Savage love, p.41
Savage Love, page 41
Longing for the feel and sight of her berry colored lips, he released her, and as if reading his mind she knelt before his seated position on the side of the bed staring longingly at his tool that stood tall and at attention. With a determined hand, he pushed her head down, rigorously pumping his rod between her beautiful lips, in and out of her hot mouth, down her clenching throat. Perspiration covered his brow as he thundered out, “That's right swallow it.” Buried to the base and with, his hands holding her head locked against his body he began humping and grinding against her face, trying to get deeper, the sounds of her choking and gagging a carnal symphony to his senses, her hard nails digging into the muscles of his thighs like heated spikes, piercing him pleasurably. He felt her teeth slowly closing around the base of his penis, clamping down so he could no loner move without fear of shredding his skin. Fire held him prisoner, gently nipping and tugging then applying more pressure until rivulets of sudor ran down his face. Their eyes met and he wanted to know all her secrets. Giving a slight movement of his head, his fingers playing along her scalp, with total abandon he gave himself over as her teeth clamped down. Dylan shouted, and then knew euphoria as her heat entered him and he cried out, “Who needs lightning when I have all this?”
It was a long time before Fire released him, pushing him back across the bed until he was once again sitting beside Carolina. With a dancer's fluidity she straddled his hips, was upon his still erect penis in one motion, bouncing and swaying. She leaned in and captured his lips in a kiss that scorched, their eyes locking, hers pleading, letting him know without words what she needed.
He reached for the dagger she'd secreted away. Inserting the handle between her smooth, peach shaped buttocks, he shoved the jeweled silver into her tight anus, sliding it in sync with his battering rod inside her volcanic vagina. He watched as she arched and undulated, her hot fingers roughly clutching his sack, yanking and tugging on his skin until he drawled, “Naw darlin', I don't wanna come yet.” He continued to feel her burning touch as she roughly pleasured him and with his free hand he slapped her sporty yet full tits, slid his hand up and down her torso, before traveling south to massage her clit and at his focused attention she uttered foreign phrases and chanted his name. He felt her increase the speed and ferocity of her pounding, up-and-down movements, on his flaming spear, sweat pouring down his face and chest, steam billowing around them and the room, their combined sexual scent of fire and rain so heady he felt as if he'd chugged several fifths of white lightning, their sexual burn increasing. Unexpectedly she slapped him hard across the face and his orgasm threatened, penis pulsating faster than his heart was beating. He caught her wrists to stop her from hitting him again, from pushing him over the edge and as he continued to rocket into her, she struggled while still riding him skillfully. By her pinned wrists, he pulled her torso to his lips. Capturing her nipple, he drew on it, bit down hard, then sucked forcefully, the taste of honeyed chipotles assaulting his senses, undermining his control. Holding her close he thrust once more so violently that the sky outside the large windows lit up with a play of lightning and deafening thunder clapped, applauding their performance. With a roar, he came and came, filling her with an unbelievable amount of his seed and energy, just as she let out a soulful wail, convulsing uncontrollably. Their bodies were drenched and glistening, ushering in a thundershower of his making.
When their orgasms had stilled, breathing having returned to normal, and the only sound in the room was the pitter-patter of heavy, crystalline raindrops against the window, Fire gave him a deep satisfied kiss, petting and stroking his cheek, whispering repeatedly that she cherished him, would love no one above her true lord. Tall, soulful and lovely Fire stood to tuck Carolina beneath the covers, brushing her host's pale forehead with lips of Brandywine before she vanished. Dylan could see the rosy imprint of Fire's lips on Carolina's skin, a sparkling pink as lovely and provocative as the color staining her cheeks, undoubtedly caused by all she'd just witnessed.
With the flat of his palm, he wiped sweat from his face and chest. He then tossed the dagger carelessly to the floor before turning to her with outstretched arms. “Honey?”
She went to him willingly, felt her blush deepening. “Don't apologize. Fire and Meadow are yours to enjoy; I can't be angry that you do. However, be careful, they are extremely passionate. I don't want you growing weak from loving them and me too. Now drink from me so you can be energetic for our wedding.”
“Wait a second.” He reached into the nightstand's drawer and brought forth her engagement ring, diamond necklace and gold medallion. After he'd returned all of her jewels to their rightful homes, he nestled his head against her soft bosom.
