Terran Times 18 - Emerald Envisage (48 page)

He could see nothing but her face hovering over him. Still close to him, and so smooth. So calm and very nearly expressionless.

That was another facet of her magic. Maybe the most important one. As it had before, in the first instants after he’d set eyes upon her, the coolness of her impassivity caused him to harden. Caused his prick to thunder deep down near its base, attracted to her and eagerly waiting its moment. When it could subjugate itself to her. Allow itself to belong entirely to her and to serve her exclusively, exquisitely at her pleasure.

He wanted her. Needed to take her quickly, take her brutally, take her
now
! But she had him all knotted up inside. She had him knotted so tight, so unforgivably tight, that he could do nothing. Could only hope to die because this terrible ferment, this boiling and roiling of essence trapped inside, to which his body added significantly with every second that passed, had nowhere to go. Nothing to do but kill. Nothing to do but tear great and gaping pits in the most vulnerable and valuable parts of his body.

His balls were heavy. Thick and wounded. Like they’d been over-filled with quick-hardening concrete. Breath stuttered in his throat and he sank into his pit of agony. Sank deep, deep, deep, into vivid and rising emerald mist.

Gaelle was atop him very suddenly.

Astride him, she held him down. Kept him from floating away on his dream-spun passion with the pressure of palms flattened against the middle of his chest. When she writhed onto him, departing his thighs and moving to the screaming center of him, he could not move his legs. Not that it mattered.

There was no place for them to go…nothing in this green-shadowed world for them to do. And even if he managed through no small miracle to stagger to his feet, he felt sure those trembling, drained limbs would be utterly useless to support him.

Soft, she had not yet wrapped herself around him. Had not yet taken him into her seething, succulent depths. And yet he, his prick, could sense the softness that waited there. The softness that…

“Do you wish to wait?”

“Cock tease!”

Laughter purred in her throat. At the same time it grated with a sound not unlike ground glass in both its quality and its consistency. Never waiting for his answer, she moved more quickly. Suspending herself just barely above him, just barely touching him, she felt like fire.

No, she
was
fire. She burned instantly through to the quick and then deeper. She burned all the way to his marrow and then she destroyed it. She left him defenseless. Reduced to a pitiable state…a whirling cloud of his own, maddened steam.

Clancy shuddered and the wake of it, a protracted and quavering wake, seemed to hang on and on and
on
in the green-lit air. Without a whisper of warning, Gaelle gave him every single thing his heart desired. Moving deliberately and solemnly, her gaze fixed purposefully upon his, she insinuated herself down. Onto him. And the way she moved, the way she looked, the sensations she set to erupting within him, the emphasis had to be on
sin
.

“Before God, Gaelle!”

A slight smile flitted across her face. A very, very slight one, accompanied by another momentary flash of green stealing through her cheeks, only to vanish before Clancy had the chance to savor it. She
was
soft. Dream soft, silken-soft, cloud-soft.

Her body
flowed
onto his. Fluid and agile, it fitted itself to his. So perfectly that there ceased to be any need for effort—any need for strain. Though of course he did strain. Head thrown back, the muscles in his jaw and throat and neck stretched nearly to the tearing point, he whimpered softly as a rolling current of living urgency pounded him from every direction and every side.

Gritting his teeth, Clancy sobbed. Aloud.

Gaelle illuminated him. She wreaked innumerable, untold forms of havoc and mayhem upon him. She unleashed sharp zig-zags of power that seemed to stem now as much from him as from her…power that sliced through him every time Gaelle’s magically moist flesh pulsed against and around his. She unleashed endless showers of sheer scintillation upon his prick. And it, badly confused and discombobulated, was unable to catch up. Unable to comprehend the glittering flames that spurted from every centimeter of its shuddering, shrieking length. Flames that simultaneously and inexplicably ruined with their greedy fits of the most destructive power on the planet, yet displayed unnerving capacity to nurture. Unnerving tendency to stroke renewed life, and even
healing
, into the very flesh it sought to destroy.

