Remove anger and sarcasm for a moment. Don't you see this is the perfect lesson?"
"Yes, if you bite someone hard enough you'll get them to bleed to death." I add with harsh bitterness, "Hang around with a biter and he'll fucking hurt you!"
Staring back into his pale face, chiselled sharply with contrasts, I hate that I still find him attractive after he's physically hurt me. I want to hate him, but just can't dredge up that emotion around him.
He leans his nose closer to mine, gently touching my lips with his own.
"Sorry," he whispers so softly, I almost don't hear it.
Great. Tenderness after physical brutality just makes the sluice gates want to smash open. And I'm fighting that female instinct with every ounce of pride I own.
Gripping my head at an angle away from my shoulder, he traces his tongue over the bite.
Sick, demented, weirdo.
"You make me feel ill."
He pauses, his breath highlighting exposed nerves, making them ping loudly through my body, announcing searing pain.
"Saliva kills bacteria and is a salve on any wound. All animals come standard with this feature, which is why throughout the animal kingdom, the wounded lick their wound. A mother licks the wound on her offspring, to cleanse it, and to help it heal. Nature sickens you does it? Or just me?"
Bloody hell. Somehow he just managed to make me feel badly for judging him. I'm the one in pain, he did it to me, he's trying to be tender and weirdly sweet, and I think I just hurt his feelings. Remorse grips me, pressing my lips together tightly to prevent it, but lose the silent war as tears slip out my oversensitive eyes, down my nose. I swallow heavily.
"Sorry."
"You're in shock. It's normal. But I don't exactly have anything else here that you would usually use on an open wound. Saliva acts as an antiseptic."
I shut my eyes so I can't see him. "Just do it."
I'm trying very hard not to be grossed out by this. It probably is natural, but it fucks with my reality so badly, I'm coming over faint. Strangely, the longer his mouth is there, the less it hurts. I wonder if saliva also acts as an anaesthetic? Slowly numbing discomfort.
He pulls me closer, holding me the way he did at the gardens. My nipples connect with his skin, almost distracting me.
"What is your instinct when you cut your finger?"
Now I'm ashamed.
"To suck my finger."
"Does it make you sick?"
"No."
"Modern life has removed you so far from what is natural, that you find natural appalling?"
I shake my head, staring down at the hand clasping mine, my head resting on his collar bone. Hiding my expression of chastisement.
"But you purchase free range, so that you feel like you're still connected?"
"I didn't mean to judge you. It was instinct."
"Are you religious, Phoebe?"
"No."
Absently I wipe my eyes and lift my head, to stare back into his.
"Don't judge. It's the most damning action humans perpetrate."
"Seithe, you do things that shock me. You are so completely unexpected."
He lifts my slicked hand and sucks suggestively on the baby finger. He pauses to smile at me. "Like this you mean?"
I smile back, relieved his sense of humour has returned. I let my eyes close drowsily so I can indulge in the sensuality of him sucking my fingers. When his tongue makes circles in my palm, it begins to tickle.
"Touch is taken for granted."
He never stops with the lecturing.
Surprising me, he moves so fast in the half light, stealing my breath with shock as he grabs me, pulling me to lay next to him, my spine snug against his skin. I let my heartbeat race. It makes formula-one look like a joke, the way it's racing. I don't corner as well though.
My head is spinning. Closing my eyes, I resist the circling waves. His fingers lace through those on my right hand, pulling my arm tightly into my body in a quiet moment of intimate reverence.
There's a dynamic here I can't put my finger on. He's aggressive, but can be passively affectionate, the way he's being now. I'm not sure if he just has a warped, unique perspective, or if he's honestly this complicated.
He squeezes. I smile smugly as we spoon, reclining on our left sides. He likes me. Despite his bizarre behaviour, this guy thinks I'm hot. And although he plays head games, he's yet to try and get into my pants, showing more restraint than I've witnessed in a long time.
"You are thinking so hard I can see steam floating off the top of your head."
"You're just a hopeless romantic."
His stomach moves with silent laughter against my skin. Some of my hair caught between us, jostling. This guy is preternaturally adept at getting inside a head. By forcing us to always be in half light, or devoid of any light, he has made me super conscious. I'm freakily aware of his breathing, his skin, his touch. I wonder what he thinks about when he does shit like this? What does he get out of the sensory games?
"I can smell your skin."
My jaw tenses as teeth clench. He says such odd things. I reopen my eyes and am blind. I can't see a thing.
"I can't see."
"Because you are blind."
"This isn't funny."
"You have to surrender one thing, to gain another."
"Not my sight."
"Yes, your sight."
"How do you do this?"
"It doesn't matter how, it matters why."
I grip the hand in mine tightly. I'm terrified.
"Phoebe, you said you'd trust me. So put your faith into those words."
"I'm scared."
"Good."
That hurt. Are you enjoying my fear?
"Is this about adrenalin again?"
"No, this is about freeing you from your cage."
"What cage?"
His hand abandons mine and he covers my face with it, "This one."
His head moves. I feel his breath stirring the delicate hairs on my ear. He whispers so softly in that mesmerising baritone, "You are bound. I can't have you until you are free."
Chapter 8: Taste
Blinded, I despairingly submit to his dominance.
"Tell me what you feel."
