Her footsteps were silent as she crossed the short expanse of mossy earth and went to him. She laid a handâMichaela's olive handâon his chest. Her fingers found and slid inside the gap between his shirtfront buttons, finding the resilient, golden skin beneath. She brushed a taut, flat nipple and the muscle of his chest flexed under her touch. Images of him engaged with other partners during prior Moonful Callings filled her mindâimages given to her by Michaela, in which his silver eyes gleamed and his body had turned more animal than human.
She snatched her hand away.
Two female Shimmerskins clad in flowing translucent silks appeared at her side, seemingly conjured from the surrounding murk. Bastian must have brought them, for the ability to summon such creatures was a talent peculiar to the Satyr. Their movements and dress were exotic, meant to titillate. When their hands came to work at the fastenings of Silvia's clothing, she automatically refused.
“Let them.” At Bastian's low command, the mood in the grotto suddenly shifted and was permeated by a new sizzling tension. His gaze scorched her; owned her. By exerting his masculine Will now, he was setting the tone for how all would go between them. He would direct matters, not she. Thus was the way of the Calling. On other nights, a female might be an equal partner in the sexual dance, but on this night, masculine always dominated feminine. And it was what she craved from him. On this night.
Still, she could not help but recall other male eyes that had rested on her long ago, on a different night, when other candles had burned nearby. These had been the eyes of six men whose only goal had been to hurt her. And this memory now gave her pause.
Silently and gently, Michaela wooed her away from these painful memories by whispering of her own recollections. By filling her mind with thoughts of how this man's powerful body had brought her pleasure. Of how he could make them feel tonight if only Silvia would allow him to see her. To touch her. To do as he must.
And so her hesitation and her hands slowly fell away, and Silvia let him watch the Shimmerskins' artful unveiling of her. This was not to be an exercise in efficiency, she quickly deduced, but rather one meant to tease. As the sylphlike beings worked leisurely onward, she smiled to herself, thinking that their pace was at his instruction. Slow hands, Michaela had said. When her bodice and corset were unfastened, her attendants gently parted the fabric to bare her for her lover's enjoyment. Their hands cupped her breasts, plumping them high and gently pinching nipples into peaks. Silvia's own hands fisted at her sides and she blushed, feeling Bastian's eyes on flesh she'd never before displayed to a man . . . willingly. When only stockings and pantalets remained, he finally called a halt.
“Leave the rest,” he said in a voice gone dark and rough.
The Shimmerskins desisted in their ministrations and each took one of her elbows, leading her to the low stone wall that enclosed the grotto's pool. Their work done, they simply disappeared into the mist. Shedding his boots and trousers, Bastian came to her and took her in his arms before she had a chance to fully appreciate the sight of his body. When he pulled her close, she gasped at the hard shafts that strained against her belly. Though hidden beneath the hem of his shirt, their power, strength, and size were unmistakable. High between her legs, her private flesh melted, weeping for want of them.
He kissed her deeply and her curious hands ventured lower, finding twin shafts of velveted steel. His hands cuffed her wrists, taking both behind her and holding them at the base of her spine. His hard eyes glinted, fierce, and she sensed he was moving perilously close to the line that separated man from something darker and more irredeemable. His lips grazed her ear and his voice came, hot and hungry. “You know what I need.”
Down,
whispered a voice inside her.
Somehow understanding what was required, Silvia loosed her wrists, turned from him, and knelt at the altar of his god. And when her knees were cushioned by the springy green moss that covered the bank before the altar, he knelt behind her, his knees going between hers. His big hand pressed at her back, and she slumped forward upon the black of the natural slate altar. She gasped at the cool that met her breasts, for the altar was wet from the waterfall's mist, which had pooled upon its irregular surface.
She bent her arms, bracing herself a little higher. Twisting to look back at him, she watched as one of the Shimmerskins rematerialized at his side and tilted a carafe she held toward him. He cupped both hands loosely before him and oil was drizzled onto his palms. Finding its way through his fingers, some fell to soak the fabric of her underthings. His hands went under the tails of his shirt and began working there, slicking oil over his cocks. Silvia stared in fascination, unsure whether to feel frustrated or relieved that his shirt allowed her only random glimpses as his hands moved, readying him. For her.