Her hand shook as she stroked his golden hair. “Swear on the lives of our children that ye will never forsake me, that tomorrow, we'll wed in the lavender field.” He planted a kiss between her breasts, nuzzling into her warmth. “I promise. Now I'd like a drink of your sweet milk. I won't be greedy and I won't be long but I'll ease my thirst enough so I'm able to accompany you at feeding time.”
When his warm mouth latched onto her nipple, sucking and drawing her essence-enhanced milk from her breast, she arched her back, murmuring his name. Grasping his wrist, she placed his strong hand upon her mound, spreading her thighs so he could stroke her in time with his pulls upon her tit. As his calloused fingers pushed into her she extended a lusty invitation, “Take your time treacle bear, oh yes, take your time.
“Gingernut everybody's waiting,” Patrick beseeched, coaxingly from behind her.
Heedless of smashing her wedding bouquet she gripped the deck railing looking towards the silvery-green lavender field. She couldn't stop searching the distance for her groom and in a terrified voice that shook, she sought assurance, “Swear he's there. I've looked and looked but can't see him.”
“He is, as are all your children. The entirety of the families, past and present, await. Come down with me now. He's growing impatient.”
“As certainly as the lightning brought him forth it can take him away. I know he's finally revealed himself to you. What if he must go back to a former home and time, is recalled before I can get to him?”
“It's but a few yards to the flower fields and there isn't a rain cloud in the sky. This is the only home that holds him now. The other places are but memories, as Fairyland is in your mind. Neither of you have the ability to return on your own, but I can and have, to ensure nothing will ever divide this new bond. Take my hand and calm yourself.”
Clutching her simple floral arrangement, she hurried over to him with her hands outstretched, Irish lace and ribbons fluttering, pink and cream rose petals billowing down to land around her ivory-colored flats. The moment her skin contacted his she began to tremble. Looking directly into his eyes she allowed him to see all that she was at heart, a terrified lass desperately wanting to actualize reciprocity of romance just once. Bottled up tears caused her voice to break huskily, “Please Patrick, allow me to see him. I know if I do not I'll never make it from this room.”
Caressing the backs of her hands, he silently marveled at her beauty, whispering assuredly, “Close your eyes Gingernut and you will.” He watched as she quickly followed his instruction and he simply thought them to where they needed to be.
If Carolina Conway hadn't been a nervous wreck, she'd have smelled lavender, poppies, and various abundant meadow flowers, heard beautiful bird song, and sensed hundreds of fairy wings fluttering in the breeze. However, in an effort to hold herself together, she missed those things and by keeping her eyes tightly shut, didn’t see the wondrous sight of her human family: her sister-in-law and her brother standing beside their father and mother, who cradled in her arms the animated ginger-haired baby boy who’d never known human life. So set was the bride-to-be on not, not seeing her intended, that she couldn't pry her eyes open but held on to Patrick, begging his forgiveness for the previous night, pleading with him not to punish her fo
She stood poised at the height of desperation too afraid to look in case she be overcome by letdown and fall headlong into never-ending darkness with no hope of rescue. Had Carolina been marginally secure in the belief that her groom was present she would have opened her eyes to behold his former families of many foregone historical ages, would have seen his father of this lifetime, Joseph Savage, enlivened with his arms about the great loves of his life, Susan and August. Fear induced witlessness interfered with her taking in the entirety of the blended Savage clan with all her smiling children and babes positioned honorably before them, looking relaxed and expectant in their everyday clothes, waiting for a once in a lifetime, truly, a one-of-a kind woman, to take her place in the family as a majestic wife and mother. So determined was she to not be disappointed, that she missed the rare sight of a large group of darkly habilimented guests, all of serious expressions, dark-hair, fiery eyes and dimpled cheeks. It wasn't until Patrick took her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking the slant of her cheekbones, and he leaned in to whisper against her ear, 'I no longer deny that you hold my heart. With that truth voiced, I give thee over to your new life', that she with a tiny cry was able to turn from him and open her eyes.