I suck a deep breath in. I am truly afraid this time. His warm hands cover mine and I am positive he placed my palms on his chest. With subtle tenderness, I roam my touch over his skin. He's really smooth, warm. No, not even warm, feverishly hot.
"Your skin. Are you ill?"
"Keep going."
It's got a silky-suede texture. Muscles seem much larger when you are only sensing them through touch. Intimidation grips my heart and attempts to pop it open like a rotten tomato. I fight my panicked breathing, forcing breath methodically.
"Like this, I feel insignificant."
Silence. If I wasn't touching him, I wouldn't know he was still here with me. I trace the map of his body with my fingertips. The hairs in his throat jump out, feeling disturbingly different. I depress his lips. Stubble not very long. Rough. So hard.
"Your skin is smooth, your lips soft, stubble abrasive, brittle in hardness. Your hair feels unpleasant compared to the skin under my touch. But the hair on your head..."
I tentatively push the tips of my fingers into his short hair. It's like fur. I smile at the thought. "It's your pelt. It's forgiving, easily moved, unlike stubble."
He removes my hand and slips my ring finger into his mouth. Seductively running a tongue under it.
I'm supersensitive, my body reacts on every sexual level it owns. "Warm. Slippery. It feels pornographic."
"Tell me why you react differently to the temperatures and sensations."
"One is intimate, the other cursory. They elicit completely different biological reactions."
"Relax back."
Oh god.
Hands push me until I'm flat on my back. Supine, I feel so prone.
"Do not be afraid. I will return shortly."
"NO! Don't leave me!"
I smell him coming closer this time. He has a unique scent attached to him. It's almost sirocco in nature. A dry warmth. It reminds me of hot days on the beach. I'd like to bask under his sun like this, forever.
Lips on mine. So much pressure, but delicate. I hadn't realised kissing is a contradiction. How does the brain cope with all of these conflicting messages? He runs the tip of his tongue wetly inside my lower lip. Hmmm. I grip his arm tightly, not wanting him to abandon me.
"I'll be back before you know I was gone."
And inside the moment, the body hovering over mine, departs instantaneously.
I'm mad. I've lost my marbles and they've scattered beyond accumulation. The lift doesn't go to the top because it's left the building. None of this is real. I am hallucinating because of that fucking purple H-bomb. Is this why everyone took drugs in the sixties? Because it totally warps reality. I would be scared to leave the house if this was my every day reality. I wonder how long before it wears off?
He kisses me again. See! He was here all along! Just fucking with my mind.
"That wasn't funny."
"I'm not laughing."
I smile more from relief than anything else.
"Can you trust me?" Whispered enticingly into my ear.
Well, I'm stuffed if I don't.
"Yes."
Something probes my lips.
"Hold the tip of this in your fingertips and describe it to me."
It's fairly rigid, slippery smooth. It feels waxy.
"Waxy, smooth, with a pointed sharp tip."
He takes it away and I feel it on my lip again. "Bite it."
Carefully I nibble the tip of it off. It tastes like nothing in particular. It has a familiar scent emanating from it now.
"More."
I bite off more. As my teeth crush it, my throat closes. I can't breathe! Sitting up, a cough tickling out, scratchy. It bites. My mouth is burning, as if he threw acid into it. I spit it out in repulsion. I still can't breathe. I need water. Struggling against suffocation, I squeak out, in between choking, "Wa..ter!"
"No."
I squeal in the base of my throat. My eyes watering. My lips are burning so severely.
"Please!"
A bottle is placed into my hand, a
nd desperately I begin gulping down cooling water. Just when I catch my breath and relief, the burning increases. But at least I can breathe now.
"Hurts more now, doesn't it?"
Nodding, I scold, "You fucker."
"No, that's not how to describe it. Tell me."
"Extremely painful. Stinging, burning heat! Acidic. It makes my mouth feel scalded and raw. Sick bastard."
His arms close around me; he's laughing.
"Phoebe, you are nerve endings and chemical reactions. One burn is very different to another. Chilli burns, but it's a food we choose to eat."
I aim blindly for his arm, slapping it with my hand as hard as I can. "Arse."
"Suck this."
And before I can object, he slips something that feels like cardboard into my mouth. I can't taste anything at all. The burning is overriding every other taste-bud ability. I eat it. It's softly crunchy. Cold. But it works in appeasing the sting inside my mouth.
"What was that?"
"Cucumber."
He wipes something sticky on my bottom lip.
"Taste."
Command central has issued new co-ordinates. Arrogant poser.
"Honey."
He licks it off my lip, sucking harshly, before kissing me invasively. When he withdraws, something cool and smooth rubs over my lips. "Taste."
I slip the tip of my tongue over it. Ew. No thanks. I move my head to stare to my left, presumably giving him my cheek, "No. It tastes like a weed."
His hand pulls my chin front and centre again. I feel it against my lips, but refuse to open my mouth.
Tickling me, I burst out laughing, and want to swear as he uses the opportunity to shove something round into my mouth.
"Eat it."
I bite down unhappily. My mouth explodes with tomato. It was a tomato? But it smelled horrible! The skin even tasted vile. After swallowing, I object.
"I'm not hungry."
"Why do you trust me?"
"I don't have any choice right now."
"You are here with me alone. You chose to be here of your own free will. Why?"
"Because I think you're hot."
I swear I can feel him smiling. What sense is that?