The House of Flame Lilies Ch. 01

Did she say that out loud? Moved by her voice under his skin, by the pull of his pulse, he slowly stood from his seat and stole around the curve of the table. His blood drummed, hectic and hard, as he drew close to her, standing by the arm of her chair and looking down on the labyrinth of curls crowning her head.

She raised her eyes to him, somehow equally steady and lively. She glanced at a clear swathe of white cloth in front of her. He hadn't seen her slide her plate aside.

Sit.

Her lips definitely hadn't moved. Or had they? He was so transfixed by her eyes that he couldn't be sure of anything outside of them. He was falling into the deep abysses of her wide, black pupils.

He swallowed a nervous lump in his throat and slid onto the table, his legs dangling, his knees parted and level with the arms of her chair. He became painfully aware of his hands. Her hair was glossy in the red glow. He wanted to tug it loose and bury his fingers in it, thick and sleek. Her jaw was crystal cut, her neck was long and sculpted. He wanted to cup them and trace the lines of her harsh, hypnotic features. Her breasts crested like seafoam over the deep jet flow of her dress. He wanted to mould his hands to their shape and press into the softness, like he was shaping snow.

He balled his fists and put them on his thighs. He hunched over a little, hoping the darkness would hide the way his cock had half-risen and nudged his britches.

Vestalia's eyes travelled luxuriantly up and down his torso. They crept to his crotch. The corner of her mouth twitched. Her eyes wandered to his tensed hand and paused. She reached out and scooped his fist off his lap, holding him as gently as if he was woven from cobwebs. Her touch was cool, it stole through the veins in his hand. She lifted his hand towards her, turned it, and unfurled it to lie palm-up on her palm. Her other hand joined it and skated along the etched lines, like a fortune-teller. His hand in hers looked like a dry autumn leaf being enclosed in frost. Her fingertips tickled him, little shocks of electricity scooting up his arm.

"Your life line is odd," she said in a distant voice.

Sparrow didn't answer.

"It's so long that it vanishes off the edge of your hand. But it's pale."

He tilted towards her. He caught a scent of floral perfume.

"And your love line. It's deep. Carved into you, as if with a blade."

His heart pounded.

Her fingertips drifted and played on the cuff of his shirt, tracing a ring of scarlet embroidery as she had his life and love lines. "I do like the thread work of the mountain villages. Fine craftsmanship."

Sparrow half shrugged, half smiled.

She glanced up at him, batting him with heat. She pinched the tie of his cuff and tugged. It wilted open. She softly pushed his sleeve up to reveal his freckled forearm, the red tracks of thread changing to the blue tracks of his veins.

She bowed her head and kissed the inside of his wrist. The sensation shimmered through his blood and made his fingertips buzz. His breath snagged in his throat.

"Do you like to be touched, Sparrow?" she whispered, her breath tickling his palm.

Sparrow was breathless. His chest bobbed shallowly and sweat broke out on the back of his neck. She still leaned over his wrist, the closeness of her to his body, to his ache, tormenting him. His lips parted and trembled. He cleared his throat hoarsely and stammered. "I... I haven't been... At least, not much... Not for... A while...Oooh..."

As his answer had shaken out of him, she had pulled his shirt from where it was tucked into his britches and sneaked her hand underneath it. Her confident fingers rested just above his belly button. She rubbed the flat of her hand in small circles around his abs. The deft, tender pressure spread over his stiff body and melted into him, like butter on toast. He groaned, his head dropping back heavily. The heel of her hand skirted his belt. His cock twitched and grew towards it, like a flower blooming towards the sun. Her fingertips explored the subtle furrows of his muscle and just dusted under his nipples, prickling to points. The coolness of her hand was a balm in the close heat of the room.

It had been so, so long since someone had touched him with this much care.

"You understand then?" Her voice poured like lavender oil down his spine. "How it feels to long for someone's touch?"

His eyes rolled back into his head. Without thinking, he interlaced his fingers with the hand cupping his palm. His heart and cock thrummed in a call and response song.

She stroked up and massaged his nipple, drawing a croaking moan from him. She stroked down and caressed the jut of his hip bone. Her voice came softer than a feather, richer than peat. "Do you ever feel longing, Sparrow?"

His eyes flickered open and immediately flooded with the flames behind her. His body surged. He felt a misty slick bloom on his skin. It made her strokes drag, friction singing him.

He nodded.

