My smile freezes when I feel a steely grip around my ankles. Tarcyll lifts and places my feet on the bench, spreading me wide and exposing me completely.
He growls as his gaze travels over my throbbing open slit, my need inviting him to fill me. I gasp but don’t attempt to hide as he stands before me, tall and magnificent, still in his swimming shorts, the outline of his enormous cock seductively accentuated by the wet fabric.
He leans in as if reading my mind, and his finger enters me without warning. He curves it inside me to hit that special spot, that wicked massive ring rubbing my entrance. I got my wish.
The warm, ribbed metal rubs me with each movement, sending jolts of pleasure to every cell of my body. I moan like a whore, and he smirks, his face veiled by the steam.
“So tight and wet—” his voice is husky, his digit gliding in and out of me, and I press myself onto his hand. I clench around his finger, feeling an earth-shattering orgasm build up.
“Our people believe,” he rumbles while untying his shorts with his other hand, “that a human female would likely not survive mating with a Fae male. Our bodies are too powerful, and the magic within us too intense for you to handle.” I swallow, wondering if that is reason enough to stop.
His heavy, blasphemously large cock is out, only inches away from my mouth, and honestly, I don’t care about his warning. I want this so much that I’m willing to risk it. All I want is all my holes stretched by his hard length.
“Yet I had my share of pleasure with your people—” he continues, pleasing himself with firm strokes, “and there were no fatal endings yet. His dark smirk makes me whimper. “Quite the opposite; they seemed to enjoy it a lot.”
Tarcyll withdraws his finger from my slit, and I hiss, disappointed, open, and needing.
He kneels before me, spreading my folds just in front of his face, and before I can react, he dips his tongue deep into my pussy without any warning, licking me on the inside. I squirm as he penetrates me in a way nobody has, his sharp white teeth grazing my clit, his hand pumping his cock.
Suddenly he withdraws his sinful mouth, and his eyes, so dark I see star clusters inside, delve into mine.
“I have wanted you since the moment I saw you,” I take a sharp breath as his engorged, dripping head rubs at my entrance. A shameless moan escapes me at that promise of a really good stretch, “Since I felt your essence beckoning me. It is an irresistible call. One that very few Fae males could refuse.”
He slowly enters me, his fingers pressing my thighs open, leaving marks on my wet flesh. My lips form an O as another inch penetrates me, and I feel my walls squeezing him. I wrap my arms around his toned neck, the mystical symbols on his bronzed skin twirling, enthralling me. I trade the frail illusion of control for the thrill of touching his sinewy muscles, the sensation of them rippling beneath my fingers, his magnificent cock filling me.
“Too long I have waited to have you,” he whispers in my ear, “too great is my hunger for you, and too long it was unsatisfied,” he sheaths himself almost to the hilt, and I squirm around him, afraid I cannot take any more, “so I am wholly famished now, and I plan to ravish you. I will take you like a beast, Celeste.”
Without warning, his hips start pounding me madly, the sound of flesh meeting flesh reverberating in the steamy chamber, tangled with my hollering.
He has transformed into some mythical beast, a satire defiling a nymph, a tentacled monster bruising the pale flesh of the fisherman’s wife, an Olympic god claiming a mortal virgin. His steely abs are tense, and the mystical hieroglyphs on his massive biceps swell. The stretch he gives me borders on pain, yet he mercilessly increases the tempo.
“Just remember this moment, sweet Celeste, my beautiful mortal siren; remember who your first Fae male was.” He grabs a fistful of my wet strands and forces me to look him in the eye.
“I want to see your face when you ride that wave of pleasure,” he demands, and I obey.
With a wicked twist of his hips, his steel hits that spot inside me, and his knuckles brush my swollen, aching nub. I arch my back and claw at his toned stomach, captured by his gaze as my climax washes over me. One final deep thrust, and he spills himself inside me with a roar. My eyes roll so far back I can see the inside of my head, yet I sense that something is off.
I notice that he withdraws himself from me alarmingly fast, leaving me open, empty, and missing him already.
I blink away the mist of the ecstasy, and my jaw drops. My brain refuses to process what is happening. I am enshrouded in a gentle, supernatural, cold glow—it appears as if a shimmering veil wraps me. I levitate an inch or two over the stone bench. An odd vibration crawls over my skin like invisible fingers tickling me.
“Celeste!” the troubled voice of Tarcyll anchors me back to reality, “You’re casting a spell—”
My head is still blurry from the orgasm, and I struggle to grasp his words, I miss his warning shout.
Then a deafening, mind-numbing explosion hits us.
My ears are bleeding from the denotation, and countless shards of broken glass pierce my skin.
I’m tossed away from his arms, from the marble bench, and land headfirst on the floor. Then darkness consumes me.
Celeste – the Anchor
B irds chirping and the gentle caress of sunlight over my eyelids wake me up. I prop myself on an elbow and look around. The warm breeze plays with the silky white curtains, shaping them into fantastical figures.
The scent of blooming roses from the gardens of Taer Vallhen tickles my nose, and I sneeze, pain ripping through my body.
I push back the soft linen cover and shudder. Purple bruises and various-sized cuts cover my naked body, some still oozing blood.
