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He struck a fourth time.
Fire.
Liquid, luminous fire.
Everywhere.
“Your tattoo is glowing red, little nightmare,” he grunted. “The wand looks alive. A curse just for me.”
The pain billowed and cycloned. It soaked into my blood and travelled straight to my soul. With fingers made of light and whispers made of night, it shut down my thoughts one by one. Snuffed them out. Turned them off.
I was no longer human with feelings and fears. I was pure energy and vibration.
I sank into the trance.
A fifth lick, this one tattooing my very heart.
I screamed.
I convulsed.
My insides contracted on emptiness, needing, needing, needing…
“You were made for this,” he snarled. “Made for me to mark.”
I sagged. I tensed.
The synergy between us became carnal.
His energy wrapped around mine. My energy bled out to join his.
Crowding me against the cross, he pressed his front to my blazing back. His sweaty, scorching skin plastered to mine. He must’ve ripped off his t-shirt and, good God, it felt too good. Far, far too good.
I moaned as his hand speared between my thighs, penetrating me with three thick fingers. My legs spread of their own accord, delivering myself up to him. My ass backed up, begging him.
He groaned as he grabbed my hip with his other hand, rocking me over his hand.
Stars in my eyes.
Galaxies in my heart.
“Tell me again not to touch you,” he grunted. “I dare you.”
I almost swallowed my own tongue as he pumped into me, rough and primal.
An orgasm spindled from nowhere.
So close.
So near.
Up and up and—
“I feel you.” He pressed his forehead right on the tip of my wand. “Feel your greedy pussy milking my fingers with those hot little pulses.” He bit my ear, his breath tattered. “It makes me want to fuck you so bad.”
Do it.
Yes.
