Chapter Fourteen

At first, I didn’t realize it was a dream. The sensations were too sharp, too vivid. I was lying on my back, the coolness of the stone beneath me grounding me in a way that felt unmistakably real, even as warmth spread across my skin. Hands slid over me, slow and deliberate, their touch firm yet reverent. They weren’t rushed or greedy, they were measured, as if they wanted to memorize every curve, every inch of me.

Fingers trailed over my arms, skimming my shoulders before moving lower. They brushed against my ribs, following the dip of my waist, lingering at the soft curve of my hips. A shiver ran through me as they moved upward again, savoring the texture of my skin. My breath hitched when warm lips followed, pressing soft, deliberate kisses against my collarbone in an unhurried, tender rhythm.

The mouth moved lower, trailing down to my breasts. The heat of it sent sparks racing across my nerves, sharp and insistent. When it wrapped around my nipple, my body arched instinctively. A flick of the tongue followed, teasing and precise, sending a shock straight to my core. My gasps escaped unbidden as the pressure of his mouth built, pulling me into sensations too intense to ignore.

The lips didn’t rush. They lingered, savoring every moment. My hands fisted at my sides, unsure of what to do, while his tongue continued to work me, slow and rhythmic, each pull igniting a new wave of heat. When his lips finally left my breast, a pang of loss hit me, but it was immediately replaced by the ache of anticipation.

The kisses trailed lower, down my stomach, his tongue mapping the contours of my body. Each motion felt purposeful, like it was meant to mark me, claim me in ways that words couldn’t. My thighs fell open without hesitation, my body responding instinctively. His hands slid between them, firm yet careful, as if testing the boundaries of my willingness. His fingers spread me open, and then his mouth was there.

The first stroke of his tongue over my clit sent a jolt through me. It was sharp, undeniable, and my hips arched on their own, chasing the sensation before I could stop myself. He didn’t stop. He circled my clit with deliberate precision, his tongue firm but soft in a way that made me tremble. My hands groped for something solid, desperate for an anchor, and I found the edge of the stone beneath me, gripping it tightly as if it could steady the storm within.

He moved with infuriating patience, sliding his tongue lower to tease my entrance before returning to my clit. Each flick, each motion, built a pressure in my stomach that coiled tighter with every second. When his lips closed around me, sucking gently, the heat spiked. My head tilted back, a broken moan escaping me as my hips rocked against his mouth.

“Mine,” a voice murmured, deep and resonant, vibrating against me. “Every part of you.”

The words should have terrified me, but they didn’t. They sent another surge of heat rushing through me, leaving me trembling. My hands gripped the stone harder as his tongue pressed deeper, working me in ways that left me breathless. The pleasure built steadily, sharp and insistent, until it became too much to contain. My thighs quivered, my breath came in shallow bursts, and my body arched as the orgasm tore through me.

I cried out, my voice raw, my body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me. His tongue didn’t stop. It slowed, drawing out every pulse of sensation until I was gasping, trembling, unable to think of anything but him. Even when my thighs tried to close, oversensitive and overwhelmed, his hands held me open. He tasted me like he couldn’t get enough, his tongue exploring me with unrelenting curiosity.

When I finally woke, my chest heaved, my skin felt slick with sweat. The remnants of the dream clung to me like a shadow, too vivid. My thighs trembled, and the ache between them was sharp, undeniable. My body felt too alive, every nerve still buzzing. For a moment, I couldn’t tell if it had been real.

And when I turned, I saw him.

Rynar sat at the edge of the pool, his silvery form gleaming faintly in the algae’s glow. His black eyes were locked on me, unblinking, like he’d been watching for hours. His presence filled the cavern, oppressive and inescapable.

“What…” My throat tightened around the word. “What were you doing?”

His lips curved faintly, but his gaze stayed steady. “Watching you dream,” he said simply.

The lingering heat in my body surged again, curling low in my stomach. “You were in my dream.” My voice wobbled, barely holding together. “You were, “

“Tasting you,” he breathed the words. Simple. Brutal. “Watching you fall apart.”

My cheeks burned, the words cutting deeper than I wanted to admit. “You’re disgusting,” I snapped, though the tremor in my voice betrayed the anger I tried to muster.

“Am I?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Or are you lying to yourself? Your body knows the truth, even if you refuse to admit it.”

I clenched my thighs together, desperate to ignore the throbbing heat. “ You know nothing about me.” I spat.

At first, I didn’t even realize how close he was. He wasn’t by the blue hole anymore, he was right next to me. He sat there, too still, too quiet, and it set my nerves on edge. His black eyes dropped to my hands, then to my wrists, tracing the faint scars like he was reading something written there. His fingers brushed over the lines so carefully, almost like they meant something to him. A shiver worked its way through me, leaving my whole body tense.

“Why do you do this?” His eyes stayed locked on mine. The stillness in his tone cut deeper than any sharp edge. “Why hurt yourself?”

I jerked my hand back, cradling it against my chest. “That’s none of your business,” I said sharply, though my voice cracked. The vulnerability clawed at me, raw and exposed.

“It is.” He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. “What you do to yourself concerns me.”

