Page 11 of Feed Your Fiends

I gaze at her bandaged feet, and my heart oozes from the dozens of lacerations she’d endured because whoever put those shoes on Dove shoved them on me, too. They can hurt me alone, but if they hurt her, we’re the same.

My dove. My heart. Our heart. My little streak of pure white through the darkness.

Who tried to turn you red? Who tried to turn you against me?

I meant when I said they’d suffer. Just like Dove is suffering over her unsure future, I’ve already mapped out for us. Just how I’m aching without the only person that brings me warmth.

Opening her coat like a present, I trail my fingers along her sternum. This is the moment I long for every night with my baby doll, counting down the hours until I can touch, undress and contort her. Keep her pinned beneath me where she’s safe, breathing, and beating.

I pull my shirt over my head and behind my neck so we’re skin-to-skin. The night nurse, Étienne, said it promotes bonding and releases a rush of feel-good hormones. For me, it’s more than feel-good. It’s euphoric. He says nothing brings him and Aria closer than some midnight tea. He’d offered me the tea too, a recipe of Zedd’s, but the drugs were more potent. I need her still and safe and if she’s knocked the fuck out then I can trust her to be alone for a little while.

Her pebbled nipple, the same mauvy pink as her exposed pussy, tickles my lips and I catch it between them with a suck. Another benefit.

She’s so soft. So pliable. How could I not want to sink into her? How could I ever willingly leave?

I stroke my fingers over a roll in her stomach and bury them deep in the crease where her slit meets her thigh. I massage it, instead of the comforting warmth of her cunt that my fingers are desperate to curl into.

Her skin is fuzzy, covered with gingery-blonde peach fuzz after days of no shaving. It’s just as soft as her skin, and suddenly I want to feel it drenched in slick and tickling my lips and cheeks as I soak my tongue. I can almost feel the velvetiness of her clit pressed against my nose as she grinds into me, working my tongue deeper as the swells of her ass smother my chin.

I can’t touch or taste, but I can just look.Reminisce.

I need this. We need this.

It’s only right.We’reright together.

I suck her nipple hard, sliding down her belly until it slips from my lips with a loud, wet pop. Kneeling between the apex of her thighs, I dip my fingers into those deep creases again and pull. Gently, ever so gently, her pussy spreads for me, and I’m greeted with that impossibly pretty shade of pink. Her clit peeks out from the motion and heat rushes from her core, warming the tips of my thumbs that are already wet.

My mouth waters, desperate for a little taste. A little flick to make her clit swell and her pussy water. I haven’t tasted her in so long,five fucking days.

Sure, I’d pinned her knees back exposing her cunt and second tunnel. I buried my face and inhaled, but I hadn’t tasted her. Yes, I’d tucked her freshly bandaged feet beside her head to get a compressed view of her pussy lips strangling her clit until it had nowhere to go. Until it poked out at me like her puffy nipples between her knees that begged me to suck them, and I did. But I hadn’t tasted her sweet slit because I’m such a good boy. So thoughtful in keeping her stretched and pliable for our return to ballet.

I wet my lips and creep forward so close that my eyes nearly cross from focusing on her clit. No tasting…but I can just… I blow and it swells and swells until it’s glistening like the head of my cock that’s beading with pre-cum.

My fingers aren’t good enough when I free it from my waistband and slide the moisture down the shaft with my thumb. My hands are too calloused, big, and sure of what to do.

I curl my doll’s fingers around me instead. Her small, soft, clumsy fingers still haven’t mastered the art, and yet they tease me to the point of madness. A few strokes of pleasure, then pain when she squeezes too tight. A few strokes ofwhat the absolute fuckwhen she loses rhythm, but all with a giddiness I can imagine,rememberas I look at her slumbering face through heavy lids.

Not enough slip.

I pull her fingers from my cock before sliding them into her pussy. Her fingers, not mine, because I’m sofuckinggood. She’d be so proud if she could see how I’m not touching her myself. How I respect boundaries.

A shudder wracks my spine as I listen to the slippery symphony of her fingers working in and out, watching them disappear and reappear like the best magic trick on earth. Wetter and wetter, stickier and stickier they come out until I’m satisfied that it’s enough to coat me because I’ll never use my spit again. Not when we can use what slides so effortlessly out of her. What she always gives me even when she doesn’t know it.

I grip her little hand tighter, working my length frantically, my other fingers gripping her chin, forcing her, even with her eyes closed, to look at me. Her eyelids rustle, slits of emerald green peeking down at me and I nearly lose it because my baby’s looking atme. I swear it.

I drop her slippery hand and slide my dick up her stomach where her tits wait for me to squeeze them. To pinch her nipples and twist them until the peaks turn bright red while my cock slides against her sternum. The glistening head peeks between the swells of her breasts as I squeeze them around me, and when it bumps her lips, there’s no holding back.

“Dove.”

She lets out a little whimper. No, a word,Gant.

Gant.

Gant…

She’s calling for me. Begging for me. Fiending for me.

Shot after shot covers her angelic face and webs her red lashes in the most ethereal white.Pure, so fucking pure.That’s how she looks veiled by me. I wish she could veil me too, spray me and smother me between her thighs. Shoot it up my nostrils and down my throat so I can have a piece of her inside of me, too.

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