JК
Mistrals Kiss :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 47 из 148The thought was exciting, but it was one of those pains that worked better in fantasy than real life.
He pushed the head of himself inside me, gentle at first, then more firmly, as if he were trying to find a way deeper. He pushed slow, and firm, and tight, until I made a sound of protest.
Thunder rumbled again, and the wind gusted. I could smell rain and ozone, as if lightning had struck somewhere near, though the only lightning had been in Mistral’s eyes.
“How much do you like pain?” he asked, and his voice held thunder the way that Doyle’s could hold the growl of a dog.
I thought I knew what he was asking, and I hesitated. How much do I like pain? I decided honesty was safest. I gazed back over my body until I could see him, and whatever words of caution I was about to utter died in my throat. He was something elemental. His body still held an outline, a solidness, but inside that solid line of skin were clouds, grey and black and white, boiling and writhing. The lightning flashed in his eyes again, and this time it rode down his body, a jagged line of brilliance that filled the world with the metallic smell of ozone. But it didn’t affect my body like real lightning would have. Instead it was just a brilliant dance of light.
His eyes glowed in his face, lit by strike after strike of bright, white light. About every third flash, the lightning shot down his body and decorated his skin. His hair had come free of its ponytail, and that grey sheet of hair danced in the wind of his power, like some soft grey blanket trapped on a wash line as the storm thunders closer.
As many times as I’d made love to warriors of the sidhe, to creatures of faerie, the sight of him behind me still stole my words. I’d seen many wonders, but nothing quite like Mistral.
He asked again, “How much do you like pain?” But as he spoke, the lightning flashed, the glow filling his mouth and pouring out with his words.
I said the only thing I could think of: “Finish.”
He smiled, and his lips held an edge of that glow. “Finish; just finish?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Will you enjoy it?”
“I don’t know.”
His smile widened, and his eyes flashed, and that line of light sparkled down his body. I was blind for a moment in the brilliance of it. He began to draw himself out of me. “So be it,” he said in that deep, rolling voice. Thunder echoed him along the roof, and for a moment it seemed as if the very walls thrummed with him.
He shoved himself inside me as fast and hard as he could, and he was too long. I screamed, and it wasn’t all pleasure.
He pushed the head of himself inside me, gentle at first, then more firmly, as if he were trying to find a way deeper. He pushed slow, and firm, and tight, until I made a sound of protest.
Thunder rumbled again, and the wind gusted. I could smell rain and ozone, as if lightning had struck somewhere near, though the only lightning had been in Mistral’s eyes.
“How much do you like pain?” he asked, and his voice held thunder the way that Doyle’s could hold the growl of a dog.
I thought I knew what he was asking, and I hesitated. How much do I like pain? I decided honesty was safest. I gazed back over my body until I could see him, and whatever words of caution I was about to utter died in my throat. He was something elemental. His body still held an outline, a solidness, but inside that solid line of skin were clouds, grey and black and white, boiling and writhing. The lightning flashed in his eyes again, and this time it rode down his body, a jagged line of brilliance that filled the world with the metallic smell of ozone. But it didn’t affect my body like real lightning would have. Instead it was just a brilliant dance of light.
His eyes glowed in his face, lit by strike after strike of bright, white light. About every third flash, the lightning shot down his body and decorated his skin. His hair had come free of its ponytail, and that grey sheet of hair danced in the wind of his power, like some soft grey blanket trapped on a wash line as the storm thunders closer.
As many times as I’d made love to warriors of the sidhe, to creatures of faerie, the sight of him behind me still stole my words. I’d seen many wonders, but nothing quite like Mistral.
He asked again, “How much do you like pain?” But as he spoke, the lightning flashed, the glow filling his mouth and pouring out with his words.
I said the only thing I could think of: “Finish.”
He smiled, and his lips held an edge of that glow. “Finish; just finish?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Will you enjoy it?”
“I don’t know.”
His smile widened, and his eyes flashed, and that line of light sparkled down his body. I was blind for a moment in the brilliance of it. He began to draw himself out of me. “So be it,” he said in that deep, rolling voice. Thunder echoed him along the roof, and for a moment it seemed as if the very walls thrummed with him.
He shoved himself inside me as fast and hard as he could, and he was too long. I screamed, and it wasn’t all pleasure.