Dimly, Clancy heard himself plead with her. He heard himself beg her to release him from this dying hell in life. But only dimly, because like all the rest of his boggled senses, his hearing seemed to have faded in the instant their wild, uninhibited coupling began. He heard himself plead for the mercy he already knew she was not going to grant.

Laughing lightly, Gaelle flicked emerald-tipped fingernails across his chest in a touch so light, so rife with desultory sensation, so there and gone in such a brief span of time that Clancy felt his face twist into a mask of anguish.

Energy flowed from those gentle talons. Energy snaked between them, no doubt visible if he only had the strength to look and see. Tendrils of green electricity formed an adhesive net around his limbs, around his every extremity.

That energy continued to nurture, though now Clancy understood it for what it was. It was her way of sustaining him when his exhausted, cramped body wanted only to give up. When his aching, tormented prick wanted only to release and leave its suffering behind. It was her way of holding him in stasis for her pleasure. Regardless of the torment that holding rained down upon him.

“Please,” he whispered. “Please,” he entreated. And finally, “Please!” he shrieked, knowing no one would hear. No one, least of all the woman who made him her captive and her pawn, would listen.

Given the inherent stoicism of her nature, it was hard to tell if Gaelle felt as shaken, as jolted as he. But the signs were there, so subtle that he might have missed them had he not started to know her better than he’d ever expected to know any woman.

Shimmering, gem-like, beadlets of perspiration gathered on her forehead. Tiny pinpoints and no more, they glittered every conceivable shade of bejeweled green…glittered peridot, jade, sardonyx, malachite.

She bit down on a corner of her lip and her face took on a quirky look. One fraught with the effort her rocking, plunging, concerted motions atop him cost her.

She looked
human
suddenly. Entirely, unquestionably human and that comforted Clancy. That put him at ease enough that some of the knotting with which his body steadfastly resisted its own needs relaxed. And with relaxation came his first hint of relief. Sweet relief, energizing relief, giving him a boost he needed badly if he wanted to continue.

And he did want.

Surging with fresh life, fresh determination, the hardened substance trapped in tender balls and anguished prick began to move. Purposefully, it moved. And positively.

Acting purely on instinct, Clancy grabbed hold. Of himself. Of Gaelle. He flung her to the side. Never sacrificing his connection with her, afraid to sacrifice it because he wasn’t exactly clear on the one-time-and-one-time-only rule and all it might entail, he sprawled with her, onto their sides across the filmy hammock that never moved, never shifted. Scissored together with one of her legs trapped between his and one of his flung atop hers, they tumbled in a way that shoved him deeper into the misty softness he’d found in her.

It was a good position. A damned near perfect one that allowed Clancy to feel in control for the first time. And he didn’t hesitate to take advantage of it.

Closing his uppermost leg tightly around the back of her knees, he held her to him with her legs still spread, accommodating his continued presence inside her. He held her tightly. Drawing her all the way onto him, his prick thundering in response, seeking out and beating itself against the most tender, most sensitive small bits of her softness.

Gaelle made a sound. A very small one. A sigh, rippling and lilting like music made up of several sighs, slipped from her lips.

The warmth of it shimmered across the side of Clancy’s face. Into his ear. Instantly, his embedded prick leaped to new life, fresh life. It hardened again, not that it had ever ceased to be hard. It hardened more, stiffening itself and steeling itself to reach for whatever secrets she might hold buried within.

She responded. She poured forth a sudden, scintillating column of scalding heat. And moisture.

The depth of Clancy’s penetration increased. Then it decreased as he drew back, only to surge forward mindlessly, heedlessly, again. And again, and again, and again. And his speed increased as well, the frequency of his entrances and exits escalating wildly. Escalating until there was no controlling them, no slowing them and certainly no
stopping
.

