Chapter 27: Wall-Bound Desire
The bitter tang of coffee lingered on my tongue, sharp and acrid over the taste of myself that Gena had forced into my mouth. She stood by the stove, humming softly, pouring steaming liquid into a chipped mug as if she hadn’t just reduced me to a shuddering, dripping mess on my own kitchen counter. Moonlight streamed through the window, silvering her long hair, highlighting the damp patch on the thin fabric between her legs. That casual indifference, the sheer fucking ordinariness of the gesture while my thighs still trembled and my cunt throbbed with raw sensitivity – it ignited something hotter than the coffee, darker than the surrounding pines.
Rage and need coiled tight in my gut, a live wire snapping. My muscles, honed by decades scaling rock faces, reacted before thought. I launched myself off the cold granite. My bare feet hit the worn floorboards silently. One hand clamped onto the back of her neck, fingers digging into the soft skin just beneath her hairline. The other seized her hip, hard enough to bruise. I used my momentum, my weight, and a surge of pure, furious adrenaline.
"Wh—?" Gena’s startled gasp cut off as I wrenched her sideways. The mug clattered to the floor, hot coffee spraying across the wood. She stumbled, off-balance, her succubus strength momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer surprise and ferocity of my attack. I shoved her backwards, driving her towards the thick rug before the stone fireplace still holding the embers of last night’s fire. She hit the floor with a soft thud, legs splaying. Before she could gather herself, I was on her, knees pinning her thighs wide apart, my hands crushing her wrists above her head, slamming them into the rug’s rough weave.
Her violet eyes flew wide, not with fear, but with shock – and a dawning, hungry excitement. Her chest heaved, the thin nightshirt pulling taut over her perfect breasts. The wildflower and stone scent of her arousal flooded the air, thick and heady, mingling with the spilled coffee and woodsmoke. My own pulse hammered in my throat, a frantic drumbeat against the sudden, heavy silence of the cabin. The ring on my finger felt icy cold.
"You think you can just take me like that?" My voice scraped out of me, low and guttural, barely recognizable even to myself. I leaned down, my face inches from hers. My short, choppy hair brushed her forehead. I could smell the faint musk of my own climax still clinging to her lips. "Fuck me senseless on my counter like I’m some cheap piece of meat for you to use?" My hips ground down instinctively against the soft warmth of her lower belly, feeling the heat radiating from her core even through the thin fabric. "Think you own me just because you crawled out of my cunt?"
"Mother…" she breathed, a tremor running through her pinned body. A flush crept up her neck. Her hips lifted, subtle but deliberate, pressing against mine. Seeking contact. "I only wanted—"
"Shut up," I snarled. I released one wrist to grab her jaw, forcing her head back, exposing the long line of her throat. My thumb pressed hard against her bottom lip. "Didn’t I tell you?" I hissed. My other hand slid down, fingers tearing roughly at the hem of her nightshirt. I yanked it up past her waist, exposing her smooth stomach, the dark triangle of curls below. "Tonight," I growled, my voice dropping to a raw whisper filled with dark promise. "Tonight, I’m going to make you scream." My nails raked down the inside of her trembling thigh. "Until the mountains fucking echo with your pleasure."
My hand dived between her legs. No finesse. Just possession. My fingers shoved through her slick curls, finding her folds already swollen and drenched, impossibly hot. She gasped, a sharp, high sound, as I roughly spread her open with my thumb and forefinger, exposing her glistening pink flesh to the moonlight and my hungry gaze. Her cunt pulsed under my touch, clenching around nothing. The scent of her arousal, thick and primal, filled my nostrils.
I didn't hesitate. I buried my face between her legs.
My tongue lashed out, a hot, broad stroke from the tight little furl of her asshole up to the throbbing bud of her clit. She cried out, her body arching off the rug, her captured wrist straining against my grip. Her taste exploded on my tongue – musky, sweet, uniquely Gena – a taste that somehow felt ancient and terrifyingly new. It flooded my senses, erasing the coffee, the woodsmoke, everything but her desperate need and my own burning fury to consume it.
I zeroed in on her clit, sucking the hard little nub deep into my mouth. Fierce. Relentless. My teeth grazed it lightly, sending violent tremors through her whole frame. "Fuck! Amy!" she screamed, the word ripping from her throat. Her free hand flew to my head, fingers tangling violently in my short hair, not pushing me away, but pulling me harder against her cunt. "Oh god, right there! Fuck, fuck…"
I growled against her slick flesh, the vibration making her shriek. I slid two fingers into her without warning, deep and hard, curling them instantly to find that spongy spot inside. She was so fucking wet, so tight, clenching around my knuckles like a vise. I fucked her with my fingers, fast and brutal, pistoning in and out while my mouth never left her clit, sucking and flicking with savage intensity. The obscene sounds filled the cabin – the wet slap of my fingers driving into her, the hungry sucking of my mouth, her ragged, desperate gasps that escalated into broken cries.
"Harder!" she begged, writhing wildly beneath me, her thighs clamping around my head, her heels digging into my back. "Please, mother! Fuck me harder! Make me fucking come!" Her words were a drug. I added a third finger, stretching her wider, the heel of my hand grinding against her clit as I pumped. Her internal muscles fluttered wildly around my invading fingers. Her cries became animalistic, raw screams torn from her soul. "Yes! YES! FUCK! AMY! I’M GONNA—!"
Her body locked. Every muscle tensed like a drawn bowstring. A guttural, shattered scream ripped from her throat, raw and primal, echoing off the cabin walls. It sounded like it might crack the windowpanes. Her cunt convulsed violently around my fingers, a pulsing, rhythmic clenching that felt like it would break my knuckles. Hot fluid gushed over my hand, soaking the rug beneath her hips. She thrashed, her back arched impossibly high off the floor, her screams dissolving into choked, gasping sobs as the orgasm hammered through her in relentless waves.
I kept my mouth locked on her clit, sucking hard through every violent spasm, drinking in her release, my fingers still buried deep inside her contracting heat. Her body shook like a leaf in a gale. Slowly, the tremors subsided. Her legs fell limp, splayed wide. Her chest heaved, sweat glistening on her skin in the moonlight. Her violet eyes were glazed, unfocused, staring blindly at the ceiling beams. The only sound was her ragged breathing and the frantic hammering of my own heart against my ribs.
I slowly withdrew my fingers, slick and shining. I lifted my head, my chin wet with her juices. I looked down at her ruined, trembling form. Her chest still rose and fell in shallow, rapid bursts. Outside, the vast silence of the mountains pressed against the cabin, waiting. Listening. Her scream had died, but the echo of it seemed to hang in the chilled air, a ghost of her shattering pleasure.
My thumb brushed roughly over her swollen, glistening lips. "That," I breathed, my voice thick and rough, tasting her on my own lips, "was just the start, daughter." My own need, a dark, demanding pulse low in my belly, was already building again, fiercer than before. Her eyes, slowly focusing, met mine. The hunger in them hadn't lessened. It had only deepened. She swallowed hard, a flicker of anticipation beneath the dazed satisfaction. I leaned down closer, the promise raw in my whisper. "The mountains haven’t heard you beg yet."