Dreamfever
Page 8

When he picks up Mac and turns away, I swallow a dreamy sigh.
I’m gonna give Barrons my virginity one day.
Mac: in the cell at the abbey
I am heat.
I am need.
I am pain.
I am more than pain. I am agony. I am the other side of death denied the mercy of it. I am life that should never have been.
Skin is all I am. Skin that is alive that hungers that aches that needs to be touched to endure. I roll and roll, but it is not enough. It makes the pain worse. My skin is on fire, flayed by a thousand red-hot blades.
I have been on the cold stone floor of this cell for as long as I can recall existing. I have never known anything but this cold stone floor. I am hollow. I am barren. I am empty. I do not know why I continue to be.
But wait! In my stasis is there something? Is this change?
I lift my head.
There is other-than-empty near!
I crawl to it, beg it to make my agony stop.
The other-than-empty tries to put things in my mouth and make me chew. I roll my head away. Resist. Not what I want. Touch me here. Touch me now!
It does not. It goes away. Sometimes it returns and tries again.
Time has no meaning.
I drift.
I am alone. Lost. I have always been alone. There has never been anything but cold and pain. I touch myself. I need. I need.
The other-than-empty comes and goes. Puts things in my mouth that smell and taste bad. I spit them out. Those are not what I need.
I drift in my stasis of pain.
Wait! What is this? Change again? Am I to know something besides agony?
Yes! I know this! He Who Made Me is here! My prince has come. I rejoice. An end to my suffering is at hand.
Wait—what is other-than-empty doing?
My prince is … no, no, no!
I scream. I hammer other-than-empty with my fists. The other-than-empty is hurting my master with a long shiny thing. He is ceasing to be! Take me with you, I beg! I cannot endure. I am pain! I am pain!
The other-than-empty kneels beside me. Touches my hair.
My prince is gone.
The other made him cease to be!
I collapse. I am grief. I am despair. I am desolation. I am the cliffs of black ice from whence my masters come.
Change again?
Another He Who Made Me has come? Am I to be saved after all? Granted mercy at my master’s hands?
No, no, no! He is gone, too. Why am I being tortured?
I am agony. I have been forsaken. I am being punished and I do not know why.
But wait …
Something looms over me. It is dark and powerful. It is electric. It is lust. It is not one of my princes, but my body arches and steams. Yes, yes, yes, you are what I need!
It touches me. I am on fire! I weep with relief. It holds me to its body, crushes me to its skin. We sizzle. It speaks, but I do not understand its language. I am in a place beyond words. There is only skin and flesh and need.
I am an animal. I hunger without conscience, without qualm.
And I have been given a gift to exceed all gifts—my masters must be pleased with me!
Its language is gibberish to my ears, but the flesh recognizes its own.
The creature that holds me now will do more than end my pain. It will fill all that is empty.
It is an animal, too.
I am alive. I am so alive. I have never been more alive in my life. I sit, cross-legged, nude, in a tangle of silk sheets. Life is a sensual banquet and I am voracious. I glisten with sweat and satisfaction. But I need more. My lover is too far away. He is bringing me food. I do not know why he insists. I need nothing but his body, his electric touch, the primitive, intimate things he does to me. His hands on me, his teeth and tongue, and most especially what hangs heavy between his legs. Sometimes I kiss it. Lick it. Then he glistens with sweat and hunger and strains beneath my mouth. I hold down his hips and tease. It makes me feel powerful and alive. “You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” I tell him. “You are perfect.”
He makes a strangled sound and mutters something about how I might seriously reconsider that at some point. I ignore it. He says many mystifying things. I ignore them all. I admire the preternatural grace of his body. Dark, strong, he pads like a great beast, muscles rippling. Black and crimson symbols cover much of his skin. It’s exotic, exciting. He is large. The first time I almost couldn’t take him. He fills me, sates me completely. Until he is no longer inside me and I am empty again.
I push onto all fours and arch my rump invitingly. I know he cannot resist my ass. When he looks at it, he gets a funny look on his face. Savage, his mouth tightens, his eyes harden. Sometimes he looks away sharply.
But he always looks back.
Hard, fast, hungry like me.
I believe he is divided in desire. I do not understand that. Desire is. There is no judgment between animals. No right or wrong. Lust is. Pleasure is the way of beasts. “More,” I say. “Come back to bed.” It took me a while to learn this exquisite thing’s language, but when I did, I learned rapidly, although parts of it elude me. He claims I knew it all along but had forgotten it. He says it took me weeks to regain it. I do not know what “weeks” are. He says they are a way of marking the passage of time. I have no care for such matters. He often speaks nonsense. I ignore it. I shut his mouth with mine. Or with my breasts, or other parts. It works every time.
He shoots me a look, and for a moment I think I have seen that look before. But I know I have not, because I could never have forgotten such a divine creature.
“Eat,” he growls.
“Don’t want food,” I growl back. I tire of him making me eat. I reach for him. I am strong. My body is sure. But this fine beast is stronger than me. I savor his power, when he lifts me on top of him, when he holds me down and fills me, when he’s behind me, driving deep. I want him there now. He knows no limits. Though I have drowsed, I have never seen him sleep. Though I demand incessantly, he is always able to please me. He is inexhaustible. “I want more. You. Come here. Now.” There goes my rump again. Up.