Chapter 13

He said the words look at me, and she realized her eyes had drifted from his to the door. He was amused and not angered by her lapse, perhaps mistaking her distraction as passion. She returned her focus to his body against hers, willing her body to orgasm, knowing that, as turned on as he had been before, he would follow her. She slid her fingers through the thick dark hair, cupping the back of his head and brought his mouth to hers. She saw his eyebrows raise in surprise and suspicion, but when she stroked her tongue over his lips, he did not pull away. She closed her eyes and focused on replicating all the things she had ever found enjoyable in a kiss, imagining the green-eyed man kissed her back rather than her blue-eyed owner. Her owner was quick to reciprocate, and closed his eyes, groaning into her mouth. His hands closed behind her shoulders, lifting her towards his mouth as he deepened the kiss. He was a quick study, she noted, his first clumsy strokes against her tongue refining and growing more confident. She eased the kiss to just their lips and breath mingling, before deepening it again, showing him how to build heat. He came, surprising them both, from the expression on his face. He chuckled and grinned at her revealing his sharper canines and premolars, not the derisive or sneering smirks he had given previously, but a delighted smile of genuine amusement, before he returned his lips to hers. She gentled the kiss, showing him lazy grazes closed mouthed, gradually increasing until they were devouring each other, and she felt her body respond to his gentle rocking, the pressure building until it broke over her, causing her to grip his hips to hers. She felt him come, the second, longer orgasm that often released him, though sometimes he needed a third or it would take a length of time asleep over her to relax him sufficiently to withdraw. "Kiss," she said to him. "It is called a kiss. Your people don t do it, do they?" "No," he replied, surprising her. "I enjoy it." Which answered another suspicion – he spoke her language but chose not to. "You speak my language," she prompted him, wondering what else he might disclose if he spoke to her. "Hmm," he rocked his hips testing whatever part of his anatomy locked them together. He lowered over her, settling himself in to wait, his face in the curve of her neck. Not going to talk with her, then, she thought, and wondered if she could work on that by giving him sufficient motivation. She stroked her hands over his shoulder and felt his hum before it became audible and pressed her lips to the curve of shoulder that lay within reach. His hum picked up, the tone she recognized as encouragement. She kissed his neck and along his shoulder. "Kisses." "Mhm," he was listening, she had his interest. "Do you like them as well?" There was a long silence. Had she lost him? "I like your mouth on me," he said finally. "You should also sink your teeth into me." "Bite you?" She was surprised, but it was also the longest sentence he had spoken, so she mentally marked it as a win. "Yes." "But won t that…" She paused and found her bravery. "Won t that make you angry?" She felt the tension build in him, and it alarmed her. "Not if you bite me there," he said with a purr interrupting his voice and easing her anxiety. Not angry, she thought, aroused. "You need to make it bleed so that it will scar. If that spot does not appeal to you, you can bite here, as well," he lifted and touched his chest. It meant something, like the scars on his body. "What does it mean? To bite you in one of those places." He considered her through narrowed eyes. "Old tradition." She placed her mouth against his chest where he had indicated. "Here?" He had caught his breath. "Yes." "Are you sure you won t get angry?" She said against his skin. He rocked his hips and groaned, the sound mostly growl, the timbre of which distracted her from the temptation of revenge without repercussion, hitting her deep, and causing her mind to fog as her body pressed against his. His growl darkened, and he caught her mouth with his, adding his new skills at kissing to the mix of sensations. Her nails scored him as she clutched him tightly. He circled his hips against her, and she sobbed in a breath. "Bite me," the words were warped by his purr. "Oh, god." She mistook the words for his normal command to open her eyes and fought to open hers and meet his. "I will give you pleasure if you bite me," he coaxed, and lifted so that his chest was pressed against her chin. She closed her teeth on his skin, stroking her tongue over the salt of him. His rumble increased, and he rolled his hips against hers in a continuous flow of pressure, grinding her into orgasm. She sank her teeth into him, feeling his skin give and tasting the metallic salt of his blood. He released a roar of sound, the frequency of which sent her plunging straight into a second orgasm and caused her to bite deeper. She felt him come, his hips pressing hers into the carpet, as he caught the back of her head, pushing her face into his chest. "Deeper," he hissed, and she obeyed, hearing his growl. He released her head, and she recalled herself, realizing she was swallowing mouthfuls of his blood and gagging. He closed his hand over her mouth when she made to spit, forcing her to swallow it, his azure eyes ablaze with success. He was proud and thrilled, she thought, not sure how she was so sure of it. He had succeeded at something he had set out to achieve. "Good girl," he purred at her, and released her mouth, before using his tongue to capture the blood that was on her chin. "Lick my wound," he commanded, the rumble in his chest constant. She swallowed her fear and disgust and did what he had instructed, stroking her tongue over the still bleeding bite mark she had left in his chest whilst he purred and nuzzled her hair, oozing satisfaction. When he released from her, he stood and went into the bedroom. She sat on the carpet and pulled her dress back on, bewildered. She had succeeded in getting him to speak to her, but she had learnt nothing from the conversation, and rather than achieving a win against him, she suspected that she had handed one to him. That suspicion was confirmed when he walked out dressed in the black uniform. He paused by the door, and pointed to the lead, repeating the words in his language. "Don t use the door," she replied. "Not quite, but close enough," his lips curled in a smirk. "If you talked to me in my language, I would understand better," she pushed herself up onto the couch, bold enough to try another approach. "I would be able to obey better." "But then you would have no motivation to learn my language," he replied, and left, closing the door behind him. "Don t use the door," she murmured to herself. She waited, to ensure he wasn t returning, an eternity of time, and then paced the floor, debating the wisdom of what she intended to attempt to do. What if he returned? She went to the bathroom, and ran the comb through her hair, staring at herself in the mirror. She washed her face, removing the traces of his blood, and rinsed out her mouth. She returned to the door, worrying her lip with her teeth before, finally, she dragged a chair over to the door, her heart hammering against her ribs. She stood on the seat and stretched her fingers towards the lead. She felt the energy charge a moment before it threw her off the chair and onto her back on the floor. She hit her head hard enough that for a moment, her vision faded out. As it returned, she stared up at the ceiling as fuzzy minded as when he used one of his growls on her during sex. Her body was a litany of pain, from the headache that was quickly setting in, her skull feeling as if it were an egg cracked over a bowl, to her back and bottom from impact with the carpet, to her hand which burned. She wasn t surprised, when she lifted it in front of her face, to see burn marks like lightning across her skin, leading up her arm. There was no way that she was going to be able to hide the injuries from him. She closed her eyes and let her body drag her into blackness.