27. Angel

27

ANGEL

B lack painted nails dig into my thighs.

Black lipstick contrasting with a bright red tongue, dragging up my exposed abdomen. Right up the crease in my tense muscles. Between the cleft of my pecs, all the way to my chin.

Shivers. Cool tingles across my overheated flesh.

Followed by stinging pain. The mark of her teeth sinking into my neck hard enough to make me shout. Hard enough to draw blood.

Anything she does to me is absolutely divine.

Scintillating pleasure, whether pain or ecstasy.

Her velvet lips wrap around my shaft, exploring the tip, and down. Warm, soft cheeks suck along my length, that blazing hot poker of a tongue stretching out at the bottom to lick further, lower.

The stimulation on the sensitive skin of my balls makes my quads tighten, almost to the point of cramping.

Fucking incredible.

Fingertips lock onto my nipples, shocking a jolt through me. Restarting my heart. Bringing me back to life.

Why does she do this to me? How does she know the ways to make me unravel?

Every night.

When I can actually sleep, I wish I could forever. To stay in this velvet haze without the bitter abrasion of reality flaying me every waking hour.

Where I have no choice. No will of my own. Only need for more Devotion. For a purpose given to me by my master. The Herald.

But in my dreams…

She's there. The woman in the black dress.

Taunting me. Playing with me like I belong to her instead. And she can do whatever she wants to me.

Silken strands loop my wrists. Drawing me out, stretching my arms and legs tight.

Exposing me to her whims.

She is a goddess, a demoness, my doom and my salvation. She's the one with the cascade of hair trailing to her waist, fluttering in a phantom wind, hiding her luscious curves from my sight.

She torments me. With delicious pain. With torturous, drawn-out sex.

When she's not withholding it from me.

Making me beg for it.

Or dancing in the shadows, just out of reach.

Those times, when she writhes to an unheard rhythm, to the pounding of my shattered heart…

I feel closest to who I once was. Like he's right there.

If I could just reach out and thrust my fingers through the inky wall of rippling, shimmering black that surrounds the functional part of my mind, I could drag him through or pull myself out.

Every time I try, my brain tears in agony, the viscid yellow bile consumes me.

And I must obey my mistress again.

So in my dreams, I stopped fighting.

I enjoy my time with her, the bride in black.

"Take me. Fuck me," she moans into my ear, making me crane my neck after her, straining against my bindings.

My hands aren't the only thing straining. My erection throbs with desire, dripping a glistening thread of lust for her. Of longing.

I've never needed something so badly in my life. To be inside her. To feel her around me.

"Who are you?"

"I'm yours. That's all you need to know."

Suddenly, I'm untied, crawling over black silk sheets toward her.

Tearing at the swaths of fabric, uncovering inch after inch of supple, creamy skin. Kissing anywhere I can place my lips. Licking the delicate salt from her body.

There's not enough time to savor her like I want.

My need won't allow for it. Even if I could spend eternity kissing even one area of her body if I could. But her need is as insistent as mine, and we tumble together, our naked skin melding into one another, wanting as much of our exposed bodies to be in contact with the other.

Her hands clutch at my hair, tugging and pulling me where she wants me to go.

Rolling over her, under her, I reach down, splaying her cheeks apart, exploring down into her deepest hollow, sampling the drenched core I find there. The thrill of it ensnares me.

Fills me with pure, unbridled excitement.

When she spreads her legs apart for me, I'm ready, teasing the rock-hard curve of my cock into her folds. Thrusting along her sex with a clench of my ass, arcing the path of my desire up and into her.

She's liquid silk inside.

Hugging me tighter and closer than we ever could with our arms wrapped around each other.

"Oh… Ev—" The name she says vanishes in a muted garble of sounds that I am not allowed to know. But the sound draws me in, deeper than her soaked inner sanctum, with an inexorable pull.

She is gravity, and I cannot help but fall.

I want to fall faster.

To know her completely.

Every thrust of my hips barrels into her deeper, the undertow of her slick heaven washing my mind clear of any thought other than her. Her ass slaps down against me, the most glorious sound I've ever hear, other than every moan she makes as I plummet into her again and again.

Her pleasure coats me, covers me.

And in this place, I can taste her while I fuck her. All at the same time.

My tongue tastes the entirety of her sex, whirling around her clit, burrowing into her opening. Filling me with the deepest, most loving lust for more of her.

All the while, I lie on my back and that sea of chocolate waves ripples and tickles my stomach as she rides me, facing away, the enticing line of her back peeking through those locks from time to time, leading my vision down to our joining, then up to find her watching me over her shoulder.

Watching me gasp, my eyes never leaving her as she works me inside her, draws me in over and again.

