BLACKMAILED BY THE INCUBUS - Chapter 11
And so the fun continues - literally, in the Funhouse. Enjoy! (READ TW!)
(TRIGGER WARNING: Oral, tail play, blood play, hair pulling, knotting, eyes up, breath play, rough sex)
ONE MONTH LATER…
“We look stupid.”
Aiden scowls at me through the changing room mirror. His fingers deftly knot the satin sash holding the ridiculous trousers in place across our hips.
“Do you want to go out there naked?” he mutters back.
“Yes,” I retort crisply, though, honestly, I would prefer not to go out there at all.
Somewhere in the suffocating crowd, Seraphine is doing something, too damn far from where we can keep an eye on her. Keep her safe. It’s the final night in whatever town we’re in and that means all hands helping dismantling the rides.
I don’t think Seraphine would grab a wrench and start pulling the Ferris wheel down, but she’s still under the impression that she can just do normal things when her condition is delicate.
“I wouldn’t tell her that,” Aiden mutters, looping the last knot and stepping back to look us over. “You know she’s determined not to change anything, even pregnant.”
“Pig headed woman,” I grumble, the prickle of annoyance stabbing my temples. “We can get rope and tie her to the bed.”
“Until she gets free and kills us both.”
My little human has always had a stubborn streak a mile long, but it’s become more pronounced with her hormones in the driver’s seat. While I regret nothing, even I have to admit she scares me some days when she fixes me with that look that promises a slow death if I continue.
“Let’s get through the show and we can find her after. Besides, we’ll know if she needs us.”
Vaguely. The prickle of feeling isn’t enough to go on. It could mean anything. We almost upended the dinner table a few days back because she gave herself a paper cut. The startled jolt with the sting of pain hit while we’d been waiting for her to join us for dinner. We didn’t know what was happening, except that she was hurt.
Still, Aiden’s right. As much as I want to hover near her all day, she would not appreciate it. All I can do is go through the mundane routine of amusing the masses until I can return to her side.
I run into the Knife Thrower on my way off stage. She blinks her one blue eye, one gray in surprise.
“Where’s Seraphine?” I demand, blocking her path to the arena.
She’s dressed for her act with her frilly, lace skirt, torn fishnets and checked bra. Her straps is knives are fastened across her chest, around her thighs and wrists. The stripes in her hair match the lime green trimming her the lace on her skirt.
“Funhouse. An asshole dropped his drink. She’s mopping it up. Why?”
I ignore the useless question and hurry to find my mate.
The Funhouse isn’t far from the Big Top. It takes us less than a minute to reach the entrance and the rope barricading the front. I add the sign telling people it’s closed for maintenance before stepping over onto the first step.
I find my little human in one of the winding catacombs of glass, crouched over a fistful of napkins and a bin of soggy tissue. The sight of her on her hands and knees scrubbing some asshole’s mess ignites an inferno of rage crashing through me.
“Get off the floor,” I growl.
Seraphine yelps and snaps her head over her shoulder to where I stand. Her big eyes blink in surprise.
“Oh my God, Warrick, you scared me.” She pushes up onto her knees and swipes a tangle of hair off her brow. “What are you doing?”
“My mate should not be on the floor cleaning filth.”
She glances from me to her discard bin. “It’s just a little soda. I’ve done this a thousand times—”
“That was before.” I stalk closer. “This is beneath you.”
Seraphine scowls. “It’s fine. I want to help. Besides, do you expect to keep me pregnant and barefoot in the kitchen forever?”
My frown deepens. “It doesn’t have to be the kitchen, little mate.” I stop above her and peer down into her sweet, upturned face. My fingers capture her chin, careful not to scratch her with my nails. “Sated in every possible way and in my bed is just as welcomed. Pussy dripping, belly swollen and happy.”
Her soft lips curve. “And that’s enough?”
I follow the curve with the pad of my thumb. “It’s more than I deserve.”
Her lashes lower to my mid-section as she considers my words. Her eyes are teasing when she meets mine once more.
“So, I’m not allowed to be on my knees anymore?”
I shake my head. “My queen kneels for no one.”
She catches her bottom lip between her teeth. “What if it’s for her king?” her small hands lift to the straps on my trousers. They come undone with a tug and the fabric slithers down my legs to puddle at my feet. “Can she kneel then?”
She’s not looking at me anymore but transfixed by the cock inches from her face.
