Seithe (5 page)

Seductively lulling me to stay relaxed, trust, submit mindlessly. Indulging in sensory overload, without thinking about where it's going to go, or what it means, but to be completely in the right here and now, no questions, no expectations.

I'm enjoying this so much, succumbing to sensation, shutting out that little voice of reason; so easy.

I wait for my heartbeat to let me catch my breath before asking quietly, "Where are we?"

"It doesn't matter."

I wriggle around to face him. It's so dark in here I still feel blind.

"Phoebe, you are capable of so much more."

"More what?"

"Sensation."

Oh well, why don't you be more subtle next time? That's one way to try and get into my pants.

"Oh really?" I can't hide the smile of amusement tingeing my tone, plumping my cheeks.

"Tonight I want you to communicate non-verbally. Find other ways to express yourself."

Giggling, I open my mouth and point into it with my finger. Followed with choking noises, to indicate I am thirsty.

He chuckles before sitting up and retrieving a wine glass, which he presents to me.

I incline my head, feeling bloody stupid, and take it, sipping it slowly. It's warm, coating my tongue and leaving a biting aftertaste.

He's like a barely visible ghost; it's really dark.

As if sensing my thoughts, his hair turns blond, his eyes silver, and I catch my breath. I feel like I'm laying beside a supernatural being. An angel.

I trace his face with a fingertip. Soaking in the contours of a cupid's bow and sensational brows. How do you non-verbally communicate that you find someone beautiful? Cupping his face with my hands, I softly cover lips with my own.

Leaning away, I run my hands down his delectable torso, before breaking the moment with a giggle of mirth and two thumbs up. I then change my hand signal to the O of perfection.

His laughter breaks the silence with me. "Not quite what I had in mind."

"So explain yourself."

"Your body is a mass of nerve endings. All talking to your brain, imbuing constant information. Your body loudly tells you what it likes, and what it doesn't. Pain and discomfort, indicates dislike. Pleasure is enjoyable, it's something you want more of. Try and use these two polar opposites, to communicate to me, what you do and don't like. Yes and no. Without speaking."

I nod acquiescence. Okay. He's full of games, and so far none of them have endangered me. In a way it's fun. Sometimes it's a turn on. I'm prepared to indulge his little fantasies.

"Take your clothes off."

I shake my head to indicate the negative. He picks up the candle, then holds my wrist over the flame until it begins to burn.

"
Stop it!
" I'm struggling to pull free from his imprisoning grasp.

He puts the candle back down and stares at me, still gripping my wrist, "Did that non-verbally indicate displeasure to you?"

I nod, definitely intimidated now.

"Take off your clothes."

Grabbing the inside of his bicep, I pinch hard. I'm fearful.

"Aaah, that would be a no?"

I nod again.

"Find another method to indicate the positive."

Leaning over, I grab his head and slip my tongue into his mouth, kissing him urgently. Sometimes he scares me. I almost want to cry.

That was such a bloody shock to my system.

He waits for me to withdraw, before challenging, "But, what if you can't move toward me? How will you communicate then?"

Holding his strong hand, I give it a gentle squeeze of pressure.

He smiles, "Better. I like a fast learner."

I feel like flipping him the bird, but instead I grip one of the hairs in the hollow of his throat and pull it out.

His smile is so wide now, which is the last thing I expected. He runs fingers into my hair, commanding my head to his face where he invades me with a fervent kiss.

He's so cocksure.

Why do I always go for the overly confident ones?

Like an imbecile, I close my eyes and give myself to the sensory explosion.

With numbing speed he manages to pull the pathetic shirt down to my waist and flip me over, keeping me stomach down on the soft surface we're reclining on.

I can't exactly reach him now, to indicate displeasure. Instead I growl deep in my throat, my eyes unable to see him or what he's doing. A hand pushes into the small of my back to hold me down.

Searing heat drops onto my shoulder blade.

"Hot candle wax. Do not use your voice. Next time I won't be so gentle."

I fumble with my hand until I find his skin and grip it tightly between unvarnished fingernails.

He leans over, covering me with heat, his mouth next to my ear, "Good girl."

I'm wary. I have no idea where this is going, and I'm tense!

Something liquid and warm runs down my spine before his hands catch it, smearing it in palm caressing circles over my skin. A hand covers my eyes, forcing them closed.

A strong scent of tangerine rushes to my olfactory nerve. Now I feel stupid. He's massaging me, and I put up such a fight.

Fingers trace my spine, kneading into shoulders, stubble on my nape. I snap the fingers on my right hand, furthest away from him.

He places a hand in mine, his weight resting on my buttocks. I pull the hand under me so he can feel the biological response my body is giving the pressure of his hands. I hear him laugh softly before kissing my neck, wordlessly indicating pleasure. Fingertips run over my breast before returning to my spine.

Oh lordy this feels good. This dude is a Zen master with his black belt in relaxation techniques. I'm slipping under the hypnotic pressure into sleep. So relaxed. So warm …

*

I am rudely roused with a sharp cold in my navel. As my eyes fly open in shock, a finger is pressed against my lips insistently. I pinch the skin on his hand in response.

Bugger! Give me heart failure.

Gripping the ice cube, I flick it at him in silent challenge.

How long have I been sleeping?

I feel exposed and vulnerable again as it dawns on me I was sleeping on my back with this perv watching me.