Though still not seeing clearly she couldn't mistake the blurry figure of her treacle bear standing a few yards away, dressed in denim shirt and jeans. At home were his favorite brown boots upon his feet and the wide leather belt with the shining silver buckle at his waist. Turning again to Patrick she pressed a shaky kiss somewhere in the region of his mouth and cheek before kicking off her flats to run barefooted, with the inherent grace of a gazelle, toward her future.
Reaching the lightning and hand carved black rock and marble altar she felt herself lifted high in the air and twirled around before her feet once again touched the rain dampened ground. Royal brilliance blinded her more, as if she were staring straight into the sun, eyes watering, focus blurring, seeing indistinct multiples of everything. Carolina began to grow faint, ears filling with accordion-like pressure. She barely heard a word or sound, strained the bit of vision she had to read the lips of the pastor, priest, or perhaps deity presiding over the ceremony and many minutes passed before she mistily saw she was being asked, 'Do you Carolina Heraserein Conway take Dylan so-and-so-and-so...” She almost bit off her tongue in her haste to say, “I do.”
If she hadn't been deprived of nearly the full power of her senses, so anxious to be done with the deed, to have a husband she could finally call her own, she would have realized a few important things. First, there were actually three figures conducting the ceremony and they all made the same mistake in her groom’s name. Second she would have acknowledged that the wedding band being slipped on her finger was dramatically different than what she expected, wider, heavier and thicker, somehow seeming to latch on to her body like a living thing as the pink diamonds around her throat did. Lastly, Carolina would have seen beyond the brilliant radiance surrounding her groom, been able to peer through eyes of lapis blue. She would have focused panoramically to see the truth that had been positioned all around her, sharpened that view microscopically to peer down deep into the electric and fiery souls of men who'd that morning moved heaven and earth, spanned countless centuries and raised hell along the way, to guarantee her happiness. Her terror at being abandoned once again, blinded her to the presence of an all too familiar man standing at Dylan's side during the marital proceedings, numbed her to his touch when he too took her hand, kept her from feeling one set of lips, then another, when the calls were given for the bride to be kissed. Alas, hours before and during the ceremony, then throughout the reception, Carolina wasn't herself, fay or human, or any combination of the two, nor was she under any spell. She was simply in transition from being officially unattached to eternally united, suffering from shock, a common malady, curable by a prescription of wedding night rapture.
Dylan stood within the stall's entrance allowing his eyes to etch her beauty upon his brain. Looking a bit shell-shocked, she sat upon a bed of fresh hay thickly mounded upon the floor. Though they'd concluded the ceremony and reception hours earlier, to slide easily into an extraordinary, extended family routine, she'd kept her hair tightly fashioned in the ceremonial style. The coiffure was elegantly simple, one braid on either side of her head, the ends of which were wound together and allowed to hang down to her waist with rose-lavender and white Gypsophila woven here-and-there amongst the fiery strands. As was dictated, she still wore her tasteful, cream based, rose floral wedding dress with its billowing knee-length skirt that brushed against the smooth skin of her pale legs, drawing attention down to her highly arched feet that had been bare since she'd kicked off her shoes right before the ceremony, yet remained spotless, as if she’d just emerged from a long bath. As always her skin was unblemished by make-up, cheeks naturally blush pink, lips a few shades deeper, telling of nibbling and biting in an effort to calm her nerves. However, her eyes, those magnificent sparkling windows, were the cause of him being stone hard with wanting, they told of her change, the renewal, and absolute purity of mind, body and spirit. Slowly he moved forward, not wanting to frighten her and saw her pupils growing bigger, darker, until the blackness overtook the unique Connemara green. As he reached out and clasped her hand, helping her to her feet, he smokily assured, “This will be perfect; everything you’ve hoped and prayed for.”
Timidly she attempted to extract her fingers from his hold pleading, “I'd like to wait, need Clover or one of the other matrons to explain again what's to happen, how it works, and then I won't be worried I'll be a disappointment.”
Holding her steady he anxiously gritted out, “The matrons and other women are all busy with universal business dealings, loving their husbands, or watching over the babes and children. You spent a good amount of time with them earlier; nothing has changed in the hours since. What are your instincts telling you?”
She met his eyes and confessed, “They've deserted me.”
Unable to resist, he pulled her a bit closer, inhaling the fresh spicy-sweet scent wafting from her pores and drawled, “How 'bout the fay girls, Fire and Meadow, the ones that are part of you. Can't they give you counsel?”
