Lover Reborn

He moaned. Deep in his throat, he moaned in pleasure, and as he did, her heart jumped in her chest and then beat even faster. More of that heat, insidious and suffusing, bloomed on the underside of her skin, her mind growing woolly and her body getting languid.

As if Tohrment sensed the changed in her, he moaned again, his head craning, his chest rising, his eyes rolling back into his head. And then he began making mewing noises, the supplication fitting not at all with his tremendous size, the plaintive sounds rising repeatedly up from his throat, alternating with his swallows.

With the lights on, and her arm her own to retract, her panic flared only briefly, before being dismissed wholly. There was just too much of Tohrment in this for her to mistake him for anyone else, and the well-lit room they were in had nothing in common with that root cellar: All was bright and clean, and this male at her vein… was very much vampire and nothing even remotely symphath.

The more at ease she grew, the more aware she became.

His hips were moving all the while now.

Under the sheeting she would soon be washing, beneath the cup of what was now both of his palms, his pelvis was gyrating. And every time it did, his abdominals tightened and his torso arched… and those noises grew a little louder.

He was deeply aroused.

Even terribly injured, his body was ready for mating—desperate for it, if the way he moved was any indication.…

At first, she didn’t understand the tingling that came over her, numbing her up and hypersensitizing her at the same time. Mayhap it was the fact that she had given him two feedings in less than a day… But no. As Tohrment’s hands tightened anew at the front of his hips, as he gripped himself even harder through the sheeting, it was clear his sex had cried out for attention and he had been forced to give it some—

The sparkling returned even more keenly as she realized he was rubbing himself.

No’One’s own lips parted as breathing became difficult, and under her robing, the warmth cranked up even higher and focused in her lower gut.

Dearest Virgin Scribe, she was… aroused. For the first time in her life.

As if he could read her mind, his eyes shot to hers. Confusion was in them. And an eerie darkness that seemed to be near to fear. But there was also more of that heat, so much more…

Whilst she met his glowing stare, one of his hands unlatched from down below and traveled up his chest. When he touched her forearm, it was not to keep her in place or restrain her, but to stroke her flesh softly, slowly.

Breathing became impossible.

And she did not care.

His fingers running lightly over her skin were intoxicating, drawing her closer to this flame that she could not see. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to fly far away from any worries or preoccupations, until she knew nothing but the sensations in her body.

Indeed, as she fed him, she was fed herself, a part of her innermost soul nourished for the first time.…

Eventually she heard licking and realized he was done.

She wanted to tell him to continue.

To beg him, was more like it.

Raising heavy lids, she could not focus her eyes, and that seemed only appropriate. The world was fuzzy and so was she… boneless and fuzzy, with honey in her veins and cotton batting in her brain.

Tohrment was anything but, however.

He seemed sharp as a blade, his muscles straining now not just in his hips but his whole body, from his biceps to his abdominals—even his feet beneath the sheeting stood up straight.

His other hand, the one that had been stroking her, returned to below his waist. “I think you’d better go.”

His voice was so deep, she frowned as she tried to decipher the words. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No, but I’m about to.” He grit his white teeth as his hips moved up and back under the sheet. “I have to… Fuck.”

And that was when his meaning became clear.

“No’One, please… I’ve got to… I can’t keep it back much longer.…”

His massive body was so beautiful in this particular agony: Even though he was bloodied and wounded and bruised, there was something undeniably sexual about the way he ground his teeth and arched upon the table.

For a moment, her nightmare with the symphath threatened to come back, terror trying to gain traction at the edge of her consciousness. But then Tohrment moaned and bit down on his lower lip, those long white canines tearing into the soft pink flesh.

“I do not want to go,” she said roughly.

His face squeezed up tight, another curse breaching his lips. “You stay and you’re going to have a hell of a show.”

“So… show me.”

That got his attention, his eyes snapping back to hers, his body freezing. As he blinked, he did not otherwise move.

In a harsh tone, he blurted, “I’m going to make myself come. Do you know what that means? Orgasm?”

Thank the Virgin Scribe for the chair, No’One thought. Because between that graveled voice, and his heady scent, and the erotic way he was holding on to himself, even her good leg had no strength to support what little weight she had.

“No’One, do you understand?”

The part of her that had woken up was what answered: “Yes. I do. And I want to watch.”

He shook his head as if he intended to argue. Except then he said no more.

“Ease yourself, warrior,” she told him.

“Oh, Jesus…”

“Now.”

As she commanded him, a thrall appeared to come over him: Below his waist, under the sheeting, one of his knees came up toward his body, his thighs splitting wide as his grip secured that vital place that defined him as uniquely male.

What happened next defied description. He worked himself against the balled sheeting, rolling his hips, pushing down, his body gathering momentum—

Oh, the sounds: from the rasp of his breath to his moans to the squeak from under the table.

This was the male animal in the throes of passion.

And there was no going back.

For either of them.

Faster. Greater pressure with his hands, until his chest stood out, the anatomy appearing carved, rather than made of flesh. And then he cursed in an explosion of breath and jerked up against the grasp he had on his sex. His spasms had her clutching her own chest and breathing in a pant, as if what was happening to him was replicated within her own form. Indeed, what miracle was this? Tohrment appeared to be in pain, and yet showed no evidence of wanting what racked him to end—if anything, he drew it out, shifting his hips ever more.

Until it was done.

In the aftermath, the only sound in the room was their breathing, at first quite loud, then growing quieter and quieter, until they were still.

As her heightened senses receded, her mind came forth, and the same seemed to be true for him. Releasing his hands from below his waist, he revealed a wetness on the sheeting that had not been there before.

“Are you okay?” he said roughly.

She opened her mouth. Her voice lost, all she could do was nod.

“You sure about that?”

It was so hard to put into words what she was feeling. She was not threatened, to be sure. But she was also not… right.