He wanted to keep her. Needed to keep her and make her his forever. His exclusively, even though he’d been warned. Even though he knew that would be impossible, even though he knew this would end and this would never come again for either of them.

He could only pray to keep her for a small while longer. Only for a moment or two. And to that end, with that one solitary purpose in mind, he made certain that when he retreated from her, he never came close to complete separation.

Whirling and swirling, the freed
stuff
inside him exerted new pressures from a dozen and one directions, struggling to rise and compound itself even as he fought nearly as hard to keep it contained. To stop it from rising, even when it became increasingly clear that if he did not allow it to rise, passionate and hot, it would tear some new vent, some gaping opening in a place that had never been meant to have an opening.

Clancy fought like hell. And won at least a sort of temporary victory when the rising stopped. For a moment. But of course the victory couldn’t last. Wouldn’t last, and didn’t. But for that moment, for that one precious, possibly last moment he carved for himself out of the misty murkiness of compulsive passion…

Clancy held Gaelle gently. He held her steady while he eased into her. While he exulted in her smoothness. In the way she was as free of drag and resistance as if she was made of polished, silken-smooth satin. Or maybe sinuously curved, mirrored marble. Marble that was
warm
…marble that lived and breathed, flowing readily to encompass him.

She was succulent. Sweet, sweet, ripe succulence embodied within all the softnesses of a thousand years of softness. Dropped for some reason, impossible to divine, right into the middle of his life. She was…

Coming!

“N…nooooo.” Part of Clancy rejoiced. And part of him mourned, his heart hitching painfully. “No,” he whispered, the word torn up from the blackest depth of a soul in mortal despair.

It did no good.

“I’m sorry,” she replied, sounding thoroughly shaken herself.

Her body clenched around his. Wresting control back from him, it clenched almost tight enough to crush. And in one of life’s greatest, most incomprehensible mysteries, in the very moment when she tightened ferociously her most intimate grip upon him, locking him into a doomed battle to the death, she
flexed
. The selfsame steely-firm flesh that tried to lock him in place also worked hard to entice him. In. Deeper. Alluring with all kinds of impossible promises, it pleaded with him to accept a shimmering death in depths he had never contemplated before.

Clancy had known no life before Gaelle. Driven deep inside the smoldering magic of the murmuring creature he held pressed against him, a creature who had stolen his mind if not his soul, it was as if he’d only just been born. Only recently, and only for this one specific, too-quickly-progressing episode.

His prick thundered.
Seriously
. A heated spear composed of three parts need and about fifteen parts desperation rose higher inside his prick. And lodged itself painfully sharp and thoroughly unforgiving just below its tip.

Sweet Christ.

He ached.
Burned
with the effort to hold in its place what would no longer be held. Not even if holding it was what he wanted more than anything in the world. Just to prolong. Just to make this one time with Gaelle, the one and only she’d promised they could ever have, last as long as it could. As long as his own sadly failing constitution would allow.

He hadn’t reckoned on Gaelle though. He hadn’t reckoned on the fact that she, being somewhat different from him in just about every fundamental way, might be more than a match for him.

Shuddering, shivering, clinging to him with fingertips that punished, she released a shimmering burst. Misting steam poured from her, poured onto him, as welcome as water to a man long dead of thirst. Just when it seemed impossible for a body beleaguered and stressed to the point where it couldn’t possibly feel more, couldn’t possibly feel anything at all, she aroused him again. To greater agony. Greater hardness. Greater need for the release he dreaded. The release he could not resist. Release, and…

Separation.

Clancy groaned.
Permanent.

Gaelle quivered. Strong and uninhibited, it radiated through her. From her. Vibrating in all the parts of her. All the delectable, delirious parts with which she touched him. All the flattened palms and sweetly bared breasts. All the clasping thighs and especially all the crushing inner regions that more and more, increasingly and endlessly, wept their sheer-crystal mists for him.