Chapter 3: Aerial Torment
The mechanical whine of the descending screen was a muted counterpoint to Nikki’s choked gasps. Her bare back, already sensitive from the rug burn of his office floor, scraped against the cool, textured surface. Akash’s mouth was a sealed, suctioned lock on her navel, the old tattoo and newer bruises flaring under the fresh assault as his teeth ground with a deliberate, lateral pressure. Her toes brushed the carpet, seeking purchase, and he simply sucked harder, the wet pull lifting her an inch back into suspension. “The screen only goes down,” he muttered, his words vibrating directly into her stomach, “so does your resistance.” His free hand worked his slacks open, the sound of his zipper stark and metallic. “You counted them all before,” he said, releasing his bite just long enough to let her feel the cool air on the wet, tortured skin. “This time, you just feel.” He bit down again, not a sharp strike but a deep, sustaining pressure that pressed her spine flat against the moving screen. The city’s hidden glow outlined his shoulders as he leaned into her, his other hand finally finding hers, pinning it palm-flat beside her head against the screen. “See?” he breathed, his lips moving against the rampant heat of her skin. “You’re holding yourself up now.” It was true; the arch of her body, strained between the anchor of his mouth and the grip of his hand, was her own doing. A weak, disbelieving laugh escaped her, immediately stifled by a sharp increase in his jaw’s tension. He released her navel with a soft, wet sound, his eyes scanning the dark, glistening map of his possession. His thumb traced the black ‘A’, now swollen and raised. “Permanent,” he reminded her, his voice a low rumble as the screen reached its terminus with a definitive thud. In the sudden, total stillness, the only sounds were the hum of the blinds and their ragged breathing. He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers, his breath warm on her lips. “Now,” he whispered, the command feather-light and absolute, “ask me for the rest.”
His mouth sealed over her navel again before she could speak, the first of the twenty-five bites a deep, plunging claim that silenced her gasp. His teeth didn’t snap; they invaded, sinking slowly through layers of sensitized skin until she felt the impression on her spine, his jaw clenched like a pit bull’s.
The second was a violent lateral grind, his molars working the already-purpled flesh into a fresh, burning ache as his nose pressed into her stomach.
For the third, he sucked the entire ravaged field into a taut peak and bit down on the gathered column, a sharp, pinpoint agony that made her knees buckle against him.
The fourth was pure duration, a sustained, increasing pressure that flattened the swollen ‘A’ and stole the air from her lungs; her whispered “please” was less a word than an exhale of surrender.
He answered with the fifth, a rapid, worrying shake of his head while his teeth remained anchored deep, stretching the skin perilously tight in a dizzying burst of sensation.
The sixth bite was a deliberate search for the most damaged spot beside the tattoo, his incisors finding and breaking a fragile capillary with a crisp, intimate pop.
Seven was a broad, flattening press of all his teeth followed immediately by a suction so fierce it hollowed her abdomen, a wet, rhythmic pull that echoed in the quiet room.
“You’re not counting,” he mumbled against her skin, his tongue laving the spot before the eighth bite, a deep-chewing anchor that seemed to pulp the muscle beneath.
Nine was a sharp, upward tear, his lips sealing tight as he pulled his head back, stretching the bite mark into a stinging new shape.
Ten was a pincer movement, his front teeth clamping the inner rim while his canines pressed down outside, creating a ring of concentric pain that forced a ragged cry from her throat.
Eleven: a slow, sinking compression that paused, held, then intensified, a calculated escalation that drew a thin, continuous moan.
Twelve was a series of minute, rapid nips without releasing the core grip, a hailstorm of sharp sparks under the umbrella of deep, enduring pressure.
The thirteenth bite coincided with his other hand sliding up her ribcage; his teeth ground in a slow circle as his thumb passed over her nipple, merging the stimuli into one overwhelming wave.
Fourteen was a harsh, sudden pull that lifted her slightly, the skin straining white around his mouth before he settled her weight back onto his embedded teeth.
Fifteen was a focused, gnawing persistence on the original tattoo, the needle-fresh pain reawakening with a vengeance beneath the brutal, wet work of his jaw.
“Ask,” he breathed, the word hot on the saliva-slick ruin, and bit again for sixteen, a deep, vibrating clamp that felt like a cornerstone being laid.
Seventeen was a savage, downward drag of his head, his teeth scraping through the bruise like a plough, the friction incendiary.
