Defiant Necromancer (Book 2 stubbed)

Miranda started trying to reciprocate Tybalt’s physical gestures of affection, running one hand up his chest and making moves with her own lips and tongue that she thought would please him.

He pulled back instantly, his expression dispassionate.

“Your tongue is darting too much. You’re a person, not a frog. Try again.

Miranda swallowed down the humiliation of his words, and she did indeed try again.

Their lips and tongues tangled and mashed together once more, and she still enjoyed it, but most of her focus was on whether she was doing it right.

They kissed for several minutes like that, until she forgot that tension. Then their mouths seemed to melt together, almost as if they were one person. But that didn’t make sense. It was more like their mouths fit together like two puzzle pieces. Like they were designed to go together.

When he pulled away this time, she realized she’d been holding her breath. She took slow, deep breaths in and out, looking up into his eyes, trying to gauge his approval.

“Better,” he said.

To her slight shame, the tepid praise filled her with a warm feeling.

“Do you want me to, um, I mean, should you take your clothes off now?” she asked.

She didn’t want to seem too eager. She was still full of uncertainty about this, but she knew she couldn’t back down now. She wanted to come across as having decided she genuinely wanted him, but she also didn’t want to look like a whore. It was a difficult balance to find.

“You still seem a little tense,” Tybalt said.

Of course I’m tense! You’re about to - I’m about to let you…

“Yeah,” Miranda said after a moment. “I’m going to be tense. Sorry.” She put a lot of not-sorry into her tone. If he was going to tell her whether what she was doing was right, so bluntly, then she could adopt some attitude with him too. That would also make her look less eager, in hopefully the right degree to convey this was a big deal for her, but not to such an extent that she would look like she was completely uninterested.

“No,” he said.

“No?”

“That won’t do. Turn around.”

She looked up at him, surprised, then did as he said, turning her back on him. He pushed lightly on the top of her shoulders, and she slowly lowered herself onto his lap. His hardness settled between her thighs again naturally, like it belonged there, the length of him once more separated from her womanhood only by the thin fabric of his pants. That was pleasant. Then she felt his breath on the back of her neck.

“Be still.” His deep voice almost startled her.

I am still, she almost said. Then his right hand fell on her naked thigh. He squeezed the pale flesh and then moved up, stroking her inner thigh with his fingertips, just slightly too firm to be ticklish. His fingers brushed against her moist opening.

She swallowed. “What are you—”

“Shh.” He lifted his fingers from between her thighs and put one over Miranda’s mouth to quiet her. She smelled her own odor before he slipped his hand back in between her lower lips. She flicked her tongue out, nervously, and inadvertently caught a slight taste of herself. It wasn’t her cup of tea. She liked his taste, his smell, better.

She shivered, slightly cold, as his left hand brushed her hair back and then rubbed lightly at the back of her neck.

Then his right hand entered the opening between her legs, no longer just grazing the surface. She heard it as well as felt it. That spot that was leaking slime was wetter than it had been before, it seemed, so his fingers made a wet, squelching noise as they probed her. They pushed into her untouched entrance and stroked the inside, then played up and down the outside, moving quickly over the surface.

Those same fingers traced the hot moisture, gathered it, and then found an unexpectedly sensitive place and started playing with it.

Miranda’s fingers curled involuntarily, suddenly gripping tightly around the right arm she hadn’t realized she was holding. He stroked a little more roughly, and she let out a little mewl of pleasure. That felt good. She was pretty sure she didn’t want it to. Or maybe she did? Her mind had started to get a little hazy.

His other hand descended from her neck and squeezed her modest breasts. She noticed again how pale his skin was - how pale they both were. Pale and dark haired, with similar faces and long, slender bodies.

We belong together, thought a dark part of her. I’m the whore who was ready to sell myself for advantage… or just open my legs for the thrill of finally engaging in the carnal act. He’s an evil necromancer. And we’re second cousins. Or third. Whatever. So the children will come out taking after both of us, with dark hair, pale skin, and a twisted nature. We fit together perfectly.

The last thought came with a twinge of intense pleasure that made her hips grind into the hardness below them.

The fingers playing with her pulled her mind back to her body. At the same time that Tybalt’s right hand gave extra attention to that sensitive spot between her legs, his left was doing the same to her small, pink nipples. They had already been hard from the stimulation, but now they were actually hurting a little. The sensitivity was still contributing to the feeling rising inside her, but she almost asked him to pull his hand away. Almost.

Instead, she let him continue for another minute, even arching her back to present her chest more conveniently.

Finally, she reached up with one of the hands she’d been using to grip his right arm and tried to gently guide his fingers away from the sensitive nubs. It was too much stimulation. He stopped what he was doing, stopped touching her completely, and simply moved his hands to her sides.

“No, what are you—” Her voice betrayed her frustration.

I was… close to… something. I could feel it building up.

She didn’t know if she’d been about to wet herself with pleasure - that would take the cake, if she urinated on him while he was stroking her - or if something else had been in the process of happening. But she was pretty sure she wanted it, whatever he was doing to her.

“Keep your hands at your sides.”

She swallowed at the command spoken into the back of her neck.

