The House of Flame Lilies Ch. 05

"Stop struggling," she said breathlessly.

"No..." His teeth chattered. His nipples were so tight he thought the skin was about to break. "No, I won't." He pushed harder. He writhed. He glanced at the plummeting darkness and jagged rocks below. He yelped and latched on to her, even as he kept wriggling like a weasel.

She held him tight, wrestling with him. She dipped in the flight, her wings flapping furiously for a moment and stirring the wind wilder. She snarled. They rolled in the air. The speed pelted into Sparrow's lungs. He screamed. They soared and tumbled and swept in great arcs that made his stomach somersault. He begged and fought uselessly. She held him tighter.

Tighter.

Tighter.

He couldn't breathe.

His cock pounded.

His skin sang with heat and cold.

Tighter.

"Stop. Struggling," she commanded into his ear, scorching his neck.

"No!" he choked.

She growled.

He moaned.

Her teeth fitted to his neck, just above the graceful curve into his narrow shoulders.

He froze.

His heart raced like a greyhound.

He still couldn't breathe.

The wind whipped around them, combing rough fingers through his hair.

"Please..." his voice came strained, lost in the lupine bellowing of the night.

Her teeth punctured him.

And sank deep.

Pain. Terrible, acidic, penetrating pain. It lanced Sparrow. He felt cut to his soul, his spirit rushing from the wound into the darkness. His body went furnace hot. His eyes swam. His muscles turned to rock. His spine split. His mouth flew open and a long, strangled shriek unspooled from his seized throat. The fangs seemed to sink to his heart, to his core, to pierce throughout his being and hold him hostage in a sudden flare of cruel starlight.

And then the stars cascaded.

She sucked and the pain melted away. Like an icicle blade dissolving into the wound, the penetrating sharpness vanished. He was covered in the strange sensation of his flesh turning to liquid, stirred by the slow, rhythmic movements of her tongue. Warmth flowed through him. He forgot the slicing wind, the dooming fall below, the dread, the grief. He felt like he was sinking into warm milk. The glittering light of the velvet sky filled his eyes and hazed. Her leather wings turned to veils of smoke. Her talons on his back felt like the stroke of feathers. Her lips balmed the wound, her tongue teasing him dreamy. He could hear his own heartbeat. It rose in his ears, a gentle thrumming like the warbling of a thrush, tuneful, light, delicate, sweet. He could feel it in his cock. And he could feel her slow, strong heartbeat too, their pulses meeting in the undoing pleasure of soft to hard flesh.

He unravelled in her arms. His eyes rolled back into his head, the stars hurtling, and he dropped loose like a marionette. His hands on her shoulders fluttered down to caress her arms and waist with lazy fingertips. His spine relaxed and he folded backwards, limp in her embrace. He let her take his weight, bear him through the sky, like carrion, adrift, totally trusting in her to hold him aloft. What fear had he of falling? They weren't just flying, they were flight itself. They were air. They were mist. They were shooting stars. His hair fell loose and ribboned into the breeze. His mouth went slack and puckered. His neck unfurled like a flower stem, his throat open and tender and longing.

His blood flowed to her will.

Hadn't it always?

The instant Vestalia tasted his blood, it elated her. A sweetness like she had never known bloomed in her senses. He was pomegranate and peaches, but more. He was a meadow brook. He was the first rain of spring. He was vineyard earth. He was nectar. He was ambrosia. Drinking blood was usually like bringing lightning to earth, taking a wild lifeforce into her body and letting it charge her. Not this. Sparrow broke over her, cascaded into her, made a whirlpool in her heart. It didn't feel like stealing another moment of undead eternity. She felt alive. She felt like she had always been alive, all this time. She sucked softly, caressingly, folding him into a protective embrace. She carefully pipetted the essence in her fangs that killed the pain and bathed the mind in pleasure. It was important he enjoyed this. She didn't want someone who tasted like Heaven to feel like Hell.

She spread her wings wide and glided over the manor garden, her shadow rippling on the hothouses. She ducked down out of the whirl of wind into the shelter of the chimney stacks and floated down to the roof, still holding Sparrow like a bouquet of wilting daisies. She laid him on the slate tiles and withdrew to stand over him. He lay spread like cast runes on the slanting roof, tilted towards her, the ruin of his clothes tangled about him, like clematis vines. His small frame rose and fell into the moonlight with his slow breaths, the pale glow painting the subtle definition of his musculature in water colours and gleaming on his hair spilled over the slate. His delicate fingers were flung up by his face and curled softly, as if grasping for something. His eyes were half open, dazed and fluttering, his petal lips parted. The twin wounds from her fangs shone like garnets, perfect imperfections in his exquisite, warm, sandy skin. His cock lay thick and red and stiff over his abs, glistening from her wetness. She sucked the flavour of him on her lips. The breeze ran tantalising hands over her naked body, her nipples pointing, her cunt squeezing. The flames reignited in her thick, tumbling hair, rimming her vision with smouldering scarlet.

