Reaper's Revenge (15 page)

Breathing raggedly, Cynyr swept a hand down his nude body and a black cotton shirt and pair of black denims covered him. His bare feet were very pale against the darkness of the leather pants but at least there was color in his face, neck and arms now. 80

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“Do you want my blood or not, Reaper?” Morrigunia asked, drawing the angry man’s gaze to her.

Intensity narrowed Cynyr’s eyes to thin slits. His nostrils flared. A muscle in his lean jaw bunched. He was glaring up at the goddess with such force the room’s temperature began to lower.

She offered him her wrist.

Moira stopped rocking when she heard the low growl that emanated from the Reaper’s throat. Her fingers stilled on the knitting. Her old eyes grew wide as Cree slowly reached for the goddess’s arm and brought it to his mouth.

“Be careful what you do, my Reaper,” Morrigunia warned him. With his eyes locked on hers, Cree pierced her flesh as gently as he could, grinding his teeth into her arm to lock it in place. He drew heavily upon her flesh, swallowing almost sensually as he stared into her lovely face. Her blood was rich, tasting of some rare spice he could not name, very potent as it flowed down his throat. Erotic images were floating past his mind’s eye—sheathing him in tight, hot dampness, rhythmically squeezing, oozing around him. There was a subliminal memory washing over his subconscious, a wavering pattern that ebbed and flowed as he drank her heady Sustenance. Around him, the jail cell turned dark as pitch and the others simply vanished until there was only him and Morrigunia left—connected, linked, coupled together.

“Remember, my Reaper?” she whispered, and her seductive voice seemed to be coming from far, far away.

The scent of gardenia filled the darkness around him and he was floating upon an ebon cloud, drifting, suspended in midair. He imagined his body gliding through space, turning, revolving slowly, sensually until he was facedown, watching swirls of sparkling copper lights flitting past below him.

“Remember,” she said, her voice nothing more than a breath of sound weaving its way through his ear, into his blood stream, sliding potently into his heart and taking root. He saw branches of her words spreading through his body—claiming every artery, every vein, every organ, the smallest part of his sinew and muscle—and taking hold. The coppery branches snaked through him, slithered, taking over until he was completely saturated, impregnated with the goddess’ essence.

“Remember.”

Slowly the darkness brightened until he was lying in a field of fleecy gray clouds with silver rain falling gently around him. His hair was wet, drops of rainwater clinging to his lashes and brows, easing softly down his cheeks, slipping into his mouth to appease the terrible dryness that seemed to be racking his body. He was naked, the rain peppering him with soothing warmth and trickling down his chest, between his legs, under the small of his back.

His arms and legs were spread wide apart as he lay upon the downy billow of cloud, staring up at the silvery water spiraling down upon his face and body. He was 81

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completely relaxed—a willing sacrificial victim awaiting whatever fate the goddess held in store for him. Unable to move and not wishing to, he simply waited. She came to him on a shimmering burst of coppery light that shifted, wavered, surged through the gray expanse of the heavens. Brighter than the sun, more mysterious than the moon, she floated toward him, her naked flesh bejeweled in silvery rain, her wild red hair undulating like a live thing reaching out for him. Her smile was so tempting, her white teeth sparkling as her ruby-red lips parted and her sensuous tongue flicked out to lave the full, upper Cupid’s bow of her mouth. With graceful arms outstretched, she glided toward him, the bright red patch of curls at her thighs radiant with dewy drops of rainwater.

Hovering above him, her lush breasts beckoned as they pointed toward his hairy chest. The deep coral of her nipples was inviting—a feast for a starving man to feed upon. Beauty was hers and it was such beauty it hurt him to look upon her glorious face. Dark emerald green eyes bore into his very soul, the long auburn lashes sweeping down gently to hide those sumptuous orbs, and when they lifted, revealed a hot hunger that drove straight to his manhood.