“All right.”

She forced her hands to her sides.

Then both of his hands resumed their previous positions like nothing had happened.

No, not quite like nothing had happened.

His treatment of her breasts grew rougher. He squeezed them harder, pulling her nipples so that her fingers clutched and twitched at her side. He even slapped one of her breasts, leaving a red handprint across the side of it.

He was doing it on purpose, she thought. Bastard. He knows that hurts…

But coupled with what he was doing between her legs, it also felt good. Really good.

His touch in both areas intensified even more. Her breasts became toys for him to play with, nipples pinched, flesh that he squeezed so tightly he left marks where his hands had been.

And somehow she felt herself approaching that unnamed thing again, even faster than before.

Her hips ground against his hardness again, seeking that little bit of extra stimulation. The movements on her side were involuntary. She suddenly remembered that she had wanted to deny him her pleasure.

That feeling in her lower belly reached a crescendo, even as she gritted her teeth, trying to ignore it.

I don’t want to—

The thought went unfinished, the thing she was trying to avoid unnamed.

Before she could complete the idea, the feeling peaked inside Miranda. Her whole body shivered and shook with semi-voluntary pleasure, and she moaned loudly. She wasn’t sure how long she kept making the sounds. Everything inside her was hot and ecstatic, goosebumps rose all over her skin, and she felt a different emotion toward the necromancer than the disdain she had experienced before. She could feel the space between her legs, molten and electric with pleasure, moving, working, despite the fact that he hadn’t even entered her yet.

Her body slumped backward into Tybalt’s chest, panting, her chest heaving. Her head angled down - she couldn’t quite bring herself to look up into his eyes and see the triumph on his face - and she saw with slight embarrassment that she had soaked one leg of Tybalt’s pants with her fluids.

“Oh, fuck,” she said quietly.

I didn’t pee on myself, right? That wasn’t a thing people did from too much pleasure during intimacy, was it?

Regardless, a sense of shame flowed through her. She pushed it down without questioning where it had come from.

Tybalt’s fingers stroked her hair, and she felt a weird mixture of feelings as she laid her head back onto his shoulder, still not looking him in the eyes. He had been condescending and cruel throughout this encounter, but attentive to her pleasure at the same time. His fingers running through her hair - the same thing she had done to initiate this encounter, she suddenly recalled - felt weirdly almost sweet.

“That was… what they call the ‘little death,’ isn’t it?” Miranda asked after a moment. She lowered her voice automatically. “An… orgasm?” She said it as if it was a foreign word. For her, it essentially was. Something she had heard whispered about between giggles. Something she was supposed to receive from a husband one day, if she was lucky, or a lover if her husband was inattentive.

Tybalt nodded into the top of her head.

Can you do it to me again? she thought greedily, shamefully aware that she had turned into a whore in his arms, that he still had nothing but contempt for her - contempt that was mutual - that he had only brought her to that height of pleasure to make her more usable as an outlet for his own release.

Aware of all that, she turned her head back and kissed him passionately. They might hate each other, but that wouldn’t stop her from receiving - and giving - pleasure. If she was going to be a whore, she might as well enjoy her customer’s attentions as best she could.

She reached between her thighs, recoiled at her own touch brushing against her tender flesh - it was too sensitive to touch now - and grasped hold of his shaft.

A little grunt escaped his lips.

That’s right… Now she had the power. Now she had his orgasm in her hands, if she could figure out how to bring it out. She had no doubt that she could. As her mother had explained to her, the male sex organ was much simpler than the female one. It just wanted attention.

As Miranda and Tybalt continued kissing, she started rubbing his shaft. It felt slightly dirty, covered as it was in the fluids from her orgasm, but she thought maybe she liked that texture.

His body responded to her touch, slowly pushing up against her fingers, and she took a little bit of pleasure in making him want it more rather than him doing that to her. She knew, of course, that he could end the game at any time, just throw her down and take her. She was already naked, had been this entire time. It was Tybalt who had decided to reduce her to this state first.

He wanted to make me want it, she thought, unsure how to feel. She felt very hot for him, she wanted him badly, but the stubborn part of her felt that as her losing a battle.

I won’t… I won’t enjoy it when he’s inside me. That was when and how she would resist him. She knew it was a lie and told it to herself anyway. That was the only way to maintain even a sliver of pride. Self-deception.

She finally pulled back from the long, engrossing kiss, her fingers still wrapped tightly around Tybalt’s hardness. Then Miranda saw, to her slight embarrassment, that she had left traces of saliva all over the skin around Tybalt’s mouth.

Hopefully he would take that as a demonstration of passion rather than inexperience.

You kiss like a drooling baby, she imagined him saying.

“How’s my kissing now?” she asked. The words were out before she could stop herself, her lips inches from his, looking into his eyes for some sign of approval and hating herself for doing it.

“You can use your teeth a little.” He spoke those words softly, his breath tickling her lips. “I’ll show you.”

She leaned in, shifting slightly to straddle his hardness between her thighs again, and she parted her lips to receive his affection.

Tybalt took his lips between hers, and then—

“Ow!” Miranda cried.