Page 101 of She Who Devours the Stars
She shuddered, but didn’t disagree.
I felt her melt, a slow, delicious collapse. She would break again—she always did—but this time, I’d be there to put the pieces back together.
Outside, the city reset itself. The satellites cooled. The tech assistant woke on the floor, legs twitching, mind blank.
Inside, we were still fused, and the only thing that mattered was the space between our next breaths.
She said, “I could kill you.”
I said, “I’d haunt you forever.”
We both laughed, then let the silence win.
I could have held her all night.
I did.
Thread Modulation: Fern Trivane
Axis Alignment: South Tower
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Not the useless, nervous kind of tremor that comes before a blood test or a duel. This was the type that started in the deep gut, a slow nuclear roll that promised devastation if you didn’t let it have a voice.
Dyris loomed over me, straddling my chest, body still slick from the last round, but already hungry for the next. Her hair clung to her face in loose, wet spirals. Her eyes looked down on me with the ruthless patience of a god who’d given up on mercy. She was nothing like the warm-blooded creatures in the Accord’s softcore mythbooks. She was a myth built for war, and she would make you want it.
She planted her knees on either side of my ribcage, the pressure tight and perfect. I felt her settle, the slow grind of her pelvis against my sternum as she found the right angle, the righttension. I tried to breathe, but the air in the room had gone so heavy I could barely part it with my lips.
She gripped my hair in both hands, winding it through her fingers until my head was locked in place. She pulled, just enough to make my scalp tingle, then angled my face toward her. Her thighs trembled against my jaw, and I tasted salt, adrenaline, the faint metallic note of ozone from where I’d bled on her skin.
She held me there, looking down, her expression halfway between a dare and a prayer.
Then, deliberate as sunrise, she lowered herself onto my mouth.
My universe collapsed into her.
Her scent was impossible. Sweat, spice, the raw bite of electricity and myth. She was already wet, the slickness of her opening seeping down my tongue, across my teeth. I lapped at her, slow at first, wanting to savor the way she pulsed and shivered with each stroke. Her grip on my hair went savage, twisting until I whimpered, but I loved the ache of it, the sharp reminder that she was in control, and I was only here to serve.
She rolled her hips, grinding against my lips, her rhythm jerky at first, then settling into a tempo I had no choice but to follow. The world outside vanished. The room could have been a cell, a cathedral, a coffin—it didn’t matter. All I knew was the slick, sacred taste of her, and the way my pulse seemed to sync with the throbbing of her clit against the tip of my tongue.
Dyris started to mutter, her voice low and cracked, every word a command to the flesh under her. I barely caught the meaning, but the sound itself was enough to make my nipples pebble, my pussy clench, and I ached with desperate need around the nothing that filled it. If I could have moved my hand, I would have made myself come just from the tone of her voice. Instead,I let her take everything. My mouth, my will, my mythic engine, anything and everything I was or might ever be, it all belonged to her now.
She leaned back, arching her spine, lifting her breasts to the ceiling as if she wanted to offer them to some jealous star god. I wanted to lick them, but she had me locked in, so I drank her from below, licking deeper, flicking my tongue against her until she bucked so hard the bedding field spun us both. For a second, the world inverted. The up became down, and I was floating, with Dyris riding my face as if I was a sled hurtling through the heart of a black hole.
Her orgasm hit with no warning, just an explosion of wet and noise. She shrieked, a sound I’d never heard from her before, raw and guttural and so beautiful I wanted to cry. She clamped her thighs so tight around my ears I saw stars, then ground herself against me, milking every drop of pleasure from my mouth. She tasted sweeter now, like victory and surrender, like the first day of a new year.
After she crested again, I felt the mythic feedback loop. My white hole powers, usually so caged, so controlled, blew wide open. The world outside the room stopped. The satellites circling the planet rerouted, confused. A hurricane five hundred klicks away simply… vanished, the storm clouds sucked out of existence and replaced by a vacuum that made three news feeds cry foul before they all crashed. In a bar across the city, every woman who’d ever looked at me twice clutched her thighs and came, hard, with no warning or cause. The South Tower began to rise, the entire structure unmooring from the planet’s crust and lifting, by slow degrees, toward the open sky.
None of it mattered. Not compared to the tongue in my mouth, the hands in my hair, the taste of Dyris painting my lips.
When she finished, she collapsed over me, her arms shaking, her hair wet against my chest. She pressed her face to my neck, breathed hot against my ear.
“Again,” she said, voice ruined and perfect.
I obeyed.
This time, I sucked her clit into my mouth and hummed, low, the way she liked. She nearly blacked out, her body going rigid, her hands clawing at my scalp. I swallowed her moans, drank every drop, let her ride me as if the planet was falling and this was the only way to keep it spinning.
She came again, and this time it felt like the end of the world. I felt my own orgasm crest, the mythic resonance in my spine building to a scream. I writhed against the bedding field, hips bucking, eyes rolling white. I wanted her to see what she’d done to me, but she was too busy shattering on my tongue to care, or so I thought. Her fist released my hair, her fingers drifted between my legs, and two fingers and multiple surges of Dyris’s silver-white mythfire burned almost as hot as my insides.
