Page 40 of Palingenesis

Eyes glimmering, seeming to throw sparks between us, his grin grows as he rubs me harder, holds me tighter and the scent of smoke fills what little air I can manage to inhale.

I’m so close to coming when I feel the tickle of something on my lip, though my nightmare hasn’t closed the distance between us.

“Ask me,” he whispers, voice barely audible, my gaze tracking the way his lips move around the words.

“How…” I choke out. “Do I… let you in?”

He slams me backwards, easing his grip on my throat enough for me to fill my lungs with a gasp, and suddenly I can feel him everywhere.

Like he’s sprouted extra limbs to touch me with, I barely register the whisper of his touch at my waist in favor of the one clawing at my pants. He’s curling around my ribs and holding me down, gripping my hair and my neck all at once. He’s everywhere and nowhere, pulling sounds from my gut that should embarrass me.

But then he fills my mouth without moving his head, a rich taste bursting on my tongue that he caresses with something that doesn’t seem human.

The front of my jeans tear under his desperation, his talons scratching denim and breaking skin until my cock springs free.

I drop my head, chin to my chest, and watch through the haze as drops of blood run down my waist and pool at the base of my shaft. It burns a little, but the sensation only adds to the building pressure in my balls.

Cursing, he finally grips me, his touch like a brand to my cock, and I cry out in a mix of pleasure and pain.

Those blackened digits encircle me and jerk me, spreading the blood around until I’m painted red.

Tendrils of smoke accompany his grip, moving like it’s on just as much of a mission as he is to make me come, sprouting from his wrist and curling around my sac to pull it away from my body. It’s like an extension of him that reaches back farther, disappearing where I can’t see but feel it pressing into my taint.

“You will watch me—” His other hand, the actual one attached to his body, returns to my neck and guides my face back up to his, “—when I enter you.”

I nod.

Fuck, if I don’t nod, sheer desperation crackling under my skin.

Because that’s exactly where he’s managed to get—under my skin.

I succumb to his debilitating stare, relaxing my body as that whispered touch reaches between my cheeks and finds my hole.

He’s still tugging on my cock, looking so deep into my eyes that I swear I’ll never be the same after this, and his smoky extension presses into my entrance.

I moan and it grows inside me, stretching me wide open despite my pants, filling and petting my insides.

My entire body tingles with heat, blanketed by him, the vibration of filthy noises rolling off my vocal cords with every move he makes. Every in-sync stroke.

And when I come, I blow all over his chest, his groin, on a shout that shakes the windows.

He’s slow to withdraw but when he does, it’s an emptiness I’ve never known.

I’m spent, covered in blood and cum and residual tufts of smoke, the scent of it—him—clinging to my skin.

“I’ll never be able to wash this off,” I sign weakly, my throat aching, and when I look up in search of him, I find my living room empty.

Devoid of his searing gaze or warm hands, just the lingering crisp of burning in the air.

Even the sunlight crests through the window, bathing the room in light, taking over any shadows left behind.

And as I stand there, my cock hanging out and my skin coated in blood, I can’t help but laugh.

It’s manic and desperate and slightly depressing as it rumbles up my throat and bounces off the walls.

This is what it feels like, isn’t it? To be completely off my rocker.

Chapter 22