She throbbed below the waist, high between her thighs, at the thought that they’d previously known each other carnally and she informed him in a quavering voice, “The matrons told me Fire and Meadow are only permitted to come forth after my maiden state is claimed. Then Fire and Meadow may act as home, nurse and bed helpers to me so that I may be an excellent wife, companion, lover and mother, while allowing me to further my career, contribute wealth to our family and this vast clan so that it knows boundless prosperity.”
With one calloused finger, he tapped the tip of her impish nose, before moving his calloused thumb along the curving fullness of her lower lip. “Well honey, what do you need for this to seem easier?”
She drew away from his light touch, uncertain about the flames of need his fingers fanned whenever his skin made the slightest contact with hers. Taking a step backwards, she stated weakly, “I want to wait.”
If it were solely his decision he'd keep her as she now stood before him until she grew comfortable within the marriage but their joining was a collaboration of a far-reaching nature, which made them duty bound. “Naw darlin', this marriage must be consummated during the midnight hour as set down by the elders or the union is void and another petition can't be made for several years. Do you want to wait that long?”
A bit of cayenne was dashed in her tone, “No. No I don't. But if I can't have my say why did you ask?”
He smiled; there was his sweet, honeyed chipotle pepper. “Precious this is your say. You wanted this union, didn't object during the ceremony though you were given three separate occasions to do so. It's clear you're changed in some ways but you still retain that knowledge, you weren't forced into this marriage.”
Blushing, she em
Dylan nodded his understanding of her plight but couldn't halt what needed to happen. Instead, he worked to lay her fears to rest in his relaxed southern way, “Woman, I darn near plucked the planets from the sky getting ya what's been forever in your heart.” He placed his hands on her shoulders reassuringly, given them a little squeeze. “Gal, ya wanted a bond, a legal marriage for life.”
She blinked and nodded, then straightened her spine, a tender seedling beneath the mild warmth of spring sunshine. “Yes I did.”
He kissed her tenderly, fleetingly, because he could no longer resist the temptation of her innocence accepting that at this point he had no right to linger longer. For a few moments, he hummed to her, willing her to calm and accept. Tenderheartedly he advised, “Then don't fear what's done. You're loved and cherished beyond any girlish dream, fantasy or fairytale. It's time to reenter the realm of womanhood and take your rightful place within this commingled clan. Shillyshallying about mechanics of the union won't do any good. Trust that you'll be well taken care of. You loved coupling before, were mind-blowing at everything you did. This uniting of bodies will be better, fulfilling your every desire. Now turn around honey, your dress needs to be undone.”
Carolina knew from his tone that the discussion was over, so on rubbery limbs she did as she was commanded and when she completed her pivot, she stood looking slightly up into smiling brown eyes with glowing embers already alight in their depths. “Hi, sweet Gingernut,” Patrick greeted her adoringly.
Her eyes grew wide, lips silently forming his name. She shook her head trying to chase away the illusion and when he remained, reaching out to caress her cheek she recalled the day in its entirety, especially the trio of deities performing the ceremony making what she thought had been the same error, 'Dylan Patrick Donovan Savage'. There had been two grooms in attendance, each saying their vows once to her but she'd had to accept thrice, once to each man and then to the union itself, having the ultimate power to put an end to the proceedings at anytime. She looked down at the wedding band upon her finger, a warm, wide braid of lightning struck silver and galactic gold that she wouldn't have the ability to remove since the metals somehow fused with her spirit and only would her husbands, in unison, ever be able to take the symbol of sempiternal unity from her hand. He and Dylan had each kissed her when she'd been pronounced their wife and from that point on she'd been paraded in front of elders and parents of both her husbands, had even spent time with her old fay family. However, a great amount of her time had been spent with the matrons, who'd instructed her on the expectations of her wedding night. Remembered lessons that now, as before, made her swallow nervously and she exclaimed, “'Tis not right of me to have-” The feel of Dylan pulling the dress zipper methodically down halted her words. His lips, touching the side of her neck, had her leaning back against the hardness of his body, the steel of his erection.
by J. Jenkins / Literature & Fiction / Nonfiction have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on32 votes