Sparrow blinked. He let out a thin moan. His face turned up to her, his eyes trying to focus, hazel tinted the colour of sap.

She took a step forward and stood with her feet by his, towering over him with her wings in a dark, peacock feather spread, smoke and cloud threading into the sky behind. The moon glowed directly above her head, Dianic, divine.

"Do you still want me to let you go?" she asked in a low tone.

He frowned sleepily. He lifted one gentle hand and touched the beads of blood on his neck. He peered at his fingertips. He frowned deeper. He looked up at her, those captivating eyes full of a hundred emotions he didn't understand.

"Why do I feel good?" his voice came in a hoarse croak.

She smiled at him.

"Make me stop feeling like this," he said pitifully.

The flames flickered in the ends of her hair and crowned her breasts with warm, sensual light. "You'll always feel like this, Carissime. We've met. We've marked each other. This is your truth now. Wherever you go."

His eyes went round as a doe's and his fine brow crinkled. He took a shuddering breath, gazing up at her like a fasting disciple, still sprawled, unconsciously exhibiting his beauty. "Your bite..."

A satisfied sneer slipped over Vestalia's lips, underlit austere by the fire, the fire that didn't so much as singe her skin. She lifted her bare foot and slid her toes slowly up the length of Sparrow's shaft. "You think my bite did this to you? You think I need some magic trick, some cheap drug, to make you my slut?"

Sparrow gasped delightfully. His knees and shoulders jerked and he arched up into the pressure of her foot, biting his lip.

She ran her toes down, then up again. She flattened her foot along his thickness and began to massage his swelling cock, rocking the sole, curling her toes. He mewled, his breathing growing harried. He rolled the back of his head on the roof tiles and his wound caught the cold light. His soft form writhed in and out of the starlight and the shadows of gargoyles and her vast, shielding wings.

She pressed harder and sped her pace, feeling him swell into her arch. "You're my slut, Sparrow."

He panted raggedly like the breeze at her back.

Sparrow couldn't hear the wind, couldn't trace where he was or whether he was even still in flight. Something was solid beneath him, but nothing was more real than the panther prowl of her voice, stealing through his body until he was overflowing with it. He half-heartedly tried to fight against it. But she used that spell-binding word again and his resistance fizzled like a wet match.

"My sweet, open, generous, littleslut."

She cunningly slid her foot along his cock with another pound of pleasure. The air and the moonlight lapped his skin, like the tongues of nymphs. His hands fidgeted. The pit of his stomach thumped with need. The echo of his thrumming pulse still chimed in his ears. If only she would stop touching him, stop talking, maybe he could remember how frightened he was, how terribly she had broken his heart. Perhaps he could escape if, just for a brief moment, he couldn't feel her pinning him under foot, making him feel like he belonged. Entirely. Maybe, if it wasn't for the pleasure, he would pray to God. But, oh, the pleasure...

"I can smell your blood," her voice picked back up in a vibrating rumble, as if it was heated by the fires wreathing her enchanting body and gushing in her hair. "I can hear your heart beating. You're so full of want, Carissime. It's all over you. You're infected with it. It has a hold of your mind and body like ivy. You don't know where your sense ends and your want begins. You're weak to it. So utterly weak."

He moaned into the night, the sound sloppy and thick and glugging. If he could just stop her touching him, pressing him, kneading desire into his flesh with her dexterous disdain. His trembling hands raised and slowly moved to her foot on his cock. He stroked over the smooth, elegant shape. He caressed her ankle and her calf. She felt so perfectly sculpted. He moaned again. But if he could just make the pleasure stop, he could resist her. The pleasure was the magic, the spell he had to break. He gazed down his body at the graceful, sensuous movements of her foot over his submerged cock. He swallowed. The wound on his neck felt sweetly bruised, aching for touch. He swallowed again. He lifted her softly from him by her ankle. He kept hold of her, just an inch away. She stood effortlessly on one leg, utterly still, majestic, descending on him once again from the riot of night.