He languidly laces my hair through his fingers, pulling the hand through it. Snatching it back, I use it to give myself modesty. Long hair rocks.

Retrieving the candle, he threatens me with it. Tilting my head, I glare in mock response, considering my options.

A smirk morphs his mouth when he offers me a knife.
Ha! Game on!
I nimbly steal it from his fingers and pretend I'm going to cleave him like a bad B grade black and white horror movie. I so desperately want to laugh.

When did you lose your shirt?

My eyes zone in on his skin, so pale under a tan, sexy.
Holy cow
, in this lighting ...
calm down body.

Isn't it a sin to be that sexy?

He catches my wrist and pushes back. I strain down, wanting him to at least feel the threatening kiss of cold tempered steel. Leaning in, he starts tickling under my arm.

Not fair!

Squealing loudly, I get up onto my knees to push down against his strength. His free hand forces a knuckle into my wrist. Instantly my hand goes limp; the knife drops from my fingers, landing next to his thigh.

Oh, it's a horrid feeling. Like hitting your funny bone. I try to pull away, but my arm is pathetic and weak. Useless. He easily pins me back down, resting his body over mine, before kissing me seductively.

I'm bored of the silent game. As he draws away, I whisper, "How did you do that?"

"Pressure points. You can render the biggest and strongest man useless, if you get to know them."

"Are we allowed to speak again?"

"Obviously, or I'd be holding your eye over that candle."

"My god, Seithe! That's a bit demented, don't you think?"

He leans heavily on me again and I stare up into brown eyes appearing charcoal. "Why do you assume you can trust me?"

"You haven't hurt me."

"Is that a sound reason to trust someone?"

He has a way of making me doubt my own judgement. I wonder what he's not telling me.

"Seithe, are you crazy? Did you escape from a sanatarium or something?"

He wraps an arm underneath me and flips us over so I'm laying on top of him, hot breath bursts out of him in laughter. "If I was insane, would I know it?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"I could lie."

"But you won't."

"Why not?"

"It's not your style. You like shocking people."

He smiles, forcing a dimple into the middle of his chin. "No, I am not crazy. I have only escaped hell. Nothing more, nothing less."

I reflect on his words on my being half dead and half awake. I don't feel that way now. He told me the key to freedom was in my heart. I think I understand the metaphor. He's escaped the hell of being only half alive.

"What are we doing, Seithe?"

"Playing. Humouring each other."

"Oh, so you find me entertaining? At least you're honest about it."

I feel slightly wounded. Although, let's be frank, it's not like he and I have been to the opera, followed by an in depth analysis of nuclear fission, and what it means to understand occultation.

He can't know I have a brain, so I am just amusement at this point.

I decide to respond using his game. Leaning my face into his neck, I mercilessly clasp the skin between my teeth. He starts to tickle me again, causing me to let go, just to bite into his shoulder.

He grips my hair so tightly I can't move. Lifting his head, he sneers those long incisors at me. For fake teeth they look a shit load more real than mine do. He then clamps them into my shoulder.

Pain shoots through me, unbearable heat, burning. A cry wrenches out of me in agony. He pulls away, blood on his lips, and hisses softly, "Don't start games you aren't prepared to finish."

I'm at just the right height and angle on him. I lift my knee and force my weight behind it. "Pain for pain, Seithe. Game on."

Chapter 7: Trust

That manages to get him to release my hair. I crawl away, to a safe distance from him. My hand over where he bit me; it's really bloody hurting. The throbbing is so intense that my impulse is to cry.

"Come here."

I shake my head in response, grateful for the long hair shielding my naked torso. Keeping my hand squeezed over the injury helps to dull the pain. I don't want to move, it hurts too much.

Warily, I follow his movement. Hollows of shadow dancing with muscular highlights from the dim candle. He pulls me between his legs and moves my hair. "Let me see."

Retrieving the shaking hand from my shoulder, I glance at it. It causes instant distress as I see my hand slick with blood. His grip is firm; air makes the wound feel even more painful.

"I'm bleeding."

My eyes are trained on his face, trying to read what he sees by his expression. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. They open and stare at me watchfully, silver orbs floating in near onyx darkness.

"Phoebe, I can make the pain go away, but you're going to have to trust me."

Nervously I twitch my head in assent.

"Does it hurt?"

"What do you think?"

"Remove anger and sarcasm for a moment. Don't you see this is the perfect lesson?"

"Yes, if you bite someone hard enough you'll get them to bleed to death." I add with harsh bitterness, "Hang around with a biter and he'll fucking
hurt
you!"

Staring back into his pale face, chiselled sharply with contrasts, I hate that I still find him attractive after he's physically hurt me. I want to hate him, but just can't dredge up that emotion around him.

He leans his nose closer to mine, gently touching my lips with his own.

"Sorry," he whispers so softly, I almost don't hear it.

Great. Tenderness after physical brutality just makes the sluice gates want to smash open. And I'm fighting that female instinct with every ounce of pride I own.

Gripping my head at an angle away from my shoulder, he traces his tongue over the bite.

Sick, demented, weirdo.

"You make me feel ill."

He pauses, his breath highlighting exposed nerves, making them ping loudly through my body, announcing searing pain.

"Saliva kills bacteria and is a salve on any wound. All animals come standard with this feature, which is why throughout the animal kingdom, the wounded lick their wound. A mother licks the wound on her offspring, to cleanse it, and to help it heal. Nature sickens you does it? Or just me?"