Vestalia's upper lip curled over her long canines. She slid forward in her seat and settled between his knees. She took a slow breath. She pulled his interlaced hand to her mouth. She began to peck and suck his fingertips, as her other hand glided up his torso and nestled into pleasuring his nipples, stroking, circling, softly pinching and twisting, spiralling out to tickle the tender skin lower on his chest, then back in to taunt the points.

"Oh... My..."

A dual pleasure sank into Sparrow's flesh. The stunning stimulation on his unprepared skin twinned with the weeping sensation in his chest, the fragile bliss at being caressed so kindly by this beautiful creature. His gaze fell to her mouth, pouting around his fingers. Her wet, warm suck tugged his blood to the surface, tingling in his healing soreness.

Her lips slipped from his fingers and drifted around his hand and down the vein in his wrist, her tongue flickering on the fine pathway. Each little lap skipped over his pulse. Her touch ebbed and flowed on his nipples, pleasure simmering in his body, brought to boil and cooled in rhythmic cycles, sighs escaping him like steam. He moved unbidden under her hand, his torso undulating subtly to chase deeper presses and speedier strokes. His hips began to rock. Just a little. His cock thudded with want and jerked his muscles into restlessness.

Her hand ran down the shallow furrow from his collar to his belly button. He moaned and rippled with it. He tipped backwards and caught himself on one hand thrust out behind him, leaning back to present his body for consumption. A candlestick chinked, as he landed a little heavily on his palm. The anxiety over her seeing his hardness ghosted away. He wanted her to see. Needed her to see. To take pity.

Vestalia hummed on his pulse point. She tilted back. He blushed crimson, as he saw the way she drank in the vision of him spreading his body for her. For a harsh moment, he thought she was going to laugh. She was such an unearthly woman and he was - what? Some carcass picked off the mountainside. But she didn't laugh. She ran her red tongue over her full, burgundy lips.

Sparrow's heart banged in his ribcage. Blood rushed in his ears. His mind filled with images of her mouth on him, devouring him. Her dress fell on the contours of her figure and taunted him. He went dizzy. His palms burned. He couldn't remember wanting like this. It was like wanting to survive. It was primal, essential.

Vestalia eased her hand from his tightening grip. She grinned and reached out to his waist. She held his eye with a mischievous glint, as she slowly unlaced his britches. Sparrow gulped. His cock leaped at the nearness of her hand. She bent to reach the lacing, and her snakes' nest of red-tipped, black hair ducked into the moonlight, threading silver through it. His hand floated up. He hesitated, retreated, then cautiously laid his hand on the crown of her head. Her hair was silken and the updo was dense. He exhaled in gentle satisfaction at the feel of it, combing his fingers into her locks with the same pleasure as dipping his hand into warm water. Vestalia chuckled and purred, smiling up at him and rolling her neck so his fingertips pressed into her scalp and teased. She shimmied her shoulders slightly, a quiver going through her flesh. A sudden, wild joy whipped Sparrow, the realisation she enjoyed his touch. It emboldened him a little. He stroked with more purpose around her scalp, the nape of her neck, her ear and jaw. As he cupped her cheek, she turned her face and nipped the protruding vein in his wrist, with a sly glance from her hellfire eyes. The last loop of his britches came unfastened. She peeled him like an orange.

His cock sprang up, swollen and berry dark, the tip glistening in the starlight.

His heart thumped, as she exposed him, jumping into his throat and almost choking him. The shock of her brazen hunger stirred his own. The ache in his cock turned sharp. He made a strangled sound in his throat.

"Spread your legs wider," Vestalia commanded softly, "I want to be able to take all of you in."

Sparrow whimpered. He obeyed thoughtlessly. Sweat beaded on the insides of his thighs. The decanter hummed, as he jarred the table cloth, leaning back on his palms and shuffling into a more vulnerable position. His arousal became piercing, as he felt his body throw off its defences and open itself entirely to her desire. His nipples sang with the echo of her tease. He could feel his shirt rubbing his revived skin raw.

Vestalia rolled her shoulders, like a panther, and made a low noise of pleasure. Her mouth bore down on his cock, heat rising in it almost painfully. She glanced the head with her lips.