The pleasure eased with the weight. He was free. He could think now. He could beg, bargain, run. He was his own again. He was still holding her foot, holding it like a rare treasure. He could escape now. He could want to escape now. He tugged at her ankle.

Vestalia chuckled musically and with a swish of her wings she floated a few inches into the air, the moon vanishing into a cold halo behind her. She drifted to hover upright over his face, one leg bent and raised, spreading the lush petals of her labia. Her foot pointed balletically to his lips as he curled his fingers tighter, gazing dizzily at the speck of crystal on her toe from the tip of his cock. He shuddered. He could escape now. He could get away. He could...

He pulled her toe into his mouth.

Vestalia's warm hum skipped into a laugh, filling his body with delight. He moaned with his mouth full and sucked. He was beneath her. Of course he was. How wonderful to be beneath her. His mouth began to move in earnest on her foot, worshipful, hungry. She tasted of charcoal and stone and somehow it was better than food. He wormed his tongue in sly loops around and between her toes. He pressed kisses to her heel. He tickled the arch with the point of his tongue. He nibbled along the curving side. He sucked greedily, kissed gluttonously, sighed and moaned over her skin. His cock still ached. His wound prickled. His core was warm. He threw every thrill of sensation into the joy of falling at her feet and debasing himself for her glory.

A heated hum came to him in the thicket of desire. His eyes roved upwards and widened in awe as he saw her over him. Her imperious figure loomed from the darkness, fire dancing on her flesh, smoke pouring from her hair and wings, overwhelming the stars. She was a meteor, burning up the sky with her ferocity. And she was smiling, bliss and victory radiant on her ghastly, stunning face. Her crushed-cherries vulva shone swollen and bright, a midnight sun entrancing his eye. One hand cupped her breast, the shadows in her curves misting her beauty magical. The other hand undulated on her soft abdomen, her long, strong fingers nestled in her soaking clit and stoking her heat to a consuming fire, flames kissing her nipples, flames in her eyes, flames reflected on her gleaming teeth. She willed her own pleasure as she feasted on the sight of him broken and drowning her foot in worship. It made him pulse. It made him pine. It was a narcotic. Saliva welled in his mouth and laced her skin as he kept sucking, kept kissing, kept nipping her softly. Some small part of him wondered if he bit her, might she bite him again? Did he want that? He couldn't want that. He ran his lips around her sole. He closely watched her fingers delve and stir in her folds.

"Do you want me to bite you again?" Her volcanic voice crept through the darkness. "Do you want me to drink from you and make you weaker still?"

He sucked like an infant on her toe and shrank back into the hard tiles. He gazed up at her with heart-melting, innocent fear. She smiled around her bright, stained fangs. She pulled her foot away from him, his mouth following her pathetically. She stepped on his chest and forced him back into his supine sprawl. She ran the point of pressure down his torso and returned to massaging his cock underfoot. Pleasure javelined Sparrow. He keened and writhed. He wanted her weight. Nothing had made him happier to be small and easy to grasp and easy to crush than being with her. Wordless babble trickled from his trembling lips.

Vestalia worked him so hard he felt lead-heavy with need and coursing blood. The coolness of the night licked his nipples and his thighs and his tingling throat. It curled into the heat boiling in his pinned body. He kept gazing imploringly into her eyes, her merciless eyes that willed him to want what he couldn't want, to beg for what he couldn't bear.

"Please..." The word left him unbidden.

"Please what, Carissime?" Her toes curled over his tip and pressed, welling the pleasure at a single, intense point. Her fingers circled deep in her flesh, her broad hips and wings unstill.

He coughed and shuddered. "I... I don't know..." He hauled the breath through his quivering jaw. "Just... Please..."

Her wings folded back and up, creating the proud rises of mountains either side of a ravine of stars. Her body glimmered ruby. Her eyes sank in black veins. She released him and stood astride him, the wet glisten of her cunt meeting his eye under the veil of her coaxing fingers with their fine claws. His mouth watered. He bit his lip. She watched him through a swirl of smoke from her dazzling hair. She lowered herself slowly to kneel astride his hips. Her wings folded over them, like a nutshell, enveloping Sparrow in darkness and smoke-infused warmth. Her flames vanished again, the poker-glow swelling into the cocoon around them and painting them both pomegranate red. He broke into a hot sweat in the encasing embers. She bent close, the meat and metal scent of her breath sending shivers through him. She stroked her sharp nails over his chest, like needles about to pierce an unravelling tapestry and embroider it clean again. His heart thumped sickeningly, drumming in his skull and pummelling the back of his mouth. His hands splayed on the frost-bitten tiles. He went concave. She leaned closer, fangs less than an inch from his face. Her nipples kissed his, her clit kissed his cock.

