Chapter 26: Tease
The smell of strong coffee and woodsmoke hung heavy in the cabin’s main room. I stood rinsing a mug at the sink, the cold mountain water shocking against my knuckles. Dawn was a pale smear beyond the window, barely piercing the deep blue twilight clinging to the pines. Silence, thick and deep, pressed in from outside – the kind of silence you could only find miles from anything resembling civilization. My silence. Or what used to be mine.
The whisper of bare feet on wood planks was the only warning. Then her heat was at my back, sudden and enveloping. Gena’s hands, impossibly soft yet strong, slid around my waist from behind. One palm flattened possessively low on my stomach, fingers splaying just above the waistband of my worn jeans. The other snaked up, under my faded thermal shirt, finding bare skin. Her fingertips traced a slow, deliberate line up my ribs, stopping just beneath the curve of my breast. I froze, the mug forgotten, water still running.
"Busy?" Her voice was a low purr against the nape of my neck, warm breath stirring the short hairs there. That familiar vibration, the low hum of her succubus energy, resonated through my bones, instantly coiling heat low in my belly. It was ridiculous how fast my body responded to her, like dry tinder to a spark.
"Just cleaning up," I managed, my voice tight. I tried to lean away, but the edge of the counter dug into my lower back. Trapped.
Her hands moved, one sliding lower to grip my hip firmly, pulling me back flush against her. The other hand dipped beneath the cup of my bra, long fingers finding my nipple instantly. It hardened, painfully tight, under her touch. She pinched it, not gently. A sharp gasp tore from my throat. "Looks clean enough to me," she murmured, her lips brushing my ear. Her hips rolled subtly against my ass, the thin fabric of her nightshirt nothing against the thick denim of my jeans, but I felt the shape of her, the insistent pressure. "Much more interesting things to do."
Her hands were suddenly everywhere. One slid from my hip to cup me roughly between my legs through my jeans, palm pressing hard against the seam. The other tugged my shirt up, bra strap slipping off my shoulder, exposing more skin to the cool air and her hungry mouth. Her teeth scraped my shoulder blade, sending jolts of electricity down my spine. "Gena..." I breathed, half warning, half plea. My hands braced against the cold metal sink edge.
"Shhh," she whispered, her hand pressing harder, rubbing in a slow, deliberate circle that sent sparks through the denim. "Just feel it, Amy. Like last night. Just us." Her free hand yanked my jeans open, the button straining, the zipper rasping harshly down. Cool air hit my exposed belly. Her fingers, impossibly agile, slipped beneath the waistband of my underwear, sliding down through coarse curls to find slick, swollen flesh.
"Oh, fuck," I groaned, my head falling back against her shoulder. Her fingers parted me easily, finding my clit, slick and hard. She circled it with a torturous, knowing pressure. Exactly how I liked it. How she knew I liked it. Memories of her mouth, her tongue, her possessive grip flooded back, intensifying the ache.
She pushed two fingers inside me without warning, deep and hard. I cried out, arching, my hips grinding instinctively against her hand. She curled her fingers, finding that perfect spot, stroking relentlessly. My knees trembled. "That’s it," she breathed hotly in my ear, her voice thick with her own arousal. "Take it. Fuck my fingers, mother. Show me how much you need it." The forbidden word, spoken amidst the obscene friction, ignited something dark and desperate in me. My hips bucked against her invading hand, riding her fingers shamelessly.
The counter was cold and hard against my exposed ass. The smell of pine and coffee mingled with the sharp, musky scent of my own arousal. Her other hand was still down my jeans, cupping me possessively, fingers digging into the flesh of my thigh. She added a third finger, stretching me, filling me completely. "So fucking tight," she growled. "So wet for me. Always so wet." Her thumb pressed hard on my clit as her fingers pistoned inside me. It was too much, too fast, the relentless pressure building like a storm inside me.
I came with a ragged shout, my body clenching violently around her fingers, shaking, vision blurring at the edges. Wave after wave crashed over me, leaving me gasping, slumped back against her, supported only by her arm around my waist and the unforgiving counter.
She slowly withdrew her fingers, glistening in the dim morning light filtering through the window. She brought them to her lips, sucking them clean with a slow, deliberate obscenity, her violet eyes locked on mine, burning with primal satisfaction. "Breakfast," she murmured, a slow, seductive smile curving her lips.
Before I could catch my breath, before the tremors had even fully subsided, she spun me around roughly to face her. Her strength was always startling. She lifted me easily, setting my bare ass directly onto the cold granite countertop. The shock of the cold surface against my heated skin made me gasp again. She pushed my legs wide apart, stepping between them, her nightshirt riding up. I saw the damp patch between her legs, smelled her own arousal – wildflowers and warm stone. Her hands gripped my thighs, holding me open.
Without preamble, she lowered her face between my legs. Her tongue, hot and demanding, licked up the entire length of my slit in one long, flat stroke. I cried out, fingers tangling in her long, flowing hair. "Fuck, Gena! Again?" My voice was wrecked.
She didn't answer with words. Her mouth was busy. She feasted, sucking my clit hard, tongue flicking rapidly, fingers digging bruises into my thighs. The over-sensitivity from my first climax made it almost painful, but it quickly morphed into a sharper, deeper ache. She pushed two fingers back inside me, fucking me in rhythm with her sucking mouth. The cold counter, the relentless pressure of her tongue, the hard thrust of her fingers, the sight of her beautiful head buried between my thighs – it was sensory overload. I came again, harder this time, a guttural scream tearing from my throat as I ground against her face, my hips jerking uncontrollably. She held me down, riding it out, drinking me in until I was a trembling, boneless mess.
She pulled back slowly, her chin slick, her lips swollen. She looked utterly debauched and devastatingly beautiful. She leaned in, kissing me hard, forcing my mouth open, letting me taste myself on her tongue. It was raw, primal, a claiming. Her hand slid down, fingers finding my slit again, sliding easily in the mess she’d made. "Still so wet," she breathed against my lips. "So greedy." She pressed her thumb hard against my clit once more, sending a fresh jolt through my oversensitive flesh. I whimpered.
She stepped back then, leaving me splayed and exposed on the counter, legs wide, dripping. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, that possessive gleam still in her violet eyes. "Coffee?" she asked, her voice suddenly casual, as if she hadn't just devoured me on the kitchen counter. She turned towards the stove, the picture of innocence except for the dampness between her legs and the scent of sex clinging to her. The ring on my finger, the cold silver band, felt like a brand. The mountains outside, silent and watching, felt suddenly less like sanctuary and more like indifferent witnesses to the impossible, consuming fire raging inside my cabin walls. I shivered, the cold granite seeping into my bones, the echo of my own screams still ringing in my ears.