The comets above us seem to freeze mid-flight, listening to my account of an isolated childhood dominated by a narcissistic, addicted mother, an adulthood marked by anxiety and panic attacks, a mediocre love life with men who were always emotionally unavailable, “a tragic strategy to cope with childhood trauma” as my therapist explained; a string of insignificant draining jobs that I kept only to be able to continue my independent life in solitude… I talk and talk and do not notice when the tears come.
My last words drown in a choking sob, and my whole body convulses.
Without a word, he pulls me in. My cheek rests on his chiseled pec. He lets me cry until utter exhaustion, until each bad memory is confessed and purged.
Then he utters soothing words in his strange language, holding me tight, his long fingers gently stroking my hair. Nobody has ever touched me like this.
The warm brush of his skin on mine, the calming moves of his broad chest, the safety of his embrace—I feel protected and cherished.
And feeling his soft lips on mine is natural and welcome; so are the delicate, gentle moves of his tongue in my mouth. A fleeting kiss, and he pulls away, panting.
“I’m sorry, Celeste, I didn’t mean to. “
I ball my hands into fists, disciplining myself not to throw myself at him, and look back at the sky.
The Serpent is still in its zenith. The mesmerizing comet nets are gone. Without a word, he gently scoops me up and steps out of the pool, murmuring something incomprehensible, and the exhaustion sweeps me into a dream where a handsome elven lord, a magical being wielding ancient power, chooses me over thousands. We rule together for an eternity before the Shadow rises. It’s beautiful and terrifying.
I wake up next to him in the giant king’s size bed, and memories of last night flood my mind. I feel cleansed, reborn, like I’ve just had the best therapy session ever. As if a skillful hand has applied soothing balm over the wounds of my soul.
The Fae head rests over his arm, and his serene features appear even younger and softer in his sleep. His chest is bare, and my gaze wanders down his defined pecs and abs—what a contrast to his beautiful and innocent face—and I criticize myself when it lingers over the linen sheet casually thrown over his loin. I bite my lip when I recognize the massive contour of his half-hard cock.
Hunger stirs in my center, and I feel the aching twitching of desire between my legs.
Am I half-naked in a bed with a priest, lusting after him?! Damn those Fae males. Why do they have to be so beautiful?
As if responding to my sinful thoughts, his length throbs and grows, swelling to proportions that make me gasp. I feel the nectar of my need pooling. My folds are swollen and throbbing, begging me to touch them. I look down at my body, still wearing the bikini from last night, the damp spot between my legs awkwardly visible on the pale fabric.
Diaphonus seems to be deep asleep, so I do something reckless. I slip the thong to my ankles, and my fingers travel down to my aching pussy. I’m thoroughly drenched; who wouldn’t be with a naked Apollo sleeping next to them? My middle finger gently circles my clit before diving into my slit while I watch, enthralled, how his length rises to its full height under the sheet. I finger myself deliriously, my nipples piercing the soft fabric of the bikini top. My eyes are fixed on his full lips now. How would it feel to have these lips explore every rim of my drenched sex?
He suggested we explore that specific way of awakening my magic—the only one we know so far. Right now, this appears as a completely acceptable option. Right now, I’m aching for it.
All reason abandons me, and I carefully lift the light sheet, revealing this feast. My middle finger is buried deep in my hole, and I lick my lips at the magnificent sight of the elf. A thin trail of dark blond hair descends from his navel, expanding to a golden triangle between his powerful thighs. Straight and magnificent, his erection begs me to impale myself on it. He would fill me to the limit, and the veins beneath his sateen skin would rub all the right places inside me. The tiny opening on his engorged crown is salivating—a drop of crystal liquid gathers and drips down his length.
Some carnal urge seizes control over my body, and I lean down, flicking my tongue over the throbbing top. I softly whimper when I taste him.
Terror petrifies me when Diaphonus responds with a moan and a gentle thrust of his hips. His eyes are still closed, yet his broad chest is heaving. The move has shoved him into my mouth, filling me all the way to the throat, and I’m savoring his divine taste, needy for more. I move my head up and down, intoxicated by the sight of this powerful male at my disposal. He responds to my moves with short thrusts and muffled moans. His head thrashing, eyes still closed, probably having the wildest dream right now. Or he’s pretending, I speculate.
And I don’t care. That suffocating grip of iron self-control I’ve always had is gone, melted in the heat of the moment. My therapist would be so proud!
My middle and index finger are not enough to fill me, and I lift my head, his shaft escaping my suction with a pop, and look around, desperate for release. If I mount him now, I will orgasm immediately. The walls of my pussy are already spasming around my digits. With his involuntary assistance, I would probably start glowing, as it is already known that I start channeling my arcane power when I’m climaxing with a magical prick inside me. And his is the most magical of them all. I squirm at the embarrassing possibility of him waking up to me taking advantage of him. So I grab the massive handheld mirror discarded on the nightstand at my bedside. It has a thick metallic handle engraved with flowers and leaves that would provide excellent friction.
I slowly insert the cool silvery handle into my dripping opening, giving my pussy time to adjust to the hard, ribbed surface. I softly moan as I start gliding it in and out, my fingers gently stroking my nub. I catch a reflection of my spread pink flesh on the mirror’s surface, and I watch, hypnotized, how I stretch around the metal. My movements are becoming more frantic, and I feel an apocalyptic climax building up.
Suddenly a hot spurt of liquid slaps my stomach and breasts. I look away from the mirror to see Diaphonus looming over me, his fist still pumping his enormous erection, the last drops of his seed dripping on the sheets.
“I’m glad you’ve started exploring my theories,” he purrs and smiles smugly.
Diaphonus – The Priest
C eleste is petrified, her face burning bright red in shame.
Her body is drenched in my seed. Her sex is shuddering around that mirror handle.
I’ve intervened at a pivotal point. And this is good, as I have better plans for this mouth-watering opening of hers.
I gently pull the mirror from her slit, finding her open and hungry. My nostrils flare, the scent of her arousal maddening. It’s been centuries since I have felt a female’s heat, and the ages of celibacy have only sharpened my appetite.
The beast inside me awakens, and I throw myself over her. My lips suck, lick, caress, and consume. I’m drunk on her exotic flavor. She’s reluctant at first, but then my tongue finds her pearl, circles it, and slides down, trailing the outline of her opening. She thrashes under my ministrations, arching her back and grabbing my hair, making the cutest little noises I’ve ever heard. Pure music. Could Tarcyll make her squeal like that? I think not.
