fic: I Call This Woman
Author's note: For non-Fever readers, this scene refers to a moment in Dreamfever when, after Mac has been captured and raped repeatedly by Unseelie (dark) Fae princes to the point where she is so severely addicted to sex with Fae that it is all she can think of, Barrons retrieves her and begins to "cure" her back to some semblance of humanity. And, yeah, that does require sex... copious amounts of it, in fact. So, yeah, don't go thinking she's a slut, because in reality she's not, and stays the heck away from Barrons who scares her and yet not.
This fic is part of my drabble123 sex challenge and fills the "masturbation" prompt... to an extent. This reminds me that I need to post my table soon.
"What is your name, then?" Barrons goads Mac into remembering who she is.
I CALL THIS WOMAN
“You do not want me?” she asked, all coyness and invitation in her body as she opened herself up to his senses: sight, smell, and he could even remember the texture of her skin under his fingertips.
She smelled like him and, as she spread their juices with her fingers he had to force himself to remain seated, not to move. He should shut his eyes, he thought, but knew he would see her whether he wished to or not. He turned his back to her.
You’re stronger than this.
Have you not wanted-
“Did I not please you, master?”
“Barrons,” he gritted more for himself than for her. For her ‘well-being’, he reminded himself.
She did not hear. Or perhaps chose not to. Pressed herself against him, breasts flattening against his back, and his cock sprang to full erection even as he cursed it to hell and back.
“You please me. Always,” she confessed, then bit down on his shoulder, drawing his attention to her at last.
Barrons pounced, growling, and trapped her beneath him, hands up high above her head. “You won’t always say that,” he warned her darkly.
She scoffed, his tiny little Mac. “You know not what you - mm…” Smiling, she lost herself to the feel of him rubbing against her sex. “More,” she demanded.
“You won’t want me when you’re better,” he said again.
Her eyes were wildfire when she opened them. “Are you saying I am not good?”
“I’m saying you’re not yourself right now.”
“You say too much.”
He flipped them over. “And you need to remember,” he said, then growled again. “Touch yourself, Mac.”
“I do not know that name,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, the very image of defiance even as she ground herself over his cock, slowly, tortuously.
“Touch yourself,” he gritted again, deliberately keeping her hips in place, before adding, “Mac.”
She flattened herself on him. “I am not her!”
“And yet you are quick to assume I’m talking about you. Mac.”
“You are goading me.”
“And what is your name, then?” he parried easily.
“I am yours,” she replied easily, as though he were daft to wonder.
Barrons sucked in a harsh breath. “No,” he grunted at length. “You are not.”
“Then,” she whispered sweetly, licking the thin line of his mouth, “I am your lover.”
His jaw worked infinitesimally under her fingertips. “No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“What do you call this, then?” she asked, rising again, glorious in the lamplight, over him. Barrons groaned as she slid in two fingers within her core, their mingled juices gleaming on her sex. She smiled a lazy, half-mast-eyed smile as she pumped her fingers in and out several times, watching him watching her, then withdrew and brought them to his mouth.
His reaction was instantaneous: he latched onto them greedily, sucking every taste of her as though it were the last - which he feared, and rejoiced, it might not be. As they joined again at last, Barrons delayed the inevitable… and brought it that much closer.
“I call this woman Mac,” he said as she used him, without knowing it.