On The Prowl

"Beautiful," Dontaine breathed, a whisper of sound in my ear. As the light played upon us, he played upon me, his artist hands molding my breasts, squeezing them, lifting them, plucking my berry-red tips, squeezing my nipples, pulling them, making me arch and cry out, writhe against him.

"Please, Dontaine. Please."

Heeding my plea, a hand left its nipple play and sought darker, more sultry depths. Two ringers sank into me, came back coated with my fluid. Reluctantly, he released me, urged me forward once more onto my hands. That wet hand touched me where I had touched him, circling my anal pucker, coating it with my own wetness. Eased in a finger gently past the tightness.

"So tight," he murmured, pushing in a second finger. I shuddered, groaned, as he stroked slowly in and out. Lovely, lovely, but I needed him. His pleasure, not mine, sweetly killing though it was. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. God, you won't. Please, Dontaine, I need you in me."

"Then let me come into you." His fingers left me and I felt the hard wet head of him probe me for entrance. He pushed forward, but I was so tight and he was so wide, he did not enter. "I don't want to hurt you," he muttered, voice tight, strained.

"No, no. You won't. Please, please!"

"Don't..." He pushed in hard and the head of him popped in past the tight sphincter. ". ..let..." Another push. "... me..." A gentle slide. "... hurt you." More of him filling me, cramming me.

"You won't... it doesn't!... Yes, yes, that feels so good... Oh, Dontaine," I cried when he was finally seated deep and full within me. And I both lied and told the truth. He was too big and I was too stretched for it not to hurt a little. But it hurt in a good way. Oh God, yes. So good, so good. I groaned as he shuddered against me, holding himself still, buried deep inside me.

"Mona Lisa..." I felt him trembling with restraint But it wasn't restraint I needed. And pain did not matter. I needed his release.

I pulled forward then slammed myself back against him, and he gave a guttural cry at the tightness of me ru

"You're hurting me by not moving," I cried plaintively.

"Behave," he said, his hands like iron manacles as I tried to rock against him. His tone became whiplash sharp. "If you don't, I'll pull out."

The threat stilled me as nothing else would have.

"I'll give you what you want," he said, breathing heavily, "but we do it my way. You'll take what I give you, as slow or fast as I want to give it to you. Do you understand?"

I nodded wildly.

His hands left me, and I stayed obediently still and trembling beneath him. A harsh breath, two, then he leaned over me, covered me, like a stallion blanketing a mare. His lips brushed across my nape. "Trust me," came his warm breath, stirring the soft hairs there.

"Yes," was my reply, and his teeth grazed lightly over my skin. So delicately, so dangerously. Setting off sunbursts of sensation where he touched.

"Don't... move," he said huskily, a stark command. Trembling, I obeyed him as his hand slid across my belly and then lower until his fingertips, calloused and rough from sword practice, lay just over the swollen nub of my pearl. Only his words, and his threat, held me back from surging forward into the waiting promise of his touch. One moment, two. Then he rewarded me for my restraint by pulling a tiny increment out of me and pushing back in. The slow push and slide of him like that pushed me forward with his downstroke, so that his fingertips grazed my swollen nub, spilling a hot wash of sensation in me in both front and back.

"Oh!" I moaned, cried, with that slight movement. But I held still.

"Yes," he crooned and licked my neck, a hot slide of tongue that was both soothing and arousing. "Yes." And did it again. Pulled out, an increment more. Pushed back in. And though he still crammed me, stretched me, it was not unbearably so anymore. The sharpness of pain faded beneath his careful rocking in and out, and more pleasure spilled out, zinging through me with each lengthening stroke. Each firmer, harder thrust back into me, pushing my pulsing, swollen clitoris more firmly against the rough-gentle play of his fingertips. It was exquisitely pleasurable torture, even more so because I had to hold still, had to endure it. I whimpered with my pleasure and with my restraint. He nipped me, grazing my neck again with his teeth.

"Ah, love," he murmured, groaning, burying his head in the fall of my hair. "You feel so good. Remember... hold still," he warned, and I braced myself for more wonderful, terrible things to come.

Like a pulse from deep within him, I felt his energy ease, loosen, rise. Grow sharper, more electric. Until my very skin tingled from head to toe where he covered me with his greater length. He touched me nowhere in front except for the tantalizing play of fingertips upon that most sensitive, swollen nexus of nerves within me, a touch that came and went as he did within my body. And because he touched me nowhere else in front but there, perhaps that was why I felt it most excruciatingly. Tingling, electrifying, shocking jolts that were both blissful and torturous. Both heaven and hell.

My need grew, swelled even stronger, as his thrusts grew harder, more wilder. Until that fine line of pleasure and pain became blurred and then became one, and it took me and threw me up into the heavens. Ripped me apart with agonizing pleasure while I floated there in the air. Convulsing me. But even in my explosive release, a part of me was still hungry, thirsty for something more. And that more was what surged within me like a wild tide battering against the shore. He pulled from me and then stretched me back anew, cramming himself into me with poling, thrusting force, with sharp gasping breath, with soft desperate cries. But still careful of me, not completely letting go. And therefore, still reaching for, still striving for his peak.

His balls, heavy, large, and tight, smacked into me, bounced against my bottom as he seated himself deep. I reached back and grabbed them carefully, and he stilled with his length and thickness buried deep within me as he felt my hold upon him. We both held our breaths as I squeezed his tight sac, his twin balls. Pulled lightly.

Like a rocket suddenly launched, he toppled free. And as he spurted within me, hot pulsing jets, I felt his energy – that electric, buzzing energy – explode out from him in a showering sparkle. His life-force. And that part of me that had been waiting, hungering for this moment, this release, opened up wide and sucked it – him – that part of him in. Swallowed it down as surely as demons swallowed down blood.

Epilogue

I'd joked before that I was like a vampire, sucking up my men's gifts. But I hadn't known before what I was talking about, and it hadn't really been true. Now it was.

My lover had given off energy during orgasmic release, spilt it out of him like firecrackers bursting, and I had drunk it down.

Okay.

I was lucky I was only hyperventilating and not grieving. I was lucky Dontaine wasn't dead.

He wasn't, thank God. He was peachy keen, in fact. With a cherry on top. But it was too close to what I had done with Mona Louisa. The fact that I'd sucked all her energy, all her light, her life-force, out of her – and I'd done that all by my little ole self, no demon-tainted ghost involved – and into me hadn't bothered me much. The bitch had deserved it. But this... doing this to someone I cared for... that just freaked me out.

Knowing that Halcyon, my Demon Prince, had sipped down a little of me when I had come apart, orgasming in his hands... that was fine with me. Actually nice, knowing how good it felt. But that was the trouble – it was too nice. Too wonderful. It could easily become addicting, like getting that necessary shot of caffeine every morning.