Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 120974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
“You all right, baby?” he asks me and when I look up, I see that his eyes are half-lidded but also concerned. It helps me understand that he loves touching me but he wants to be sure I’m all right with it.
“I just…it shouldn’t feel so good!” I say at last. “It’s forbidden—letting you touch me…letting the vines do…what they did…” I can’t continue.
Valen frowns and shakes his head.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of, Irena. You hear me? Those vines… they felt good, didn’t they? When they were sucking you…fucking you.”
My eyes fly open wide and I stare at him, horrified that he’d speak it aloud.
He meets my gaze, his own eyes blazing—holding no judgment, only a fierce, challenging truth.
“They did,” I whisper, the confession torn from me.
“Damn right they did.” His fingers curl inside me, pressing against that spot again.
“Oh, Goddess!” I moan, unable to help myself.
“I watched you,” Valen continues. “I saw your face when you came on that flower’s tongue…when the vine fucked its seed into you. You were fucking beautiful. There’s no shame in feeling pleasure, Princess. No shame in letting yourself come when you need to.”
Each dirty, honest word feels like a brand on my heart. His words should scandalize me. Instead, they stoke the embers the vines left behind into a new flame.
His fingers are moving now, not just probing for honey, but stroking. A slow, deliberate drag in and out, mimicking a rhythm that makes my hips twitch and buck.
“It’s not wrong,” he continues, his thumb finding my clit, circling it with a firm, knowing pressure that the red bloom could never match. “Your body knows what it wants. It wanted to come then. It wants to come now. Doesn’t it?”
“Valen, please…” But I don’t know what I’m begging for. For him to stop…or for him to never stop.
“Tell me,” he growls, his thrusts deepening, his thumb working me relentlessly.
The last of the honey is long gone, washed away by the tub’s magic and my own rising wetness. All I feel now is my own juices…and a deep, clenching need.
“Tell me you’re not ashamed of how hard you came when the vine fucked you,” he commands me. “Tell me you liked it and you’re not ashamed of liking it.”
I can feel my pleasure rising. The spring coiled in my belly that had only half-unwound with the vines is winding again, tighter and hotter—fueled by his words and his touch.
“I…I liked it,” I sob, the admission a release in itself. “Goddess help me, it…it felt so good.”
“Good girl,” Valen growls. “Good girl to admit you liked getting fucked, Irena.”
His words of praise make me even hotter, raising my internal temperature even more. I writhe on his fingers, unable to help myself.
Valen seems to sense I’m close—that my pleasure is reaching a peak.
“Good girl,” he says again. “Now come for me—come on my fingers. Show me what that pretty little pussy does when it’s not being teased by magic. Show me what it does for me.”
It’s the possessiveness in his tone that pushes me over the edge. “For me,” he said. Not for a spell, not the vines, but for him. Because he’s commanding it, because he’s watching…because he called me beautiful, even in my degradation.
The orgasm crashes over me with a force that steals my breath. It’s different from the vine’s relentless, overwhelming waves. This is sharper, brighter, centered entirely on the points where his body connects with mine—the stretch of his fingers inside me…the rough pad of his thumb against my clit… the heat of his gaze as he watches me.
My back arches, a silent moan on my lips as my inner muscles convulse around his hand, milking his fingers in rhythmic pulses. Pleasure, clean and fierce and entirely his doing, whites out my mind, temporarily wiping away the shame of the previous encounter with the vines and flowers.
When I collapse back into the water, spent and trembling, Valen slowly withdraws his fingers. He holds them up, clean, glistening only with my own release. No trace of gold remains.
“See?” he says, his voice thick. “All clean.” Then he puts his fingers in his mouth and sucks, his eyes closing for a moment as though he loves the taste of me.
But I am not clean. I am both ruined and remade. The shame has returned—a cold stone in my gut—but it’s tangled now with something hotter—something darker and more compelling.
He made me admit it—admit to taking pleasure in what the vines did…in what he did. He even made me come while I was admitting it. That isn’t how I was raised.
This quest is changing me…and I’m not sure it’s for the better.
But I can’t be mad at Valen—he looked into the heart of my secret pleasure and called it beautiful. Not shameful or wrong or forbidden as I’ve been taught all my life.