Seeming to take pity on her, the Shimmerskin unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it open and back to display him to her gaze. Smiling at her gasp, the creature then disappeared once again. Silvia felt Bastian's avid eyes on her face as she watched him brazenly stroke himself with the oil he'd caught, fists moving up and down two shafts in voluptuous tandem, from roots to swollen heads, and back again. Both phalluses were engorged and enormous, their lengths embossed with knotted blue veins, and their smooth heads flushed purple with carnal hunger.
Within moments, he was going to put them inside her. Rut her with them as hard and as long as he liked, and through them he would impart his seed. Were she to somehow break free and run from him now, he would only hunt her down and drag her beneath him again, hell-bent on having his way. Although she had no intention of running, the knowledge that he craved her with such keen masculine desperation was a delicious thrill.
By now, her head was spinning slightlyâa sensation similar to that she'd once experienced upon drinking a little too much wine. “The flowers,” she murmured in surprise, glancing at the lush plantings at the edge of the grotto. “They're aphrodisiacs.” Their fragrance was everywhere in this place, perfuming the air. Relaxing and preparing her for what would come.
Silvia's gaze shot to Bastian's. His narrowed eyes glittered at her, his expression predatory. Suddenly, everything began moving almost too quickly. Hooking her hips, he repositioned her slightly before him, a move that forced her to face away from him and toward the far grotto wall.
Rip!
With an unapologetic yank, he rent a long tear in the back of her pantalets, then tore them off and tossed them away, baring her. A knee knocked her legs wide, and his thighs pressed hers to the smooth rock wall, pinning her open for his passionate use. Big hands kneaded the cheeks of her bottom.
Transfixed, Silvia gazed breathlessly at the grotto's pool, which lapped gently at the altar on which she lay. She saw movement in its waters. The twist of iridescent bodies. Mer creatures passing through.
Sleek cockheads nudged at her entrances. Their hot, insistent smoothness parted her flesh, one pressing between the divide of her bottom and the other parting feminine folds that were already embarrassingly slick with her desire.
Gods, he was big. Wonderfully so. Yet, she felt impelled to move away from the intense pressure of his advance. And could not, for his thighs nailed hers to the front of the altar and his knees held hers wide, leaving her body no choice but to accommodate him. She cried out as her flesh was stretched beyond comfort. Bastian's hands gentled her and he murmured to her in a language of the ancientsâcalming words his god had likely once used to subdue mortal maidens he'd run to ground. Eventually, she relaxed just enough and took male flesh inside her own for the first time in her life.
A shallow rocking commenced, as he gave her only his heads and half of his lengths before stealing them back, time and time again. As he sawed the fullest part of his phalluses at her tender entrances, she began to grow desperate. The sensation was too arousing, too much. She whimpered and tilted for him, hoping to woo him deeper. “Please.”
His hands smoothed over her flanks. “Tell me you want it.”
“I do,” she swore, and heard her craving to have him.
“Beg for it,” he said, in a voice gone unnatural and dark.
“I want you, Bastian. Please, I beg you, come deeper.”
Before she'd finished, his thighs were already tensing between hers and then came the exquisite pain-pleasure of his long, slow inward plow. In spite of Michaela's experience, this was not an easy joining. But Silvia was lulled by the beguiling aroma of flowers and the love in her heart. And so she relaxed for him, yearning, accepting, welcoming. Inch by gliding inch, soft, quivering flesh gave way to unforgiving steel, until finally, incredibly, he was homeâburied deep, so deep inside her that she cried out at the tight, slick joy of their consummation.