She can have all of me.

Bleed me dry.

And she does, writhing back and forth harder and faster, wetter and hotter.

Until I'm archin my back off the bed, plunging up into her with everything I have, unburdening myself into her core in a rush of euphoric deliverance.

Complete. Release.

Taken into her with a cry of that name I cannot hear again, and I'm spent.

Drifting, falling.

My eyes snap open, the sensation of cool night air caressing my sweat-soaked skin. I'm flexed, tense. And so rigid that my cock fucking hurts.

That's when I feel the hands slide up my calves, up my thighs.

Is she really here?

"Mmm…" I hear the moan, but it sounds strange.

My body reacts, aching to be touched despite the sticky mess that my dreams already unloaded onto my stomach, the sheets. I need more…

Until I look down to see a familiar face looking up at me.

Licking her lips and watching my body with hunger in her eyes.

The tension of lurid lust from a moment before tightens into a different flavor. Spasms of anxiety flicker down my nerves, chilling me instantly.

"Matron, what are you doing?"

"Just admiring my warrior's prowess." Her voice is gravelly, husky.

The Herald is not an ugly woman. Far from it. She's pretty. Authoritative. Powerful.

And not at all the woman of my dreams. Even if I long to please her, to do her wishes.

Not this, though.

I pull away, sliding up to a seated position, my body betraying me by staying alert and at attention.

"Hmm, it seems you need relief, Angel."

"I'm fine."

"You'll be finer if you let me help."

"I—"

"Don't want to deny me, do you?"

A quiver trembles through me, making me ease back toward her. It would feel good, to let go. To have someone else take care of me…

I'm off the bed in a rush, stumbling and backing into the wall.

And she's right there, steadying me with her hands on my chest, cupping my cheek, one hand drifting down my front, caressing my stomach, reaching for me.

The flimsy robe she's wearing falls open, revealing her naked form, her full, firm breasts.

"Take me, Angel." And her words mock my dreams, tempt me to give in and scrub the deep desires of my heart from my memory.

"I can't."

"Do not make me make you." Her tone lowers, dangerous.

"Matron…" I grit out, warring within myself for control. "Order me to, and I will."

Her eyes widen, then darken with fury.

"It seems it's time for another dose."

My heart falls into my stomach. She's going to force herself on me. Force me to obey.

A tilt of her head changes her expression, and she sneers at me.

"No. I will not take you against your will. But I will make you come to me willingly. When you are so tired of fighting that you will beg, without the influence of Devotion. You'll beg for me to have you, and I will fuck you until you can't walk."

Horror washes through me, banishing all thoughts of sexual nature from my mind.

Because I know what she has planned.

To let my medicine fade. Let the need consume me.

I'm only allowed to put on pants as she orders me ahead of her, downstairs.

Through the kitchen.

Out into the yard.

Across the grounds and into the guest house.

The basement door glows with flickering light, orange and smoky, accented by the roar of voices from below.

Each step down the cellar steps takes me closer to my doom. Not my demise. No. I won't be killed or tortured.

Not in the traditional sense.

"My children! Who here is prepared to meet their fate?!" The Matron shouts over the din, all eyes turning toward the stairs.

With a shove, she pitches me forward, over the edge of the dugout floor of the foundation. Into the pit below.

Where I'm joined by her ‘volunteers'. Dragging myself to my feet, I subdue the shrieking noise in my head, block out the sickening screams and raucous laughter all around me.

"Whoever survives gets the others' doses. And my eternal gratitude!"

My focus narrows to a pinpoint. Survive. Do what I must.

The first victim rushes in to their death.

The night drags on. Hours morph into a meaningless flow of sweat and blood, until I'm on my knees in the mud, surrounded by the remnants of my foes. Of my fellow subjects.

I'm empty again.

Not even the need for more medicine can drag me to my feet.

The Herald has retired for the night. She left soon after the fighting started.

Because she doesn't care about the process.

Just the result.

In the still of the slowly brightening basement, the last few stragglers scurry for darker corners to sleep out the daylight. To wait for orders to rampage through Sanctum Harbor again.

Warm light clips in through one of the thin slats near the ceiling.

The beam makes me wince at first, catching me across the face.

I look up into the light.

Let it sear into my soul. Let it burn away the horrors of the night.

A whisper echoes into the gloom from somewhere above me, one of the more addled members of our kingdom, mumbling in their sleep.

"Come on, Steven please…. Just a little… what do you even care…" The voice fades into whimpers of a nightmare.

Who was Steven?

Steven.

Even.

Evan…

Jarred from my stupor, I spring to my feet. When I reach the door upstairs, I'm already running, out across the lawn and through the gate.