She shrugs. “I don’t see any limit as craven.”
“It doesn’t matter, because it’s not a limit. You’re already inside me in every other possible way, little moon. In my mind, in my blood, my breath, my heart. What’s this compared to that?”
She beams. “I like that way of looking at it. And I do promise that I will reward your trust. Tuck your knees to your chest, please.”
It’s an undignified position, but dignity has never been the point. Even if it had been, I lost it the moment I woke to the sound of a match striking in the dark.
And anyway, is dignity more valuable than trust? More precious than vulnerability? More cherished than surrender?
I pull my knees to my chest, and Nimue clucks her approval as it exposes the untouched part of me that she wants.
“Breathe,” she counsels, and then she spreads the lubricant on her finger and presses it against the firm rim of my anus. “Breathe.”
She pushes.
I breathe.
It’s cool at first, but everything quickly warms, and it’s the pressure that truly makes me uncomfortable rather than the temperature.
“How does it feel?” Nimue asks once she has her finger in to the second knuckle.
“Full,” is my honest answer. It may be an obvious one, but it’s all I have. It’s not truly painful, nor is it pleasurable, but the last week with Nimue has trained me to accept any sensation as welcome, simply because it comes from her.
She adds a second finger.
I inhale into my stomach, unable to keep from closing my eyes at the invasion, but my erection flexes happily, already wet at the tip, and then when Nimue curls her fingers forward to press against—something—I—I—
“Feel good now?” she purrs, gently rubbing against my prostate. It’s like my guts have been replaced with hot, roiling pleasure, but it’s different than what I’ve known. It’s urgent, turbulent and vital deep in my belly, and it’s
the most indecent thing I’ve ever felt. The most base and carnal and human.
“I don’t know if good is the right word,” I manage, but my cock is getting impossibly harder and bigger as she toys with me, and she seems satisfied with the answer it gives. There’s several more passes and circles she makes inside, shifting her rhythm every time I seem to get too close to the edge. Within two minutes, I’m misted with sweat along the bunches of my arms and the groove of my clavicle, and I’m squirming.
Like a whore, I think, and somehow that makes it even hotter. Squirming like a whore against the hand of the cruelest woman I’ve ever met.
Nimue uses her other hand to run idle circles over the hard scrunches of my abs, taking care not to brush against my leaking erection as she does. “Tell me,” she says softly, meeting my gaze, “when we share the glimmer between us, does it take anything away from you? Does it make your gift any less?”
I let out a small exhale of wounded lust. She’s done this on purpose, gotten me past the point of clear thought, clear speech, in order to find out more about what she wanted. But of course she did. That’s the arrangement, after all, and she never lied to me about that. She’d use sex to take my sight, one kind of power to take another.
Although, I can’t believe she doesn’t already know this. She used to know. In another life. “Yes,” I say, and I’m stunned when she actually flinches at my words.
Her hands don’t stop their wicked work, so I can’t even properly react when she says, somewhat miserably, “That’s not what I wanted, you know.”
“What did you want?”
She closes her eyes, slides her fingers free of my body. I make a betrayed little whimper as she does.
“I wanted to share it. Have it, but for you to have it too. I’m not a thief, Merlin.”
But you were. And you are.
She stands up and tugs off the breezy, flowing dress she’d been wearing. Underneath, rather than panties, she wears a harness. No bra, as always, and the tips of those perky breasts are erect and straining. “On your stomach, please. Head on your arms, looking down.”
I desperately want to watch her now—I’m undeniably entranced by the leather and metal sitting so snugly around her lean hips, the straps that hug and highlight the high curve of her ass. I want to see what happens next, what type of toy she fits inside the harness and how it looks as she walks toward me. Whether it casts a shadow on her legs or sways with her movements. I want to see her face, I want to see if this arouses her, I want to see if her breath hitches with anticipation as she regards the place she’d like to fuck.
But all of this is denied me. I get to my stomach and I’m forced to listen to all manner of intriguing noises as she gets ready. And I’m not at all prepared when her footsteps approach and her hands slide around my hips, tugging me up the slightest amount, and then my throbbing arousal encounters something cool and slick and oh my bleeding God—
I cheat and look down the length of my lifted stomach to see her hand fitting a tight, tight, silicone sleeve over my organ, something so tight and soft and wet that I have to clench my ass and thighs and belly to keep from jetting my much-needed release inside it. At the same time, I feel a spike of humiliation, which no doubt was Nimue’s intention because she catches it on my face right away.
