Page 33 of Soul Redeemed

Her brows furrowed in shame. She’d never asked him for anything like it before. As kinky as they’d gotten, it’d never crossed that line, but something had shifted inside of her in the last few months. The darkness she’d managed to keep hidden from Calix, vestiges of her past, had begun to slip through the cracks and make themselves known. “Please.”

He wouldn’t question it. No matter how odd or twisted or depraved. Calix had come to appreciate that some fantasies were darker than others, and he’d never shamed her for them, or given her reason to be embarrassed. But then, she’d never asked for something so out of the ordinary. His only rule was that he refused to do anything that put her in danger, or left any kind of permanent damage. “Only because you want this.”

“I do,” she whispered, pushing off the bed until she’d propped herself on all fours. Lowering her upper half, she rested her cheek against the mattress with her ass in the air and pushed her arms above her head.

Calix huffed and slid from the bed. He stood looking down on her, as she waited. And waited.

And waited.

Perhaps she’d crossed the line.

She almost told him to forget what he’d seen in her mind. To pretend she’d never suggested it, but as she lifted her head to tell him, he bent forward and tugged at the drawer of the adjacent nightstand. From inside, he pulled a strand of Diablis steel, positioned her hands behind her back, and wrapped it around her wrists. He withdrew a black silk scarf and crammed it into her mouth until the fabric tickled the back of her throat, and she gagged. When he drew some of the cloth out, though, she shook her head to stop him.

It was common knowledge that the Nephilim had some strange fetishes. Many had grown up abused and enslaved, so rape fantasies weren’t unheard of. Ava knew exactly how hers had derived.

To make cash on the streets, her brother often sold her to his friends for an hour at a time. Boys she’d developed small, girlish crushes on. Unaware that her brother had collected payment, she’d viewed their attractions to her as real. Their abuse of her body as acceptable, even when they’d wanted nothing to do with her afterward. They’d called her a slut. A whore. All while pleasuring her to orgasm, so how could it possibly be wrong? Over time, her mind had come to twist their indulgence into acts of affection. She’d welcomed it. Fantasized about it. Attempted to replicate those same sensations when she’d climaxed alone. Until she watched her brother collect payment from a male she’d fucked minutes before, and the humiliation had settled over her with a sudden clarity—she still craved the depravity.

With Calix, she didn’t have to suffer the rejection after. Wouldn’t be made to feel worthless and alone. He’d crave her in a way that no other male had, and she could let go with him. Enjoy her fantasies for what they were and nuzzle into his warm embrace afterward.

He covered her head with a pillow, and she could scarcely draw in a breath as the cotton closed in around her.

Another pause. Another huff.

He was clearly conflicted, but at the slow stroke of her ass cheek, followed by the harsh sting of a slap, Ava smiled in spite of the gag in her mouth.

Pressure against her head flipped some deep-seated switch inside of her, and she moaned into the fabric. As in her fantasy, Calix’s thumb pressed into her ass, breaching that tight ring of muscle, while his fingers probed her pussy. Warm skin slid across her walls, and she jerked forward as the thickness of his thumb plunged deeper inside her ass. The gag in her mouth, lack of breath, taut muscles, and pressure inside of her collided, and a deep belly grunt shot up into her chest. The silky sheets grazed her erect nipples, tickling her chest in a maddening bid for her attention. Ava’s whole body came alive as her mind took her back to the days when she’d lie in her bed, masturbating to the very same scenario.

Calix finger fucked both holes while pushing down on her head, and as Ava saw the scene from a birds-eye view in her mind—the T-shirt slid up to her neck, her ass sticking up in his face, arms tied—the humiliation and pleasure created an exquisite clash that left her gripping the steel that bound her wrists.

That was her fetish. Her deep, dark secret.

Calix had toyed with humiliation before, but nothing on the verge of asphyxiation. Mostly, he commanded her to do things in public. She once masturbated beneath the tablecloth at a crowded nightclub. On another occasion, he had her breasts smashed against the window of an abandoned building overlooking busy downtown, where they’d met up for sex. Another time, he’d put a remotely controlled vibrator up inside of her before taking her to the movies, where he’d tormented for two hours in a packed theater.

Never had she asked him for violence, though—until then.

If Ava was honest, her darker fantasies walked the line of rape, and as much as she’d have loved to dip into those turbid waters, she accepted that Calix would do just about anything she desired, but needed a gradual introduction. Even if his incubus nature made any manner of sex appealing, Ava knew his feelings for her drew a distinct line that he’d be hard-pressed to cross.

He upped the pace, pounding his fingers into her in the same rhythm slamming inside her skull, as the air diminished and dizziness settled over her. Gods, he’d hate what came next, but she knew Calix wouldn’t hesitate. He was designed to make fantasies come true, no matter how strange the fetish.

“How’s that? My dirty little whore. You like getting fucked, slut?” A stiff clip to his words told her his jaw had been clenched through every word.

She moaned again, muscles turning warm. Tense. The sounds of wetness had amplified from moments ago, confessing an embarrassing truth. She loved every second of it. Her body begged to keep going, but the lack of oxygen told her she didn’t have much time left. Would need to come, or risk passing out.

“C’mon, whore.” He slowed his pumping to a tormenting, languid pace and the pillow lifted from her face. A sharp sting hit her nipple as he pinched it. “You like that, don’t you?”

Exactly why no one would ever compare. Calix’s prowess couldn’t be matched. Even if she didn’t visualize that part, he knew her body’s needs. Her muffled cries only added to the excitement beating through her muscles, and when his fingers upped the pace again, she buried her face into the mattress and let the darkness pull her under. Belly tight, ass high, muscles trembling, she felt the tingles of pleasure climb her spine, and as they reached the back of her head, they exploded into a blinding light that had her screaming into the mattress.

Calix’s fingers slowed, slowed, until he withdrew them.

Gripping her hips, he tugged her to the edge of the bed, and as he positioned himself, a thought struck her. She moaned in protest and panic as soon as his rigid cock pressed against her entrance.

Gods, she hated having to deny him, but the warning Oliver had given her sought to annihilate her high, and with it, any hopes that she could bring Calix relief that way.

The fabric unraveled from her mouth as he tugged it out, and she coughed the last bits of dust clinging to the back of her throat.

“I can’t. Not that way. I’ll bring you release, but not that way.”

“What’s going on?” He didn’t sound disappointed so much as concerned, and that only made it worse. A starving incubus who didn’t take the very sustenance he needed to survive, but instead tried to console her. Any other, and she’d have come to find out exactly what Oliver had done to her—because had he been any other incubus as starved as Calix, she’d have been raped repeatedly.