Every inch of his flesh itched to touch hers. His palms were filled with sweat mixing with the rain. His blood boiled. His heart thundered. He could hear himself panting, his breath ragged and excited. His cock ached with a fullness that brought it to rigid attention—a throbbing blade that needed to be sheathed within pulsing heat. The stunning being above him drifted lower until she was but a molecule away from touching his fevered body. Though no shackles bound him to the vapors upon which he lay spread-eagled, he writhed, thrusting his hips upward to touch the magnificent patch of cinnabar curls nestled at the juncture of her shapely, milky thighs. His hands opened and closed in spasms of need for want of touching her, palming the sweet globes that were but a breath away. He dug his heels into the cloud, pushing his hips toward her but could not touch her. She was positioned above him—within impaling distance—but out of his reach.

He moaned. He whimpered. Tears filled his amber eyes. Frustration passed over his handsome face and he began to plead, to beg, to beseech her to take pity upon him and sate the growing passion that had turned his staff as unbending as stone. Her long red tresses floated down toward him until the curling ends touched his chest, dragging over him like fingers that teased his flesh and seemed to slither through his chest hair, braiding itself to latch him to her. Where it touched his skin, he tingled and spirals of heat wove through his loins. The sensation was so intense, so vibrant, it bordered on pain. As one long strand crawled its way along the tiger line of his belly hair and split apart to send tentacles weaving through his pubic hair, he groaned, arching his hips to feel the touch of that strand upon his cock. He did not have long to wait.

The cinnamon-colored strand wrapped slowly, seductively around and around his straining member, growing tighter and tighter as it bound him. Another strand spread 82

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down his sacs. The strand curling around his cock finally reached the head and split apart. One portion flicked across his slit, drove down a tiny ways into the core of his shaft and tickled him while the other nibbled at his sensitive head until he was nearly convulsing with pleasure. Still another errant finger of hair eased down between his legs and probed gently at the pucker of his ass—bidding entry and promising a dark delight that could only be imagined.

“Please!” he begged.

He felt wriggling tension sliding insidiously up his anus and he trembled, his entire body shivering. It seemed to grow inside him, spreading his anal canal until he was filled with a hot, slick probe that impaled him.

“I want your seed, Reaper,” he heard her say. “I need your get.”

A portion of his consciousness knew what he was doing was wrong but it
felt
right. It felt good. It promised unequaled delight. It whispered of forbidden things that filled the body with soul-stirring passion.

“Take me,
mo regina
,” he pleaded with her.

“All of you? All that is yours?”

The question drove a terrible fear straight to his soul but he ignored the warnings in his head. He ignored the moans that came to him from a thousand manly throats, the pleas that begged him to deny her what she sought. All that mattered to him was the fulfillment her rich voice offered.

“Take whatever you want that is mine,” he answered recklessly. He saw the sly smile that stretched her supple mouth and terror stabbed at his heart. He trembled at the gleam in her verdant eyes and a trickle of urine seeped from his rigid cock. Shudders rippled down his spine and pebbles of fear broke upon his flesh yet he was as unable to stop what he knew was coming than he could pull free of her siren’s call.

“You belong to me, Reaper,” she said. “And I will take what you freely offer.”

Her body slid over his and his shaft unerringly thrust into her warm, wet channel. He felt her hands upon his paps, her fingers twisting brutally as she rode his cock, drawing it deeper into her tight sheath. The weight, the fullness of that which impaled his anal opening grew larger still until it pressed against the walls of his lower body and began to rotate back and forth, twisting inside him and bringing a measure of such carnal intensity as it slowly moved in and out of him, he could barely stand it. Her cunt was milking him as the entity inside him began to increase its speed. It felt as though her vagina were suckling him—tiny tongues laving the head of his cock and probing down inside it with wisps of heat.

A firm, moist mouth slanted across his and a wet, hot tongue pressed between his teeth. He could feel that wicked muscle moving down his throat, flicking across his uvula and slipping down his esophagus. Tendrils of her hair eased up his nostrils. It was all he could do to draw breath around the obstruction, yet so intense was the lust riding him—so strong—he could not object…only endure.

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His wrists and ankles felt chained to the cloud. His legs—pulled so wide apart it was almost uncomfortable—flexed and pulled against his phantom restraints. Her fingers were in his ears and his eyes went wide as he felt them spiraling through the canals and into his brain.