Sparrow's breath snagged. His fingers closed in her tresses. He flinched at the idea of pulling her hair and forced his hand loose. She began to press a series of kisses around his hips and abs. Her long fingers curled on his waist and held him steady, as he writhed under the warm tease of the tip of her tongue serpentining along his skin. She kissed down his thighs, rose and pushed up his shirt and sucked his nipples, kissed back down his abs, and skirted his cock again. There was no getting used to the sensation. No matter how much she gave him, each kiss was fresh as aloe and sent another bolt of shivering pleasure through him. His eyes blurred in the pale wash of the vast window. He tumbled in the stars. He lost all grounding except the fierce, pulsing ache in his cock.

"Ves... Ves..." He tried to say her name, but his breath came too short, too fast. Words were like sand in his mouth.

"What is it, Little One?" she whispered, her teeth grazing over his kidney, her breath searing his cock. She smiled. "Well, not so little."

Sparrow's tongue trembled violently. His face radiated heat. He tried to ask, to tell her what he needed, so much he couldn't stand it. All he managed was a single word, tangled and thick. "P- Please..."

Vestalia chuckled darkly, the sound resonating on the glass around them. She didn't answer him. Then her mouth closed on his cock.

The pleasure was wild and all-consuming. She fitted her lips tight around his head and sank slowly down, the heat of her mouth pouring like molten gold over his shaft and glazing his straining tip. Fire burst in his belly and cantered out through his muscles. She kept holding his hips, her soft grip surprisingly strong, securing him firmly, so as he tried to scurry back from the sudden rush of sensation, he couldn't break free and was forced to ride out the storm in his body. As the wave subsided, it left him steaming, tender, empty of everything and desperate to be filled - filled with her.

She sucked softly, whisking his sensitivity even sharper, then she drew her lips back up the shaft and wriggled them on his tip, her tongue sawing on the ridge around his head.

"Oooh... Oh, yes... Oh, that's..." Sparrow kept losing his words to strings of senseless moans.

Vestalia's hair gushed over his hand, as she rose and fell rhythmically, her mouth twisting on his cock. She engulfed him. Her tongue flailed and snaked, dragging up the shaft, wrapping the head and working the tip, salty dew spilling onto her lip.

Her mouth captivated him. He leaned back further to watch her, almost falling, digging his fingernails into the tablecloth to stay steady. Her lips warped on him, her tongue and teeth flashing into view, as she sucked and slathered. Her cheeks quivered with the ferocity of her movements. She was gentle, but she was unrelenting, ravenous. She lavished kisses and licks and slurps on him, drowning him in sensation, allowing no reprieve. The pleasure built and built, until it felt like it might break his bones.

Her grip tightened on his hips. He eased his hand from her hair and stroked the trails of firelight across her shoulders with his fingertips. He wanted to touch her everywhere, to commit every detail of her body to memory before he woke from this wonderful dream. But he was also afraid to touch her, like bottled lightning, what if he played with her power too much? Made her too dangerous? He held back from her, and surrendered helplessly to her devouring.

"This is... I..."

Her tongue tortured his tip. Coarse moans burst between his lips and scorched his throat. He felt like a clay pot in a kiln with too much fuel, seconds from cracking, shattering. Pleasure cascaded over his cock and abdomen and thighs, gripped his limbs and brushed lit matches along the ends of all his hairs. Her skin was so smooth under his fingertips, letting his touch glide effortlessly on her, encouraging him to explore the details of her vertebrae and the hollows of her neck. She hummed on his cock. It vibrated up his body. His heart bucked. He pulsed violently in her mouth and winced.

"No," he hissed through his teeth.

She paused. "No?" she murmured with a full mouth.

"Mmm..." Sparrow whined like a pup. "Yes... Yes, yes, yes..."

She smacked her lips on him and increased her fervour.

He begged himself not to come, not to stain this marvellous beauty and humiliate himself. He had to stay hard, to fulfill her appetite. His cock thickened, engorged, he could feel his blood flowing into it. He could feel his blood flowing everywhere.

She raised her head, freeing him, and caught his eye. Her tongue uncoiled from her demonic grin, a thread of saliva drizzled from the point down to his cock, the droplets slinking onto his flesh and webbing on the tip. He almost turned to ash under her gaze, the wickedness in it was thrilling. She circled her jaw, her teeth glinting. She dived and sucked again, harder this time. Pleasure shocked him. She lashed his swollen head, coating it in messy trails of saliva and heat, then she sank down, enveloping him, swallowing him. He felt his cock nudge the back of her throat. She didn't gag, but her eyelids fluttered and her shoulder blades tensed, as she relaxed her throat and took him deeper still.

"Ah... Oh... You..."

