The Dirigible Airship Disaster Page 11

  My limbs were like jelly, shaking, tingling and spasming to near uselessness. He was on his knees, kneeling over me, and he gripped the back of my neck, supporting my head, wrapping his fingers in my hair and holding me to the spot.

  He brought the throbbing, red tip of his dick across my lips, rubbing it slowly. It was hot as a flame, glistening and thick. I wanted to touch it, but I wasn’t sure what to do. I’d never done anything so terrible and arousing.

  Putting his hand under my chin, he pressed in and down with his thumb, forcing my mouth open. My eyes fluttered as he put the tip in my mouth, against the spot on my tongue he had been so enamored with earlier. I shuddered, my hands clenching the duvet as he held me there. I loved it, feeling so powerless and wayward. I relaxed my jaw and looked up at him. His stare was transfixing, and his breath fanned my face as he probed my mouth deeper. Groaning, his breath a harsh gasp, he grabbed my hand, and placed it over the end of his shaft.

  My fingers shook as I wrapped them around him, my fisted hand sandwiched between him and my closed lips. I squeezed him once, and felt him shudder, bucking his hips and almost hitting the back of my throat. Although I was beneath him, pinned to the bed in a vulnerable position, I became invigorated with the realization that I was the one who held the power. I could keep him there, bringing him to the edge and throwing him back again, again, and again until it was I who made him shake.

  I squeezed again, harder, and brought my lips to the very edge of his cock, sucking it, and moved my hand up the shaft.

  He panted, shaking and sweating as I kept up the motion, careful not to scrape his sensitive pole with my teeth. The balancing act made it hard to breathe, and I tried to inhale carefully through my nose, but the reaction I was getting out of him did nothing but quicken my pulse and hasten my breath. I delighted in the changes each twist of my fingers, each pump of my hand and squeeze of my lips and flick of my tongue across his tip had on him. To control someone so much bigger and stronger than me was a much higher turn-on than I thought possible, and I felt like I could cum again. I found my legs bending at the knees, opening, wishing for him to have quick access. The skin on his collarbone, neck and face flared up like flames, and he flushed a brilliant shade of red almost as deep as the delicious color of his shaft. A bead of sweat dripped from his temple. His eyes were shut tight, his mouth was open as he breathed in and out, deep and hard and quick, his chest heaving, the defined, cut muscles rippling.

  I dared to touch and explore him, and with my other hand, I cupped his tight balls, wishing to milk them, but not knowing how. Squeezing my lips, eliciting another gasp from him, I brought him deeper into my mouth, reveling in the feeling of his hot tip throbbing against the back of my throat, a place where no other man had ever touched me. Between my thumb and the curve of my index finger, I gently, gently clutched his sack, and pressed up into the place where it met the rest of him.

  Something strange and unexpected happened in that instant. He reared up, bucking, and I felt his breath catch, freezing in his lungs. His cock twitched, rippling like tiny electrical waves were coursing through it, and his sack tightened, and a thick rope of warm, milky, musky liquid shot out of him and into my mouth.

  His fingers gripped the back of my head tight, holding me in place as his breath released in a loud groan, rumbling up his throat. I yelped, caught off guard, trying hard to take all of his cum, invigorated, surprised and delighted that I could elicit such a strong reaction from him. His back arched, then slouched, his eyes still shut tight, crinkling at the corners as he panted. Before removing my greedy lips, I gulped down the last of him that spilled out, drinking him up. I flicked his still twitching tip with the end of my tongue, watching his face, and his bright, ocean-blue eyes flew open, and he gasped.

  I grinned, releasing him with a wet pop, and licked the corner of my mouth. His fingers were still in my hair, and although I still really hadn’t recovered from my paroxysm, he seemed fine, normal, no longer a twitching, shuddering mess.

  His gaze roved the contours of my body, and being so desired caused a moan to escape my lips, and I brought my hands up to my breasts, kneading them again. I felt so energized, and still buzzing with arousal, needing at least one more delicious release.