Anger flared in my chest, but it fizzled out as quickly as it came. The way he looked at me, unwavering, steady, made it impossible to hide. My throat tightened, shame twisting in my stomach. “It’s not about dying,” I said finally, my voice barely audible. “It’s about feeling like I have control. Like I can decide something when everything else is chaos.”

“Do you feel in control now?” The words slid under my skin, making my chest feel like it might shatter.

The question cut deep. “No,” I admitted, the word bitter. “Not anymore. But sometimes… sometimes it’s the only thing that silences the noise.”

He didn’t speak for a moment. Instead, his fingers brushed over my wrist again, his touch reverent. “You think these marks make you weak.” He said it like a fact, not a judgment. “They don’t. They show what you survived.”

“No one else would see it that way,” I muttered. “They’d see them and think I’m broken.”

“They are fools,” he said, his tone unwavering. “They do not see what I see.”

Before I could argue, his lips pressed against one of the scars on my wrist. The kiss was soft, deliberate, and it sent a shiver racing through me. I wanted to pull my hand away, but I couldn’t. His mouth moved slowly up my arm, tracing every line with care. “You are not broken,” he murmured. “You are whole.”

My breath hitched as Rynar’s lips moved higher, brushing over the faint scars on my forearm before pausing at the bend of my elbow. The way he kissed me, it wasn’t hunger or pity. It was reverence. Like he wasn’t just accepting these parts of me, but cherishing them. It sent a strange heat spiraling through me, leaving me unsteady.

“Stop,” I murmured, though the word came out weak and trembling. My body wasn’t pulling away, and I hated it.

His lips paused against my skin, but he didn’t let go. “Why?” he asked softly. “Why do you want me to stop?”

“Because…” I tried to find the words, but they stuck in my throat. My voice cracked as I finally managed, “Because no one’s supposed to touch them. No one’s supposed to see them.”

His gaze lifted, locking onto mine. “Why not?”

“Because they’re ugly,” I snapped, anger bubbling up to mask the shame. “Because they’re reminders of every time I wasn’t strong enough.”

His head tilted slightly, his expression calm but firm. “Do you think I see ugliness when I look at you?”

I opened my mouth to argue, but his hands moved, brushing my wrists again with a gentleness that made my chest ache. His touch lingered, warm and steady. “I see fire, Pearl,” he murmured. “I see strength. I see survival.”

Tears pricked at my eyes, unbidden, and I hated myself for it. I wasn’t supposed to cry. I wasn’t supposed to let anyone see me like this. But he didn’t look away. He stayed there, steady and unyielding, his black eyes holding mine with an intensity that left me breathless.

“You hate being vulnerable,” he said quietly. “You hate feeling out of control.”

“Yes,” I whispered, the admission clawing its way out of me. “I hate it. I hate it so much.”

“Then take control.” His hands hovered at my waist, just out of reach, but the force of his words struck deep. “Take what you need.”

The words sent a jolt through me, sharp and undeniable. My breath hitched as I stared at him, searching his face for any trace of mockery or malice. There was none. Only that same unshakable certainty, as if he’d been waiting for me to realize it all along.

“Take it,” he breathed. His tone was steady but pleading. “Take whatever you need from me.”

My stomach twisted, the memory of the dream crashing into me like a wave. I could still feel his mouth on me, the way his tongue worked me until I was trembling and undone. But it wasn’t just about the pleasure. It was about control. The image burned in my mind: me above him, taking what I needed, holding the power, for once.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. The quiet broke with his words. “Do it. Please, Pearl.”

The word ‘ please’ shattered the last of my restraint. My knees trembled as I climbed onto him, straddling his chest. His hands steadied me, sliding up my thighs, his touch firm but reverent. I hovered there, every inch of me on fire, my breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

His mouth opened slightly, his tongue flicking out to taste me, and I couldn’t hold back. I lowered myself onto him, my thighs quivering as his tongue found my clit. The first stroke sent a jolt through me, sharp and overwhelming. A gasp tore from my lips as my hands clutched his shoulders, my hips bucking instinctively against him.

He worked me slowly at first, teasing my clit with soft, lazy circles that made me squirm. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me steady as his tongue moved lower, tasting me deeply before returning to my clit. The pleasure built steadily, each stroke pushing me closer to the edge.

My hips moved on their own, grinding against his mouth as my breath came in broken gasps. “Fuck,” I whispered, my voice shaky, as his tongue pressed harder, swirling around my clit with devastating precision. My thighs trembled uncontrollably, the pressure inside me building faster than I could keep up with. His tongue was unstoppable, sliding lower to dip into me, then back up to flick my clit in quick, teasing motions that made my hips jerk against him.

“Please,” I whimpered, the word escaping before I could stop it. My hands fisted against his shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto as he kept going, his tongue working me like he knew exactly how to unravel me.

He groaned against me, the sound vibrating through my core, and I moaned in response, louder this time. My body moved on instinct, grinding against his face while he held me steady, his hands spreading me wider as if he wanted to devour every inch of me. His tongue was hot, wet, and unstoppable, sliding over me with perfect pressure, coaxing every nerve in my body to life.

