Page 45 of Veiled Flames
Intense pleasure rises again, wiping aside any remnant of pain. His rod’s sudden entrance is a distant memory, eclipsed by sheer delight and by the repeated shocks each time he drives into me. Leaning onto his muscled arms, he continues to thrust, and the power of his body astounds me, excites me. I grip onto his shoulders, as he seems to use the strength of his entire body to force himself deeper.
His skin grows even redder, the veins on his forehead and temples bulge, and a veil of sweat rises on his upper lip. I long to lick it off but can’t reach. Based on his expression, he still looks as if he’s in pain, but that’s not the story I see in his eyes.
“Is the pain too much to bear, ma chérie?” he asks through gritted teeth.
Shaking my head no, I reach up to touch his cheek, and I brush the sweat from his lip with my thumb. His head shifts under my touch, like a cat leaning into a caress.
“I…I…” His voice is strained. “Thrix! Fuck! I can’t stop. I can’t slow down.”
Saxon shifts. His powerful arms lift both my legs, spreading and bending them back toward my shoulders, and in this position, each of his drives lands even deeper. So deep I want to cry out, but no sound emerges. His thickness is filling me so completely it’s pushed all the air from my chest.
My legs flop on either side of his rapidly moving body, so I press my heels against his back to still them. He growls when I do this, and his speed accelerates. My insides are burning now, as if his rod is a flint creating sparks each time it strikes a new place inside me, and my channel is contracting, as if fighting his intrusion, or perhaps wanting more.
I have no way to judge which it is, and don’t even want to.
His expression twists into an even more painful grimace, making me fear for his life. Then he shouts and his hips jerk erratically. A new kind of heat spreads inside me.
Roaring, he arches back as his hips drive even harder, more fitfully, no longer sliding in rhythmic pumping motions, and yet he’s gliding more easily, as if a new kind of slickness appeared from inside me.
He collapses. His breaths come very quickly, and his body is heavy as if spent from exertion.
Is it over? It felt so good, but ended before I had enough. I know I should be grateful, but I’m sad that it’s over, especially since he said it can happen but once.
He rolls to the side, mercifully taking his weight off my body, and as his rod leaves me, something wet trickles out of my cleft. Is it the blood he expected?
Pulling me close, he drapes a heavy leg over my body. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Next time I’ll make it better for you.”
“Next time?” I snuggle against him, feeling safe and warm in spite of how I’ve been plundered.
“Did it hurt very much?” he asks softly.
Confusion steals my words for a moment. “No. Well, yes, it did hurt at first but felt much better as you continued.”
He smiles, and his hand lands between my legs, trailing through what feels like a sticky mess there, and although I know he’s no longer inside me, I can still sense his presence, like his rod imprinted a claim on my body. Shifting my leg, I give his hand better access.
“Now, I’ll show you how a woman feels pleasure.” He leans over to kiss me, and I’m swept up again in the magic of Saxon.
He’s right. Kisses are most certainly one way I feel pleasure, and now that I know what to expect, I immediately part my lips, letting my tongue explore, feeling both proud and astonished at how quickly I’ve learned how to kiss.
As we kiss, his hand slips more firmly through my cleft, and I nearly float off the cot.
Somehow, I’m even more sensitive than before, and the effects of his fingers’ strokes are heightened.
He touches a spot near the front of my cleft, and I buck as if struck by lightning.
Breaking our kiss, he looks down into my astonished eyes, as his finger continues to torture the same tiny spot, flicking back and forth, pressing gently, and then circling around it before pressing down hard. Each new action feels better than the last, and I can’t believe that any part of me is so reactive to touch. Especially touch on such a tiny part of me.
“How does it feel when I play with your button?” he asks.
All I can do is nod and try to mouth the word good.
“Which do you prefer? This?” He flicks me there quickly. “Or this?” He rubs the spot with more pressure.
“I, ah!” I nearly arch off the bed. His touch is intense. Too much. Yet not enough. And everything inside me clenches.
“Relax, ma chérie,” he says softly. “Don’t think. Don’t try to react. Just let your body respond.”
I nod, fighting to breathe normally, and then, doing as he suggests, I stop trying to control my body’s reactions. My back melts into the cot, and every bit of energy and heat travels to land between my legs as he strokes that magic button.
