The Devil's Descent

Chapter 31: Awash in a Sea

I walk into the room, and I almost walk out. Partly because it's really weird and overwhelming to see Anhel tied to a chair and blindfolded—albeit fully clothed. And partly because I just want to throttle him for even considering doing this with a stranger but not even giving me the time of day. 'What the Hell was he thinking when he agreed to this?' I wonder in agitation, trying to resist the simultaneous urges to walk out of the room, start pacing in the room, and slap him across the face.

When I feel that I've regained some semblance of control over my shattered, tingling nerves, I try to push my worries and irritations aside and just enjoy the scene before me. We're in Anhel's room—why would he agree to do this in his room?!—and he's sitting at the foot of his bed in the chair that's usually at his desk—what if I had wanted to sit in that chair later after he'd done this with some stranger?! I have to take a deep breath then and try to compose myself a little more. His hands are tied together behind the chair, and his legs are spread apart and bound to the outer edges of the front chair legs. He's also blindfolded, of course, with some of his dark, rakish hair falling over the rather thick looking strip of fabric. And then he's inclined his head towards the door, obviously having heard my entrance, which has obscured part of the markings encircling his neck—'Like a collar,' comes the absurd, heady thought through my rush of nerves.

And I almost walk back out again because everything I've ever known has told me that these sorts of things are very private and very reprehensible in the light of day. But then we're alone in a very private room at night, aren't we? I want to smack myself for being so absurdly...societal. It's like I think I'm being watched or something.

So, having thoroughly analyzed the situation, I bite my lip, walk over to him, and—I can hardly think it!—sit on his lap because the chair is armless. Anhel wets his lips and tilts his head back for me, anticipating being kissed. I put my hands on his firm, muscular chest and lean in, smelling his unbearably addictive sawdust-laced scent, and press my lips gently to his. And then we consume each other, all semblance of control and inhibition forgotten. Our tongues meet, and he moans into my mouth, making me squirm on his lap. I slide my hands down his chest, encountering rippled, heaving abdominals, and then slide my hands back up, under his shirt, now, feeling smooth, warm skin. 'He's never let me touch him like this,' I think breathlessly. And then I have to pull back and gasp for air, Anhel's lips trying to chase after mine even though he's also gasping for breath. Using what little leverage he has, he grinds his hips up into mine and pleads, "I want to touch you," flexing his arms against his bindings. I probably should've swooned at that point, but, instead, I wanted to hit him because I knew that he thought he was talking about touching a stranger. Still, I want to play, so I reach around him—having to come face to face with him but managing to deny him my lips—and I undo the knots at his wrists, setting his arms free.

Immediately, he's grabbing my head and forcing my lips back on his. And then he's touching me everywhere—my legs, my back, under my shirt—and I'm moaning uncontrollably into his mouth while he growls back into mine, enjoying my enjoyment of his touch. I pull back again to pant for more air, my hands roving ceaselessly over the warm expanse of his chest. And then Anhel's reaching up and slipping off his blindfold, and I can't do anything about it because there's no time.

When his eyes meet mine—his warm, butterscotch-colored eyes—I feel my body freeze as my face floods with heat. I expect him to shove me off of him, angry, but he just stares into my eyes, expression held carefully neutral while he seems to let the reality of the situation sink in. And then he commands—not unkindly but in a way to make my stomach clench: "Stand up." I do so at once, immediately releasing my hold on him and still panting—even though this is so, so over—in pent-up desire. Anhel bends over, after that, holding my gaze for as long as possible until he has to look down to focus on untying the ropes that bind his legs to the chair. I gulp when he looks away, relieved to be freed from the intense, hypnotic quality of his stare.

When Anhel has undone the last knot, he stands—in a very vertical fashion because I'm standing right in front of him—and re-attains my gaze, making my stomach clench again—or at least some group of muscles down there. And then, much to my surprise, he's on me again, consuming me with his lips, his hands on my hips. And then, more surprisingly still, he's lifting me up and making my arms go around his neck and my legs around his lower—very lower—back. After that, he's walking me around to the side of the bed, but I'm not paying much attention anymore because I'm busy moaning uncontrollably again as he pulls gently at my lips with his teeth.

I give a little grunt when he throws me down on the bed, and he comes to stand between my legs where they hang off the edge. He starts to undo his belt, and something fierce in his eyes is daring me to not be ready, daring me to look away. But I don't, and he continues to undress, revealing his body to me. My eyelids droop, heavy with unimaginable Lust, and he's on me yet again, pulling off my clothes now.

I give a little gasp when he thrusts into me—he's not exactly gentle (probably still daring me)—and he growls in response, nipping at my earlobe. And it really is excruciating, but isn't it the same for girls? Sometimes even after they've lost their virginity? And then it just doesn't hurt at all anymore, and I'm awash in a sea of pleasure—the waves crashing over my head, drowning out my thoughts.