  He, mercifully, recognized my need. How, I’m not sure. Maybe this is what people meant by a ‘connection’. Still cradling my head, he splayed his other hand over my chest, over my collarbone as I tweaked my hard, sore nipples. The pain was exquisite. I leaned my head back into his grip, closing my eyes and soaking up the feel of him having utter free reign of me. He kept his hand there for a moment as my heart began to race again and my breath quickened, before he trailed a light, gentle finger down to the depression right below my ribs, then down over my abdomen and I shuddered as he went lower and lower still, until he reached my mound. I moaned, begging and pleading in soft whispers.

  He stopped, and it was agony. My eyes flew open, and he was staring at me with that same, dark determination from earlier that frightened me, yet I loved it so.

  “Are you mine?” he said, louder than anything else he’d said that evening. His hand splayed across my mound, almost like he was possessing it. What cheek. My brow crinkled as I looked back at him, wishing, pretending I wasn’t sure what he meant. I knew exactly what he meant, and I hated the question. He repeated it, in so many words.

  “Am I the only, lonely one to touch you?”

  I looked away from him, and in response, the edge of his thumb pressed against my pulsating clit, hard, holding me there and I gasped and shuddered. He released me, searching my face. My eyelids fluttered, and his face swam in my vision. He looked pained, the skin around his eyes and mouth crinkling in uncertainty and sorrow.

  “Tell me you won’t let him touch you again. I hate it,” he whispered.

  The door opened, and he let me go and I scrambled, searching for my robe, my heart pounding for entirely different, unwanted and enraging reasons. My back was to the door and I had no idea who entered, but Samuel tossed my kimono to me, and my hands shook like they weren’t even a part of me as I struggled to get dressed. His demand had my brain in shambles. His pain and sincerity had my head swimming. I swallowed hard, stuffing my arms into the sleeves, my back still to the door. Tightening the sash, I brushed my hand through my hair, but pieces of it kept falling into my eyes. I was soaked in sweat, his and mine. My insides felt like sweet, cotton candy, and my thighs quivered, and my soft, secret place still burned and ached for him to tease it to oblivion. The scent of the tropics invaded my brain, crystalizing my racing thoughts into a libidinous cocoon.

  Samuel was standing next to the bed, still nude, dick still hard and at full mast as he faced the intruder.

  “Well, that was certainly much more filling than I expected.” Her gossamer, gloating voice filled the room, and I turned my head, looking over my shoulder at Callista. My eyes widened, and my breath caught.

  Her hair was even longer, thicker, curlier and a much darker shade of purple, almost red. Her skin was smooth, her forehead high. She appeared fuller figured, even more beautiful than before. If I’d passed her on the street, I was certain I wouldn’t have recognized her.

  “Then you’ve had your damn fill,” Samuel growled, grabbing his pants. His belt jingled as he slipped them on His face was tight, and his jaw was clenched, the muscles on the line bunching and twisting.

  I looked back at Callista. She laughed. Her teeth were a brilliant, pearlescent white. “For now.”

  He words were taunting, and I could feel Samuel bristling, like a cat when it raises its fur and growls before the hiss, brandishing its claws.

  The heat in the room became intolerable, and I wanted to smother the fire in the hearth. My throat was dry, and I glanced around, hoping someone had left a pitcher of water on the dresser or on one of the smooth, black bedside tables. There wasn’t any, and the dryness in my throat became unbearable. I thought I smelled smoke, but the fire in the hearth crackled on serenely, and t
he tiny waft of smoke from the log drifted up the chimney. My eyes started to sting and I rubbed them with the knuckle of my forefinger.

  “Wonderful.” Samuel glowered, his eyebrow ticking as he grabbed his shirt. Callista laughed again. I could get lost in the sound of her. I was still so, incredibly, aroused, and her presence, however shameful the realization, did nothing to help the ache that seemed to have settled into my loins since drinking that coffee. I looked back at her while Samuel buttoned his shirt. An acrid aroma had settled in my nose, which tingled, and I sneezed into my elbow. Samuel rubbed my back for a moment, and his touch was the eye of hurricane. Pacification settled over me until he removed his hand, and a wave of heat pulsated in the room, reminding me of an oven opening and closing. Samuel appeared the sense the change in the atmosphere, and his eyes narrowed for a moment before glowering at Callista.

  “I suppose I can get my damn coat back,” he said.