He whined. "Please..."

"Keep saying that," she whispered. "Keep begging for mercy."

"I'm begging you," he breathed, telling himself he hadn't inched his hips up to feel the kiss of her clit again. Her lips skimmed his, his skin just catching the blade of her teeth. He moaned. He flattened to the tiles, ridges in his back. "Please." Her cunt pressed to his tip and circled. Pleasure and terror rolled through him. His voice squeaked. "Please, no, don't... I can't... I... Please!"

A low, sultry growl stole from her throat. She glared at him with vibrant eyes, pools of blood-coloured liqueur. The heat in the shell of her wings was stifling. Tendrils of her hair dusted his body and seared him, hissing on his sweat. Her talons curled on his waist, clasping him, holding him tensely still. One sharp gasp, one twitch, and she could pierce him. Her cunt swallowed his cock.

White hot want erupted in Sparrow's body, pleasure surging in his abdomen and his legs and the small of his back. He clamped his teeth shut around a grating, needy groan. "No..."

She began to move on him, to roll like rockfall, to thrust and twist. Her cunt sucked and squeezed his cock, sliding slick. Her body grazed his, his pulse responding in stabbing beats. She wrapped his lithe, limp body in her long, clawed fingers. He drooped like harvested wheat and she fucked him. Hard. Rough. Her heavy breaths were chased by quiet snarls. Each harsh thrust knocked a hoarse moan from him. His tongue trembled around pleas for her to stop, to release him, to take the pleasure away that was corrupting his body and soul. Each prayer died in a surge of sighs. He tried to push her off and his fingers curled and clung to her. He tried to withdraw from her heat and his hips bucked and writhed to drive deeper into her clutching softness.

"Please... Please..."

"Good boy, beg me, pray to me."

"Oh... Mistress... Please..."

"I know what you want." Her claws pricked his skin, danced over his ribs. "I know what you want, even if you don't."

"I don't..." His denial sputtered and faded in another pitiful moan. His cock was pounding, he was compressed by heat and crimson darkness.

"You do, Passer." Her voice slithered into his ear as she folded forward. "Let me show you what you want." Her lips brushed his stretched neck.

His stomach jolted, his head spun. He tried to scramble free but the motion covered him in pleasure as he wriggled in her body. She chuckled wickedly and bobbed her head back up to meet his wide, startled eyes. Her contorted face loomed too close, every vein etched stark, her pupils all-consuming black holes. His breath came shallow. His pulse rocketed. The dark lantern glow from her hair turned her to a devil crawling from the mouth of Hell. She smiled coldly. He couldn't keep his eyes from her teeth. They drew like daggers as she opened her mouth, cobweb threads of saliva spinning between the points of her fangs and her luxurious lower lip. She bent her head. He held his breath.

"Please..."

"Don't resist me."

"No..." He didn't know if he was defying her or agreeing. "Please..."

She drove her bite into his aching wound.

A split second of world-rending agony.

And then bliss. Complete, despised bliss.

Sparrow mewled and melted under her, feeling his solidity trickle away in the furrows of the roof tiles. Darkness embraced him and he embraced it. His eyes fluttered closed. His hands gripped her fat tight, then wilted from her and fell like tulips by his side. She lifted his body to hers, his skeleton loose and his muscles like syrup. His hair tumbled behind him as his chest was pulled up to hers and his head dropped all the way back, leaving his long, supple neck exposed. His throat rose into the red light. She began to thrust again in a staccato rhythm, matched by his tiny gulps for air. She gathered him to her, drank deep of his blood, forced his cock deep into her body. She devoured him.

Sparrow drowned in pleasure and confusion. He lost the distinction between his mind and his pulse, between memory and dream, between pain and pleasure. He crumbled like dirt and let her use him, let her ruin him, let her fuck him and feast on him and damn him. He fell silent, fell still. He drifted into the thunder roll of sensations taking his body apart. He surrendered like a leaf blown through a storm. Her mouth and her cunt moved on him powerfully, pleasure hazing his senses and his thoughts. Shame and fear simmered under it, somehow making the waves of heat more intense and irresistible. Release built and built over and over, dashed away from the edge by scratches from her talons.