“I can’t believe you’ve had this inside me.”
My fingers slide down her chin to lock around her pretty throat. “Every fucking inch and you took it like you were meant to.”
Her gaze flicks up to mine even while her soft fingers close around my erection. The cool touch scatters across my senses, making me too aware of how massive I look between her tiny fists.
“I’ve never tasted you,” she remarks casually, fingers stroking the ridges across the top while the pad of her thumb skims the valley between the pheromone notches. “What does your cum taste like?”
“You’ve tasted my cum,” I breathe through gritted fangs.
She gives a shake of her head. “Not from the source.”
I watch with my brain melting from my ears as the tip of her pink tongue pokes out between her lips and flicks the head. It’s brief but it I feel it straight to my toes. A fleeting sensation when the next second, she’s suctioned her pouty lips over me. Over the tip. And her tongue pokes the opening.
“Fuck, Sera!” Aiden moans.
Dark, green eyes lift to me, sadistic pleasure shimmering in their rich depths.
Careful not to claw her, I close my talons into her hair. Every nerve begs to drag her down my length. To force her to take all of me. To choke on my girth until she’s blinded with tears and gagging.
But I let her tease me. I let her find her own pace and work with leisurely pumps as far down as she can. It’s about halfway, but it’s her tongue that’s killing me. It’s the way she’s running it up the center of my notches. The way she’s circling the head and teasing each hole with the tip. All the while, she’s rubbing her fist up the parts she can’t reach, gripping just tight enough to pull on the nerve endings.
Over her head, there are hundreds of Seraphines on her knees on the floor of the Funhouse. Hundreds of her, head bobbing. Dark hair twisted up between my claws. For a moment, it’s all I can watch, engrossed by her motions. Hypnotized by the dedicated assault.
“Has anyone ever done this to you?” she asks quietly, the flared head of my cock resting on the swollen curve of her bottom lip.
I almost laugh. “We haven’t been with anyone, but you, little human.”
She stops and stares up at me with wide eyes. “I was your first?”
Pulling free of her grip, I bend until our faces are aligned. “You’re our mate. Why would we allow anyone else to touch us? You have been our first as we have been yours from the very beginning.”
“But you always know what to do.”
“It’s in our nature to sense your body’s needs.”
Her hands lift up to cradle my face and bring it down to hers. I have no lips, but hers brush over my nose and chin.
“I’m glad,” she whispers. “It might sound silly, but knowing we got to share all of that together just feels special.”
I bump my nose with hers. “What we have is very special and we will protect it with our life.”
My human nibbles the corner of her lip. Her expression is mischievous and dirty.
“Have you fantasized about anything we haven’t tried?”
I have to think hard before I can answer with a shrug. “I’ve fantasized doing a lot of things to you.”
Her eyebrow lifts. “Yeah? Like what?”
I straighten and drag her up with me.
I think about answering her, about unspooling my every filthy fantasy starring her, but why ruin the surprise?
Instead, I snake my tongue out and flick her lips.
“Take your clothes off, little human.”
A hint of a grin touches the corner of her mouth, but she shrugs out of her sweater. The soft wool drops to the floor at our feet. The long-sleeved top underneath follows until she’s standing before me in jeans and a lacy, white bra.
The denim goes next. She steps out of them and her shoes to stand before me in her underwear and socks.
I don’t play around. Our time is short before someone comes to check why the sign is still up.
“Take your panties off and put your shoes back on,” I tell her, unwilling to let her touch the filthy floors with any part of her skin.
It takes some effort on her part to hook the elastic of her panties and drag the material down around her ankles. The scrap is tossed down on the small pile next to her feet. But as soon as she bends at the waist to lift the first sneaker, I snap out my tail and drive it into her damp heat, stretching her channel.
Seraphine cries out and staggers forward under the assault. The shoe slips from her fingers to hit the floor on its side as I fuck her, pushing deeper with every stroke.
“Put it on, Seraphine,” I taunt, nudging it closer to her with my toes.
She’s trembling as she takes it back up and slides her foot in. Then the other.
Behind her, I watch her greedy hole suck at the appendage. I watch the contrast of her cream against my black tail. She grunts as I push deeper, driving her forward into me for support.
But there is no kindness in me. No mercy. We have a limited amount of time, and I have too many ways I need to break her in that time.