Eighteen was a final, conclusive compaction, his bite force peaking until her vision whited out at the edges, all sound reducing to the wet sound of his breath through his nose.
For the nineteenth through twenty-fifth, he abandoned variation for a relentless, rhythmic punishment: a deep suck, a lateral grind, a piercing clamp, repeated in a driving tempo that shattered her into fragments of pure sensation, each bite layering over the last until the pain was a cathedral bell ringing only in her bones.
He finally stilled, his mouth a tender, bruised lock over the devastated skin, his breathing uneven. “Good,” he whispered, the sound thick with satisfaction.
He didn't pull away; instead, his jaw tightened, and he bit deeper. The pain, which had settled into a throbbing ache, sharpened into a white-hot lance. Nikki’s gasp was swallowed by the humid air between them.
“Still there?” Akash mumbled, his lips moving against her slick skin. She could only nod, her fingers curling into fists against the screen. His tongue swept over the fresh damage, a startling contrast of wet heat.
“You taste like salt and fear,” he said, his voice low and casual, as if discussing the weather. “But under that, there’s something else.” He sucked hard, drawing the bruised flesh into his mouth, and she felt a jolt that had nothing to do with pain.
Her back arched instinctively, pressing her closer to him. “See?” he said, releasing the suction with a soft pop. “Your body’s learning faster than your mind.”
His hand, which had been pinning hers, slid down to her hip, his grip firm and possessive. “Now ask me properly.” Nikki’s voice was a ragged whisper. “Please.”
“Please what?” He traced the edge of the tattoo with his thumb, the pressure just shy of painful. “Please don’t stop.” The words left her before she could think, shocking her with their honesty.
Akash’s laugh was a soft, dark vibration against her stomach. “That’s my girl.” Then he lowered his mouth again, and this time, his teeth found new, untouched skin just below her navel, marking a fresh trail.
Then he lowered his mouth again, and this time, his teeth found new, untouched skin just below her navel, marking a fresh trail. The bite was a sharp, clarifying anchor in the sea of duller aches. “That’s twenty-six,” he said, his voice muffled by her skin.
“I lost count,” she whispered, the admission feeling as vulnerable as her exposed stomach.
“I know.” He released the bite, his tongue soothing the imprint. “Your body’s keeping score instead.” His hand slid from her hip, fingers skimming the waistband of her skirt. “It’s smarter than you are.”
He didn’t bite again immediately, just studied the new landscape he’d created, the dark ‘A’ a central monument in a territory of welts. The city’s glow peeked around the blind slats, cutting across his shoulders. “Look at you,” he said, not unkindly.
A shudder ran through her, part exhaustion, part anticipation. The cool screen against her back, the heat of him against her front—she was pinned between two immutable surfaces. “I can’t…” she started, but the sentence died.
“You can.” His thumb pressed down on the fresh bite, and a jolt of sharp pleasure-pain made her hips jerk forward. “See?”
Her mind was a blur of neon and static, all coherent thought scoured away by the rhythmic, grinding work of his jaw. All that remained was sensation and a hollow, yearning need that terrified her. It clawed its way up her throat, raw and unfamiliar.
“Akash.” His name was a broken thing on her lips.
He went very still, his breath hot on the wet skin. “What?”
The words, when they came, were barely audible, soaked in shame and a desperate, aching want. “Please.” A tear traced a hot path to her jaw. “Don’t stop. I need… more.”
He went completely still at her words, the only movement the slight flare of his nostrils as he breathed her in. A slow, dark smile touched his mouth, though she couldn’t see it. “More,” he repeated, the word a low hum of approval against her slick skin.
His hands came up to frame her hips, his thumbs pressing into the sharp bone. “You asked so nicely.” He dipped his head, his breath ghosting over the weeping ‘A’. His teeth found the exact center of the tattoo, where the needle had driven the ink deepest into the inflamed tissue.
He didn’t just bite.
He bit deeper. His jaw clamped down with a final, devastating pressure that transcended the previous twenty-six bites, a conclusive force that felt less like skin and more like soul. It was an anatomical violation, a claim that reached past muscle and nerve, settling into the marrow of her understanding.
A sound ripped from her, raw and formless, as the world dissolved into the white-static reality of that single, perfect point of pain. He held it, suspending her in the endless moment, until every thought was scoured clean. Then, and only then, did he release.