Upon the completion of this stroke, a contented masculine sound left him, half growl, half purr. Then her lover shifted his hips, reseating himself slightly and nudging even deeper. And again. Yet again, harder this time. She moaned, hardly knowing what to do with the emotions she was experiencing at having her body so thoroughly mated to that of the man she loved. She wanted to cry out her joy, to thank him, to beg him to remain inside her like this forever, and contrarily to plead with him to move in some way that would cure her of this terrible, wonderful, painful, pleasurable, hot, aching need for release. But more than anything, she wanted to memorize the decadent sensation of holding him in this intimate way. For no matter what came tomorrow, in this precious moment, he was all hers.
Resting her forehead on the stone, she moaned again at the erotic fullness. “Thank the Gods,” she whispered, and a single tear rolled down her cheek to splash upon the altar.
His hands squeezed hard on her rear as he withdrew his gifts in dual drags. Then he was thrusting forward again, setting a rigorous, powerful rhythm as he copulated now in earnest. And all the while, he spoke to her, his language slowly devolving into grunts of pleasure mixed with coarse, carnalâsometimes savageâwords spoken in a blend of Latin and their ancient ElseWorld tongue. Each time he slid home, she arched for him, loving the feel of his hips slamming her bottom. His thighs were more heavily furred than before the Change, and their repeated abrasion upon his every visit was an arousal in itself. Desire escalated sharply, and her eyes closed tight as small tremors began to shiver over her nether flesh.
Resting on her forearms, Silvia gazed fixedly ahead, her face flushed with a feverish anticipation. “Yes, Bastian,” she whimpered. “So . . . good.”
Another of those fierce, bestial sounds of satisfaction left him in response and he covered her body with his and gathered her to him even as he continued his rut. He held her that way, her back tight to his chest as he fucked himself into her in hard, short bucks that drew him outward only a few inches before he rammed home again. She felt captured, cagedâa receptive vessel designed solely to accommodate her mate's debauched pleasure.
Held as she was by the hug of his muscled arms, her breasts were bared to the altar, and they swayed and buffed against its gritty surface with his every ingress. Her nipples twisted tight under this gentle rub, and fierce need shot straight to her core. The quality and strength of his fornication grew ever more intense, dark, urgent as he drove their bodies toward fulfillment. Her breath quickened, and small moans and gasps drifted from her lips. She felt him swell inside her and sensed he was hurtling toward his finish. He whispered to her in his velvet, graveled voice, telling her how well her flesh hugged his, how much her hot welcome pleased him, how she was going to make him . . .
His hands slapped the altar on either side of her as he withdrew strongly in one long, tandem pull, almost leaving her. She made a soft keening sound of protest. “No, don't go!” Her desolate flesh rippled and trembled in the wake of his precipitous near departure. She needed him. She wanted to . . . was going to...
Then he fucked deep again, returning in hard, dual spears that filled her, loved her, completed her, and made her scream. His mouth came at her nape and he kissed her deeply, marking her with his white teeth, hot suction, and his ownership. Their bodies arched together as one and they turned to stone, quivering on ecstasy's precipice.
Then for the first time in her life, Silvia felt the coming of a man's seed. Her own cry entwined his masculine shout as the first searing, creamy spurt shot hard, lashing at her womb and deep inside her bottom. Her body jerked and then came a clenching wave that twisted her clit, fisted her feminine channel, and sent her tumbling into her own orgasm. And then another wave washed over her, and again, until she could scarcely draw breath between each onslaught of pleasure.
For a long endless time, he arched protectively over her, his powerful body ardently docked tight with her own. With every exquisite, zealous pump of his seed, her flesh milked at him in grateful, loving acceptance and then gasped for more.
At some point, she felt his upper phallusâthe one that only came forth on the night of the full moonâslowly and regretfully disengage and then neatly retract into his abdomen.
But his lower cock, the one that was rooted in dark masculine thatch, did not depart. Did not deflate as a man's should after intercourse. Instead, he commenced rocking himself again, in short pulses, and then longer drags, plowing easily now in the mutual slickness that bathed her feminine furrow. And with every fourth or fifth push, she was made to come again, and again. One glorious sensation followed another as each throbbing of his cock fueled her orgasm so it never quite died away. Silvia wept at the fullness of her body and heart, wishing it might last forever.