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His hips picked up in rhythm and my pelvis lifted to meet each beat. I held him tightly against me, afraid he would stop. Buttery pleasure peaked, and I cried out as a wave of sensation swallowed me up and swept me away.
“Sierra. Gods, you feel so good,” Demos said, lost along with me.
When the swelling peak died away, I wanted more. As if sensing that, Demos grabbed my wrists and put them behind my head, stretching my arms as he bound them in place. His body hovered over mine, covering me with his strength. I studied his every expression as he moved inside me, his eyes never leaving mine.
He was devastating. Wild, beautiful. He pounded into me, slow and deep at first, then with intensity, faster and harder. My breasts ached, craving touch, and I arched my back. With one hand holding my wrists now, his other hand touched my breast, squeezing and twisting my nipple, only to move to the other breast and repeat his torture.
I tossed my head back and forth. The sounds he was making turned into grunts and he released my hands. Without warning, his fullness was gone, and hot liquid splattered onto my stomach and breasts. The loss of him made me cry out.
“No!” Frustrated, I tried to pull him back to me, but he stilled me with his hands on my wrists again, holding them in a tight grip above my head. “No,” I whispered, feeling like I’d burst into tears.
No matter how much I squirmed underneath him, twisting and turning, he wouldn’t do what I so desperately wanted him to.
“Yes,” he countered, out of breath. “There are things I must see to. I won’t be long.” Yet he didn’t move away. His gaze kept traveling down to my stomach and to my chest, where his seed pooled in my navel and dripped down my breasts.
“Please,” I whispered again.
He groaned but refused to acquiesce. “You need water and food.”
Food? I needed him! I wanted to scream.
After a few moments, he released me, standing quickly, gloriously naked, and assessed me as if to make sure I wouldn’t follow. “I’ll be back soon. Try to sleep.”
And then he was gone.
I lifted my arms, which were still behind my head, and winced. Everything hurt. All I could manage to do was roll onto my side. My inner thighs were soaked with whatever wetness my body had been releasing; in fact, I felt like I was sitting in a large puddle. It must have been part of the sickness, I thought. I was covered in sweat, and my hair was plastered to the back of my neck. My body shook with chills, and my womb cramped up. I was so sick of cramps. That’s when the flood of tears came.
Loud, wracking cries of anguish, frustration, and pain, both from my body and my heart. Something terrible had happened but I didn’t know what it was, I just knew that it could never be undone. I cried for what felt like hours before I felt gentle, strong arms lift me up, wrapping me in comfort.
“Shh. I’m back, Melos.”
His scent was like a balm, his soft words soothing.
He carried me to a stream and placed me on his lap. “Shh, little one. Everything will be all right soon. No more tears.”
I let him bath me, let him pour cool water on my female parts, my stomach, my thighs. He washed my face, my neck, my back. My arms went around him, clinging to him. The pull I had towards him was like breathing—effortless yet necessary for my survival.
My tears stopped, and I nuzzled his throat, showering every inch of skin with light kisses.
“Come. Let’s get you some nourishment.” He pulled my hands away and set me on my feet.
I looked around at our surroundings for the first time. The sunlight had that golden quality of late afternoon, almost evening. We were in some kind of clearing. Tall cattails, bushy ferns, and curling ivy blanketed a carpet of emerald-green grass that stopped at the little stream. Several huge oak trees dotted the land, which was bordered by a thick opaque fog. I turned around and followed the perimeter with my eyes. It was as though we were encased in a glass globe, similar to something my father had in his study, a little world trapped in a glass.
“What is this place?” I asked.
Instead of answering, he grabbed my hand and led me past the trees into what looked like a little alcove made of rock. There were piles of furs on the ground. Next to those were Demos’ saddlebags. His robe was hanging from a nearby branch from the giant oak that made a canopy of shade overhead. The space looked like a giant nest.
A strong scent of musk, something mouth-watering, tantalizing, hit me, traveling from my nose to my sex. It surrounded me, swallowing me up. It was coming from the nest of furs. Some instinct inside me took over as I felt its call from my scalp to my toes. Felt the soil under my feet, the air on my naked skin.
Need overtook me, and I turned to Demos, found his hand, and pulled him down to the furs with me, pushing him onto his back. I needed him inside me again. Now.
I got on top of him, and took his hard manhood in my hand, then guided it to where I wanted it most. I was tender there, and the process stung, but the fullness I felt wiped away any discomfort. Placing my hands on his hot chest, I began to move. He watched me intently, eyes a dark blue like the coming night.
“Yes,” I cried. My breasts begged for touch, so I held them, rubbed, pulled, squeezed, my eyes rolling back into my head. My sex tightened around his delicious hardness. “So full, so big.”
With a growl, he sat up and took my mouth, holding my bottom with his warm hands, pulling me closer, taking me deeper.
It was perfect. This time I wouldn’t let him stop until I was ready. Just the thought of it had me biting him, scratching him. He took it all, groaning into my mouth when I kissed him again. The pleasure built over and over, and I lost myself to it.