I force her away from me. Talons close onto soft upper arms, and I snap her around without dislodging my tail. Seraphine gasps, caught between the unyielding press of my tail and the free hand I clamp around her throat holding her face up.
I don’t want her to miss the show.
“Watch,” I murmur, tilting her chin toward the mirrors.
Her wide, dark eyes meet mine a hundred times over, a kaleidoscope of her imprisonment and my twisted pleasure. Everywhere she looks, she sees herself, see me behind her. Dominant. Controlling. We both study the sight of her flushed face, her parted lips, the way her breasts rise and fall with each tortured breath. Her thighs tremble as I withdraw with a thin rope of arousal extending from her greedy cunt to the end of my tail. We both stare as I roll the tip up between her lips, over her clit. Smearing the white cream across her skin before thrusting back inside. Slow. Deep. Relentless.
“Oh God, Warrick!” Seraphine’s head drops back against my shoulder, but her eyes remain open, if not slightly unfocused.
“You see how beautiful you are?” My voice is rough, reverent, as my hands splay against her stomach, feeling the clench of her muscles with every thrust. “How perfect you look being fucked open?”
Seraphine whimpers, her gaze fixed on the obscene view. On the way her mouth parts in a silent plea with every drive in, the sheen of sweat at her temple, the way her slick coats my tail in shimmering streaks, visible from every angle.
She’s an avid observer, and still I tighten my grip on her chin, forcing her to miss nothing.
“Eyes on yourself, little human. Watch how you fall apart for me.”
Her breath stutters, her fingers reaching down to grasp my wrist. Not to push me away, but to anchor while her body yields to the pleasure.
I flick my tail inside her, pressing against that tender spot that makes her jerk, makes her thighs quiver.
The mirrors reflect her undoing, the raw need in her gaze, the way her body moves with mine, no place to hide from the truth of what she is. What she becomes under my hands.
Greedy and desperate.
“Good girl,” I praise, dragging my tongue along the side of her throat as her reflection shudders, the last threads of her resistance unraveling. “Keep watching. Let’s see how you take your king.”
Seraphine tries to follow my command, to keep her gaze locked on herself, but her lids flutter, heavy with pleasure. Her body is already conceding, already betraying her.
I won’t let her look away.
I snap my tail harder inside her, wrenching a ragged moan from her throat. The sound echoes through the mirrors, bouncing in warped, distorted layers, making it sound like a hundred versions of her are crying out in unison.
“Good girl,” I rasp against her ear, the heat of my breath dragging a shudder from her spine. My claws trail lower, over her soft stomach, my fingertips ghosting the swell of her womb, pressing just enough to remind her of what I’ve already put inside her. Of the life I’ve claimed.
Her breath stutters. I feel her walls flutter around my tail, feel the way her body clenches as if it knows, as if it remembers every time I’ve stretched her open and filled her to the brim.
“You feel that, don’t you?” I murmur, dragging my tongue over the rapid thrum of her pulse. “That’s where I live now. Inside you. In your blood. Your bones. No part of you exists without me.”
Her fingers tighten, nails biting into my skin. She nods, a sharp little jerk, and I grin.
I let my tail slip from her soaked heat, watch the way her slick clings to my skin. She whimpers at the loss, but I don’t let her mourn for long. I spin her, pushing her back against the mirrored wall, my grip hard on her jaw.
“Open your mouth, little human.”
She obeys, lips parting on a breathless sigh, her tongue darting out in anticipation. I drag my tail between her legs again, gathering the evidence of her ruin, before pressing the glistening tip against her tongue.
“Suck.”
Her lips close around the slick-coated appendage, her tongue curling over the ridges. Her soft little moan vibrating up through my palm.
I groan, my cock pulsing at the sight of her like this, so small, so human, yet so utterly mine.
I pull my tail away, smearing the wetness across her plush lips, and then I grab her by the hips and lift.
She gasps, scrambling for purchase. Her nails drag over my shoulders, her thighs spreading instinctively as I press her against the mirror and pin her there with my body.
“Look at yourself,” I command, my own voice ragged.
Her eyes flick to the mirror behind me and she swallows hard at the sight of her legs dangling on either side of my hips, how easily I hold her open. She watches my cock press against her soaked entrance, teasing, stretching. The head notches just inside but not yet pushing in.
She trembles.
“You want it?” I taunt, rolling my hips just enough to press deeper, to let her feel the sheer size of what’s about to claim her. “Say it.”