“You taste like a storm,” he murmured between strokes. “Like the ocean’s rage.”

I didn’t fully understand his words, but they sent a fresh surge of heat through me, sharp, consuming, overwhelming. My hips rocked harder, chasing the building pressure, the heat, the impossible pleasure that seemed to spiral higher with every flick of his tongue. His lips closed over my clit, sucking gently, and I cried out, my thighs shaking violently as the orgasm tore through me.

The release was blinding, ripping me apart from the inside out. My body convulsed as wave after wave of pleasure rolled over me, my hands gripping his shoulders so tightly my nails dug into his skin. He didn’t stop, his tongue continuing to move, drawing out every pulse of pleasure until I was trembling and gasping for air.

I tried to pull back, oversensitive, but his hands held me in place. His mouth softened against me, his tongue teasing me with slower, lighter strokes that made my legs quiver all over again. My body responded before I could think, the ache returning just as quickly as it had faded.

“Enough,” I gasped, my voice barely a whisper.

His hands loosened, but he didn’t let me go. “Not until you take everything,” he growled, his tone dragging low. “Let me give you more.”

My breath hitched, the raw hunger in his words sending a fresh wave of heat through me. I hated how my body reacted to him, how the shame I felt mixed so easily with the need. I hated that I wanted more, even now, when I should have been pulling away.

But instead of pulling away, I lowered myself again, fully surrendering this time. His mouth was waiting, his tongue sliding over me in long, deliberate strokes that sent shocks of pleasure straight to my core. I gasped as his lips closed over my clit again, sucking gently, and I couldn’t stop the way my hips rocked against his face, chasing every flick, every pull.

“Fuck,” I whispered, my voice breaking as another orgasm built, sharp and fast, leaving me no time to think. My body tightened, the pressure overwhelming, and I cried out again as it crashed into me, my legs trembling violently.

His hands gripped me harder, holding me steady while my body bucked against him, my chest heaving as the pleasure pulsed through me. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything except ride the waves of it, letting him take me apart again and again.

When it finally stopped, I collapsed against him, my thighs still trembling as I struggled to catch my breath. His hands slid gently over my legs, his touch soft and reverent, as if I might shatter under his fingers. My chest heaved, skin damp with sweat, and I couldn’t bring myself to move.

A low chuckle vibrated through his chest, dark and satisfied. His claws traced slow circles along my inner thigh, the points barely scraping my skin.

“Such a beautiful mess,” he murmured. “The way you unravel for me… it’s intoxicating.” He leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. “Your body is perfect when it breaks like this.”

His words should have sparked rage, should have made me shove him away. Instead, a shiver shot through me, sharp and humiliating. My thighs still tingled, the memory of his mouth scorching against my skin. I hated it. Hated how I’d pressed down on him, how his tongue had driven me beyond control, how I’d shattered above him, exposed and desperate.

I hated how his claws had gripped my hips, guiding me, holding me there until I came undone. How I’d let him. How my body had wanted him.

I clenched my fists, shame crawling through me. But under the shame was something darker, an insatiable craving I couldn’t kill. A sick part of me that still wanted to be devoured but I wasn’t going to admit it out loud. Even if he could get into my head and know the truth.

“I hate you,” I whispered, though the words came out weak and hollow.

He chuckled, his hands sliding up to rest on my hips. “Hate me all you want,” he murmured. His voice dragged lower. “But you will crave me again.”

I wanted to deny it, to spit something back at him, but the words refused to come. Instead, I stayed where I was, trembling, furious, and aching all at once. His hands didn’t move, steady and firm on my hips, holding me as if I was something precious.

It was infuriating. It was intoxicating.

My body was spent, my thighs still shaking from the intensity of everything. The stone beneath me was cold, but his skin was cool in a way that felt steady, grounding. My breathing slowed, my chest rising and falling in uneven bursts as the heat in my stomach ebbed into a dull, aching throb.

He shifted slightly, pulling me down against him until my legs rested on either side of his waist. I tensed, instinctively bracing for more, but he didn’t move to touch me again. He simply held me there, his hands firm but not demanding, his gaze quiet and watchful.

“You’re exhausted,” he murmured. “Rest.”

“I don’t, “ I started, my voice came out hoarse, but he cut me off.

“Rest,” he said again, firmer this time. “You have taken enough for now.”

I wanted to argue, to push away from him, to demand he let me go, but my body betrayed me. The adrenaline that had carried me this far had burned out, leaving only the crushing weight of exhaustion. My legs ached, my arms felt like lead, and my head swam with too many thoughts I couldn’t unravel.

Against my better judgment, I let my body slump against him, the tension draining from my muscles. His chest was solid beneath me, his silvery skin cool and smooth, and for a moment, I hated how comforting it felt. My cheek nestled against his shoulder, and his arms shifted slightly, one sliding around my back, the other cradling my hip.

“I should hate this,” I muttered, my voice barely a whisper.

“And yet you don’t,” he replied with certainty.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I was too tired to fight him, too tired to fight myself. My eyes fluttered shut, the darkness pressing in around me, and I felt his hand move slowly, lightly, brushing a stray curl from my face. The touch was so gentle it almost didn’t feel real.