He felt like he was dissolving into her body, forging to her mouth. He groaned long and low and threw his head back, giving himself over to the glory of sensation sweeping through him.

She kept up this slow, slick rise and descent for several long, luxurious moments, stopping time, embalming him in lust. The hearth grumbled and the wind whispered and Sparrow moaned breathlessly into the night.

Then she sped up.

She took him so deep that she kissed the crest of hair at his base, then she spiralled her tongue helter-skelter to his tip. She kissed his head with a sweet, popping noise. His cock bounced. He shivered at her chuckle. She snatched him back between her lips and began to slide rapidly up and down his cock. She slipped like satin, as she consumed him. Tenderness and cloying need welled in his tip. She took him to breaking point, then released him and covered him in drenching laps. She dived again to renew the torture. The pleasure became symphonic, a riot of stimulation and lust and relief avalanching into a harmony that rang through his body, nearly shaking him apart.

His cock pumped.

"Ah!"

He keened and lurched both hands behind him. He grasped the tablecloth, sending a wave of tinkling through the dishes.

Vestalia raised her eyes from her ravenous reverie, her mouth smeared with his glisten and her eyes rosy, that escaped curl of hair giving her a delightfully naughty look. "Are you alright, my darling?" she murmured with a small, smug smirk.

Sparrow groaned. His jaw ached from trembling, as he fought for breath. "I don't..." he ventured, "I don't..."

She kissed his cock softly. He shuddered and moaned deeply, his eyes rolling. He forced himself to focus.

"I don't want to... Onto you..."

Her brow smoothed in understanding. A bright smile spread across her face. "Oh, Sparrow, you strong boy, you're holding back for me?"

He choked and nodded.

"You are good." She kissed his tip again, it pulsed painfully. "But no, Darling, you can come." She sneaked her tongue up the solid ridge along the back of his cock. "I want you to come." She lowered her voice, silk and venom. "Come for me, Pretty Boy. Make your offering to me. Show me how you feel when I put my mouth on you." She consumed him again.

"Saints!" Sparrow cried out, the heels of his hands screeching on the table. His hips bucked, defying her grip, and he thrust wildly into her mouth. She met his force with ease. Her tongue duelled fervently with his cock, parrying it and whisking round it and tangling with it, leaving him disarmed and desperate. Her sucking became crueller, her breath coming rough and the smacking of her wet lips warring with the snap of flames in the hearth.

Salt tinged the air. Sparrow rushed hot at the scent of his own arousal. Pleasure pounded in his cock and out through his bloodstream. It surged higher and higher, until the need for release was blinding.

"Come for me, Sparrow."

When she said his name, it was better than alcohol.

She writhed her lips around his cock.

Come. Come in my mouth. Let me feast on you.

Had she spoken? It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Only the brink. He scrambled towards it, heat soaking his skin.

I'm thirsty. Let me drink.

Her mouth was oblivion. His legs shook. His shoulders ached. His stomach sizzled.

Come, Sparrow.

His name again. His name in her lullaby voice. The sparkling night hurtled about him, swallowing the close, dark room. He flung himself into it.

Now.

"Oh!"

Now, Sparrow.

"OH!"

And he was soaring.

Pleasure ripped through his body and renewed it. The breath was torn from his lungs, as his scream of relief came soundless. His cock fired into her mouth, pumping and gushing over her tongue and down her throat. He heard her moan and gulp, sucking to draw out his climax for as long as he could bear, and longer. The pleasure drummed chaotically in his body, pulling his hips to move under her hands. He was a river and she was a rock face, directing his course and draining him into her. The sensations flurried and flocked, cascading and colliding at his core, in his flesh, in his heart, his skull. The stars wheeled. The moonglow throbbed in rhythm with his pounding release.

He tumbled from Heaven into the darkness and the fire and the candles, kissed all over by heat and cool and delight and shock.

He fell slowly back to earth, the table suddenly hard beneath him, his limbs lead, his skin braised, his body purged and quiet.

Vestalia leaned back, smiling slyly, and drew her thumb over her mouth, wiping away the pearls left there. She licked them off her thumb and caught his eye. He gazed at her. There was a watercolour, rose streak across her cheeks that glimmered in her eyes, dazzling in the darkness. Her breasts bobbed with shallow breath. Several black and red curls slithered from her elaborate updo and framed her face, like melting chocolate. She looked utterly in control, and just the tiniest bit spoiled. It was enrapturing.