She exhales shakily, her hands clutching my shoulders, fingers twitching as if she wants to scratch, to mark me the way I mark her.
“I want it,” she whispers.
“Not good enough.” Aiden says through me, pushing just a fraction deeper, feeling her body strain to take it. “Tell us what you want, Sera.”
Her eyes flick to the mirror again, watching herself, watching me, watching the brutal, unyielding stretch of her own body around my cock.
“Break me,” she breathes.
Aiden and I both smile. It’s warped and demonic in the mirror behind her, but we obey.
Seraphine chokes on a scream as I slam her back against the mirrored wall, the impact sending a fractured spiderweb crack through the glass. The sound of shattering rings through the room, but I don’t stop, don’t let her process it.
I split her open in one brutal thrust, her small body forced to accommodate the thick, aching length of me. Her nails strip my flesh, but I catch the sound of her scream with my tongue snapping deep into the cavern of her gaping mouth.
Her legs tremble, helpless to do anything but take what I give her. And I give her fucking everything.
“Look at yourself,” I snarl against her lips.
The green of her eyes are swallowed by the dark hunger claiming her as they snap up to the mirrors once more.
To the girl with the wild eyes and swollen lips. Her body is flushed and wrecked, shuddering from the weight of her own surrender.
Replaced by this.
I pull out until only the head of my cock remains inside her, teasing the stretched, swollen opening, before I bury myself to the hilt again. Her back arches, the impact sending another crack through the mirror, and she gasps as the broken shards tremble, threatening to fall.
Threatening to cut.
She sees it. The razor-thin fractures running across her reflection, the sharp edges waiting to slice into her soft skin. But she doesn’t beg me to stop.
Instead, her fingers claw into me, nails sharp, dragging down my chest like she’s desperate to leave her own marks, to brand me in return.
“Harder,” she whimpers. “Please.”
My hand slides up to her throat, wrapping around the delicate column, feeling the frantic, stuttering pulse of her submission beneath my palm.
“You’re already breaking,” I murmur, tilting my head, studying her. “How much more do you think you can take?”
Her pupils, the black swallowing the color of her irises, stare into mine and she shakes her head in a tiny, pleading motion.
“All of it,” she breathes. “Everything.”
I tighten my grip, just enough to remind her of what she is — fragile, human, mine — before I fuck her the way I know she needs.
The sound of wet, violent impact fills the room. My tail snakes up behind her, the tip pressing between her shoulder blades, forcing her forward, forcing her harder against the breaking glass.
Blood beads along the shattered edge where her arm grazes too close.
I watch it with fascination as a thin, crimson line trails down her skin, dripping slow, hot, painting her pale flesh with something darker.
She doesn’t notice at first, lost in the raw, merciless rhythm of my thrusts. But when I bring her wrist up to my mouth and drag my tongue over the wound, she shudders violently. Her body spasms around me with the force of her release. I groan at the feel of her sweet surrender flooding over my cock.
“Perfect,” I murmur, licking the blood from my lips.
Her breath is ragged, desperate, and she meets my gaze.
“Again,” she whimpers. “Don’t stop.”
I grin and oblige because there is nothing I wouldn’t do for my mate.
Seraphine whines, but the sound barely escapes before I squeeze tighter, my hand wrapped firm around her throat. Her body fights for air, trembling against the cold glass, the fractured mirror behind her barely holding under the violence of our movements.
Her blood smears across it now, tiny, glistening streaks from where the jagged edges have already tasted her.
But she’s too far gone to care.
I watch her expression in the mirrors, the way her pupils dilate, her lips parting in something between ecstasy and suffering. It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful like this, on the verge of breaking completely.
But not yet.
Not until I decide.
I release her throat just long enough for her to suck in a ragged breath before I slam my hand over her mouth, muffling the sharp, helpless moan as I fuck her deeper. Her body locks around me, desperate, aching, her walls clenching tight like she’s trying to hold me there, trying to keep me inside her, like she knows there’s no salvation outside of this.
Outside of me.
“We love you,” I growl against her ear, my teeth grazing the sensitive skin, making her shiver. “Even when we fuck you like this.”
She doesn’t answer.
She can’t.
Not with my palm sealing over her lips, my fingers digging into the hinge of her jaw, forcing it open just enough for my thumb to slide inside, pressing heavy against her tongue.
I want her to choke on me.