  Callista nodded. “Of course, Mr. Quartermaine.” She tsked. “It’s hanging in the hall closet. Black isn’t my color, anyway.” Her footsteps were silent as she crossed the room, and stood at the foot of the bed, close enough for me to touch. She beckoned with a curled, delicate finger. “Come here, girl.”

  “Leave her be,” Samuel growled.

  Callista scoffed as I regarded her. Black tendrils curled from beyond her head, creeping into the room like vines. I could feel Samuel staring at me with incredulity, and unease. I couldn’t help it. The woman had a stronger pull than either Dr. Henderson or Lucius Marquis.

  She grabbed a lock of my hair, the space above her nose crinkling. She held the strands between her fingers, regarding them, and her enchanting, sparkling eyes gazed across my flushed, moist face. She suddenly grinned in that slow, methodical way which hypnotized me. “You notice anything different, Mr. Quartermaine?”

  “No. And we’re leaving,” he said, gripping my arm at the elbow.

  I didn’t move, transfixed by Callista. Her gaze never left me as she addressed Samuel.

  “Hm, well, your ignorance may do you in, yet.” She chuckled.

  He tugged onto me harder, and the black vines grew thicker. I sneezed again, and a tear pooled in the corner of my eye, and what I’d assumed had been enchantments drifting from her aura, were plumes of smoke. Samuel tightened his grip, tugging harder. I could feel his panic burgeoning along with the smoke.

  Callista’s expression changed. Her eyes narrowed, and shouts drifted in from the halls, and through the floor below. Her face darkened to worry. “Get her out of here.” She turned on her heel with a sweep of her dress. The room became even hotter, stuffier, and when she opened the door, screams poured into the room in a booming chorus of panic, and black smoke drifted in. Callista disappeared into the haze down the hall, and crashes and booms, hurried footsteps and louder screams assaulted our ears.

  Samuel pulled me off the bed and I scrambled to my feet.

  “Time to go,” he said. “Where are your shoes?”

  I gulped a dry mouth and coughed, pointing at the floor as the room darkened with smoke.

  “You really need to stop throwing your clothes around, woman.” Samuel picked up my slippers, handing them to me, and crossed the room to the balcony.

  The floor began to bow, cracking and splintering near the dresser. I kept coughing, unable to catch my breath. Orange, white-hot light from the fire raging throughout the lower levels shined through the broken floor boards, and the greedy flames licked up the wall, turning it black. Strong arms embraced me as my vision went blurry and watery, the rims of my eyes stinging. He pulled me along to the balcony.

  “It’s only a few floors up,” he said as we scrambled through the open doors. Smoke billowed out, blackening the horizon.

  A horrifying scream filled the air, and an indiscernible figure emerged from the room, following us onto the balcony. The figure was engulfed in flames. Their body crackled and sizzled the stench something awful. I swallowed hard to keep from choking on my own bile. Samuel pulled me close to his chest, shielding my eyes as the fire claimed its latest victim. Their screams faded into the night with thud onto the ground below. I could only assume they’d fallen off the balcony.

  “I’ll need you to feed me when it’s over.”

  Before I could ask what he meant, the awful realization that we were about to follow the poor wretch off the balcony hit me in the gut, and I thought I would vomit into his shoulder.

  “Step up,” he said, pulling me onto the balcony ledge. I started to cry, and the heat from inside the house singed the ends of my hair and the fire roared like a renegade freight. The dark, hazy, hot world spun as he picked me up at the knees, cradling me to him, and we fell.

  A sickening crunch filled my ears as we hit the ground. I tasted blood from biting my tongue as we hit the earth with an unforgiving jar, and Samuel groaned as we lay crumpled in a heap on the lawn. The grass was tinged yellow, and pieces of shutters, slate shingles, and ashes littered the ground. In the corner of my eye, the corpse crackled a few feet away from us, the fat sizzling among the blackened bone. I slapped my hand over my mouth to keep from losing my dinner.

  Samuel’s face was pale, and his leg jutted out at an old angle. Blood pooled on his pantleg below the right knee in the light of the fire. The house groaned as the fire twisted its frame, and the screams of those trapped inside almost killed me, reminding me of the fateful afternoon when the dirigible crashed. I got up, hooking my arms under his elbows, and pulled.

