The End of Eden

XXVII

It is both the right and the wrong thing to say to Two.

I feel his hand tighten at my ankle, the pressure delicious on my skin and bones. I see his eyes darken as he leans forward, pulling my foot across his chest to his side, dragging me down in the arm chair. He braces one arm against the head of the chair, and from this angle, with my ankle under his arm and pinned to his side, I'm looking right up into his masked face.

"Well, we will have to make it a little less boring then, won't we?" Two says, and it's only then that I feel a touch of nervousness rise up in me. Maybe it was a mistake to act so brazenly with him.

He lets his hand fall from the head of the couch down, down to my neck, where he wraps his fingers around softly. My ankle falls from under his arm, and Two pulls me up with his hand and I have no other option but to follow his guiding hand.

My feet land on the floor and I rise up. His eyes drop to my clothes, his hand trailing from my neck to my chest, his fingers catching on the little bow that tightens the neckline of my dress. He pulls his, loosening up the tie until it all slips free. 

"I'd hate to stain such a pretty dress," he whispers, pulling his hand from me before he can smudge any black along the white material. "I'd rather stain your skin, and your soul."

My eyes widen only a little as liquid heat pumps through me.

I finish pulling the fabric down my body for him, his eyes following the movement of it down my body, and when the fabric lands at my feet, his eyes rise slowly back up to mine, taking in every bit of my naked body before him. His head tilts to the side, and he takes my hand, and guides me over to his iron framed bed.

"Lay down," he says, and I do, sinking right into the soft mattress, the blankets swallowing me up before he shoves them away before taking my wrists in his one hand. From his pocket he pulls the length of white satin ribbon I am already too familiar with. I nod, and close my eyes, knowing what will be next.

"No, sweetling," he murmurs, "not your eyes this time."

I flutter my eyes open, and watch him bring the ribbon up to my wrists in his hand, and wrap it around them, making sure that he leaves two fingers of space between my skin and the ribbon. My heart kicks up in my chest as he moves my bound hands up to the iron frame of his bed, my eyes locked on him.

Instead of fear, or trepidation rising up, its excitement that is coursing through me now.

His finger drags from the ribbon around my wrists down my arm and across my sternum, making sure the black of his fingers is leaving a trail on my skin. His finger curves around my other shoulder then, hooking underneath it then pushing me. I roll onto my side, away from him.

"Like this?" I ask quietly, the ribbon pulling at my skin. I feel his hand brush my hair off my shoulder and away from my neck.

"Perfect," he breathes as his fingers continue their exploration of my body, down my neck and over my ribs, where he presses down enough to not tickle me, but I bite my lip anyways to keep from laughing. "Don't like being tickled?"

"I hate it," I whisper, angling my head and eyes to peek back at him.

"Then I won't make it tickle then," he says. I feel the weight of him kneel down on his bed behind me, and I hear the slide of his mask to reveal his mouth. My eyes slide closed as his lips drag over my ribcage, tickling me, until he bites down on the flesh there. I gasp, feeling every tooth of his sinking down into me, his hand catching me by the hip, his nails digging in. Just when I think he's about to draw blood, he releases his mouth with a pop. "Better than a tickle?"

"Yes," I whisper, unable to say much else. He is awakening something inside me. I'm excited by the pain, and I crave more of it.

He turns me slightly so his head can dip to my breast and catch a nipple in his mouth. He's gentle, and I can feel myself bracing for his teeth to graze me, but he doesn't, and I know he's teasing me.

It only fuels my desire.

Two's mouth drags away from me, his tongue giving my nipple one last flick. His hand wraps around my hair, and I can feel him twirling it around my fist, and then he is pulling my head back by it, his other hand grabbing my neck, his fingers spreading along my throat. He exposes the side of my neck, and his mouth meets my skin under
my ear, his teeth grazing my flesh, causing goosebumps to rise up on my skin before he's biting down again.

I cry out, and his tongue runs over the flesh between his teeth as he sucks onto me, and then he releases my neck, his tongue flicking away the hurt.

"I love it when you cry for me," he says, his mouth traveling down my back along my spine. I'm already panting from the mix of pain and pleasure, my neck aching along with my ribs, my core aching in a completely different way.

His tongue slides lower down, over my waist, and I shift my head to peek over my shoulder at Two, his eyes meeting mine before his mouth disappears over the curve of my rear, his mouth making marks all down the soft skin. He pulls my hips up and towards him, his mouth connecting with my soaked slit.

I moan as his tongue slides up and down me, lapping at the honey I've already spilled for him, like he's a dying man being given a sip of water. His thumbs are spreading my cheeks apart, his hands dragging my hips closer to him.

His hot breath on me is intoxicating as he buries his face into me, my eyes rolling back into my head. It feels so sensual, so forbidden, and yet I love it. I love the slide of his tongue along the crease of my body, love his fingers grasping my body, love the pain he's wrought from my body.

He parts my thighs just enough to slide his mouth lower to flick his tongue along my clit. His teeth graze me again, and when he bites down on me and sucks, I come. It's too easy. I'm too easy to please. But I don't care as I moan into the pillow beneath my head, my own teeth sinking into it, the ribbon pulling against my wrists.

He licks at me through my orgasm, sending shivers racing through my body, and I'm still reeling when I feel his weight shift over me. He nudges my legs apart with his knee, and then he's pushing inside me, spreading my clenched body open. My eyes roll back in my head, and the ribbon around my wrists digs in more as I pull against it.

"That's it, my sweetling," Two whispers as he drives into me, his hips meeting the softness of my rear at every thrust. "I told you we would be joined together."

And he did, under the trellis in the rose garden, when I told him to stop, because we were in public. But if I asked him to stop now...

But I don't want him to. I don't want him to stop fucking me. I don't want him to stop his hands running up my back. I don't want him to stop pulling my hair, or wrapping his hand around my throat.

I don't want the pain and the pleasure to stop.

"Harder," I whisper, and Two doesn't pause. He drops his hands to my hips, his fingers digging into me again to drive himself deeper into me with every thrust. I pull again at the ribbon around my wrists and still the ribbons only dig into me.

"Beg for me to touch you," he says, because he knows I want to touch myself, for him to rub me.

"Touch me," I gasp out after turning my head to the side again.  "Please, Two. Touch me until I come again."

His fingers are around my waist and between my legs in an instant, stroking me, touching me, rubbing me, until I'm crying out from another orgasm, my body seized in pleasure.

I can feel him spilling himself inside me, his hand sliding from under me to my back, and I feel him pull out of me and then collapse beside me. His fingers idly find their way to my wrists and pull at the ribbon, untying them and letting them fall to the bed.

There is no way I could even attempt to hide the marks that Two has left on me.

I can already see the red welts under the loose white ribbon, even in the dark room.