To drown in this.
To understand that she was never meant to belong to anything but this hunger.
The mirror groans behind her as I drive her into it again, another crack splintering outward like a spiderweb, framing us in destruction. Her reflection wavers, fractured, and it fits, because that’s what she is now.
A beautiful, broken thing.
“Say it,” I murmur, withdrawing my thumb just enough for her to speak. “Who do you belong to?”
She shudders, struggling to catch her breath, but her lips part, wet and swollen, stained with the taste of her own submission.
“You,” she whispers, voice hoarse.
I hum in approval, then trail my fingers lower, smearing the blood along her skin, dragging my nails down her ribs, her stomach, until I reach the soft, vulnerable flesh of her thigh.
And then I press down.
Not hard enough to truly wound her, but enough to make her feel it. The sharp sting, the promise of more, the knowledge that she’s always teetering on the edge of something dangerous when she’s with me.
She moans, her hips jerking involuntarily, and I grin, teeth bared.
“You like this, don’t you?” I taunt, watching her writhe.
She nods.
“Good girl.”
I press her harder into the glass, let it slice a little deeper, let her feel me in every way.
And when she finally shatters against me, trembling, gasping, blood and sweat and sin staining her skin, I succumb with her. I lock my knot in her welcoming heat and fill her already full womb.
Seraphine is limp against me. Her skin glows with sweat, streaked with blood and dripping my cum. It splatters across the stained concrete, stains the shattered shards of glass. The evidence of our ruin. I press my lips to her temple, feeling the erratic pulse there, the way it flutters under my mouth like the delicate wings of a dying moth.
She should be terrified. We have never been so reckless. I haven’t. Seeing her bleed has never been a thing I yearned for and yet, seeing it, tasting it has opened a new hunger.
Gently, I lift her from the mirror’s jagged remains, carrying her through the dim light of the room, my grip steady, unshakable. She buries her face against my throat, inhaling deep like she’s taking me into her lungs, like she needs me to breathe.
“Sweetheart?” Aiden murmurs through me.
“Mm?” she mumbles into my skin.
“Are you hurt?”
“Sleepy,” she answers.
It’s evident in the way she leans into me, her breath shuddering, her body yielding completely, trusting even in the aftermath of something so brutal.
But I can’t check her. I can’t see the extent of her injuries until the knot releases her. So, I cradle her until the swelling subsides and I can withdraw from her heat.
With all the care I can muster without catching skin with my talons, I ease her back into her clothes. I pull on my own before gathering her back up into my arms.
We leave behind the shattered mirror tipped with drops of crimson, the bucket of damp tissues, all evidence of our destruction, and make our way to our home. Our RV tucked away from the others. A safe distance from the nosy townies and carnival folk alike. Away from anyone who might hear the obscene things we do to our little human. Not that it matters. Her screams fuel us. Give us life in a way nothing else ever can.
Inside, I lower her onto the bed and make quick work undressing her. I’m moving, grabbing a damp cloth, pressing it against the shallow cuts along her skin. She winces, but I hush her, whispering her name like a prayer, brushing my lips over her knuckles as I clean her inch by inch.
“You were perfect,” I murmur, my voice low, reverent.
Her lashes flutter as she looks up at me, eyes hazy but full of love.
“And you’re ours,” I remind her, dragging my fingers through the damp strands of her hair, tracing the curve of her jaw, the bruised imprint of my hand still lingering at her throat.
A mark. A brand. Proof.
She nods, too exhausted to speak, but she doesn’t need to. The way she clings to me, the way her fingers curl against my chest, her body seeking me even now, it tells me everything.
I shift beside her, wrapping my arms around her, pulling her close, so close she could suffocate against me if she wanted to. My hand drifts down, rubbing slow circles into her back, soothing the muscles I forced to the brink.
“Tell me you’re okay,” I say, voice rough with barely bottled fear.
She hums, pressing her lips to my throat. “With you, I always am,” she whispers.
And fuck if that doesn’t destroy me in an entirely different way because she means it. Because she’s not just saying it to please me. She’s saying it because she knows, no matter how far I take her, no matter how deep I pull her under, I’ll always be the one to catch her when she falls.
I tip her chin up and brush my knuckles over her cheek, my voice drops to something dangerously soft.
“Sleep, little human. We’ll be right here when you wake up.”
And we will be.
Because she’s ours.
And we take care of what’s ours.