  He was able to push himself along with his good leg, and together, we managed to reach the dark edge of the woods, and took shelter at the foot of a knotted pine. The sky howled, but no wind could be felt, and suddenly, a downpour commenced. My hair stuck to my face, and I brushed the dripping ends aside while propping him up against the trunk, away from the burning house. We turned away from the tragedy, facing into the black woods. The terrifying music it emitted earlier when the night was still, became drowned out by the rain and the fire, consuming and dancing to death’s reel behind us.

  My kimono stuck to my skin, and I pulled up the sleeve, holding my wrist below his chin. “Don’t ever hide things from me. I can’t stand surprises,” I said.

  He looked at me. His eyes, turning from blue to red, roved my face as the rain dripped from his temples, soaking into his singed shirt collar. His fangs emerged, white as the full moon. Their sight awakened the part of me that loved to waltz, hand-in-hand, with danger. Grimacing, he took hold of my arm. His touch was light and gentle, a stark contrast to Dr. Henderson’s firm, constricting grasp. Dr. Henderson took what he wanted, whereas with Samuel, if I told him to stop he probably would have, and limped all the way back to town.

  I held my breath as he closed his eyes and bit into me. The pull was magnetic, and it hardly stung. The difference between his bite and Dr. Henderson’s, and especially Dr. Marquis’, was absolute. Marquis’ bite was jagged and painful. Dr. Henderson’s, forceful. But this one . . . my eyes started to close. I rested my head on his shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He smelled like sandalwood, sweat and smoke. I suddenly felt drugged in a soft, warm way, like I’d just polished off a laudanum toddy. I wanted to lay with him there at the foot of that knotted pine while the world burned, and the screams faded away into the enveloping darkness.

  His bones snapped, mending from the life-giving, healing essence he took from my veins, and as I drifted off to a nebulous place, he released me, kissing the wounds. An itch started at the edges of the punctures, forcing my eyes open. I watched them stitch together until nothing remained. He pulled me to his chest, and I looked up at him, mouthing ‘how’?

  Brushing my hair aside, he caressed the edge of my face with his thumb. The fire danced in his eyes and his mouth opened to answer, but suddenly, a bang and a humanoid, purple cloud appeared in front of us. A woman with skin the color of caramel and bright, almond-shaped eyes emerged from the cloud. Tightly curled hair in the shade of burnt umber streamed down her shoulders and arms. />
  “I came as soon as I could fashion the transporter bomb. You took the last one.” Her nose crinkled, and brow furrowed in an annoyed expression as she regarded Samuel.

  He let me go and stood, pulling me up to my feet as well, and curled his fingers around mine.

  The woman craned her neck, eyeing the smoldering house. She shook her head and her jaw clenched. “I saw him in the ring. Talcott Henderson was fighting him.”

  “Who? Did Dr. Henderson start the fire?” I asked. Samuel squeezed my hand.

  The woman shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’m Tiodora. I used to belong to Callista’s coven. Are either of you hurt?”

  We shook our heads.

  Another witch. I sucked in a breath. If it weren’t for his calm demeanor, I would’ve probably grabbed the nearest branch and hit her with it, and run off into the woods as she doubled over. A twinge of jealousy tugged at my ribs.

  Harried, loud voices and a scuffle could be heard on the lawn behind us, and I glanced around the tree trunk. Several singed witches emerged from the rubble, pulling aside fallen support beams and other debris as they carted their wounded out onto the lawn. One collapsed next to the corpse, which sizzled and smoldered in the rain like a lump of old coal. The witch screamed. Samuel pulled me out of sight.

  “We need to get out of here before Callista sees us,” Tiodora said.

  “Yes, and it was nice of you to finally show,” he said, dropping my hand and brushing off his pants.

  “Well, if you hadn’t have taken the last transporter bomb when you went on that hair-brained excursion to find Abaddon-”

  “You know Abaddon?” I asked Samuel before Tiodora could finish her tirade.

  He sighed. “I know Abaddon well.” He looked back at the house, the corner of his lip curling upwards into a sneer. He shrugged. “Suppose I’ll never get that coat back now. Can you get us out of here quickly?” he asked Tiodora.