He was impaled completely by her body. Every orifice was taken. One thick lock of her hair was curled around his belly to squeeze him so tightly he could no longer move. It seemed as though every ringlet of her hair had wrapped itself around him to hold him prisoner.

The burning began in the very core of his cock and then spread upward into his belly. It was not painful, but so intense, so powerful, it blocked out every other sensation racking his captive body. Flickers of lust wafted through him and settled in that burgeoning, stretching probe that was spinning crazily in his rectum. She rode him hard—slamming her lower body against his with such force she grunted with the effort. Rising until their flesh was barely a layer of flesh apart, she would drop upon him again and thrust him deeper into her tight, constricting channel. The friction as she moved was a delight such as none other than a Reaper had ever felt and it was a wicked enchantment that could burst a heart in the heat of such fierce passion. It claimed. It captured. It enslaved. It took him in ways that left him feeling degraded and humiliated, yet filled with such pleasure it brought tears to his helpless eyes.

Her teeth clamped into his lower lip, drawing black blood and she suckled him as the white-hot spasm of release came escalating up from the very depths of his well of manly juices and poured into her crucible of pulsing liquid that enveloped him in such overpowering warmth, he tore his lip from her grip and screamed with the violent release.

His cum shot hot and thick and creamy into her waiting receptacle and as the last wigglet of sperm exploded into her, she clamped down upon that life-giving fluid and captured it deep inside her, imprisoning it within her womb where it would grow and bring forth the purest of Reaper kind.

* * * * *

Cynyr woke with a vicious headache that made it impossible to open his eyes to the bright glare of the morning sun coming in through the jail’s front windows. There was a strange taste in his mouth and his limbs felt heavy, incapable of moving. He felt like a tick—full to bursting, barely capable of lifting a hand to the brutal pain in his head.

“I have your tenerse,” a voice said, and it seemed to the Reaper as though it were clanging like the clapper within a giant bell.

Sliding his hands carefully over his ears to protect them from the mighty rush of breath that was flowing in and out of the speaker’s mouth, he felt gentle hands pushing his elbow aside to turn his head to one side.

“Relax, Cree,” the voice commanded. “You are as tense as barbed wire.”

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Agony drove straight through Cynyr’s brain with each softly spoken word. The sound of his own head being turned against the pillow beneath his cheek was so loud it rubbed his nerves raw and made the pain even more excruciatingly hard to tolerate. But none of that pain was as savage as the burning invasion that plunged into his neck muscle and spread like wildfire through his veins. He could not stop the moan that escaped his lips.

“I know,” the voice whispered.

Gentle hands touched his head, his shoulder and braced him as the torture crept through his bloodstream to turn his veins to molten lava. His entire body shuddered from the torment and tears sprang to his eyes, squeezing out from beneath tightly closed lids.

As the liquid flames stretched from his neck to his groin and to his curled toes, he whimpered, crying out as the pain increased to such monstrous levels it threatened his sanity.

“How much was in that injection?” the voice asked, and it was a sharp, accusing biting out of words that were an accusation unto themselves.

“Enough to finish off the poisons in his system,” another voice answered. “Do not dare question me again, Reaper!”

There was a scuffling sound that told Cynyr one body was pushed away as another took its place. Cool, soft hands took hold of his wrists and brought his hands from his ears. A cooing sound—soothing and as tender as a newborn shoot of grass—slid through his mind to calm him, lull him, ease the ungodly pain. A fragrant palm was laid alongside his cheek and he nuzzled his face into that sweet plane.

“Lie easy, my Reaper,” this kind voice commanded. “Be still and be at peace.”

It was hard to resist the authority in that voice. His muscles instantly relaxed. His heart smoothed out its jerky rhythm. His blood ceased flowing so hotly and rapidly through his veins. The pain flowed away like mist from the seashore and left him feeling tranquil and composed, in charge of his own body once again. Sound no longer seemed so invasive. His breath came easily and did not drag like fingernails over sandpaper in his ears. Though his limbs were useless—unable to move—he felt a peacefulness he had not experienced in days. He lay there with his eyes closed, enjoying the soothing, cool fingers that stroked his forehead and cheek.