Famine by Laura Thalassa

Chapter 36

Holy Mother of …

I nearly levitate off the ground.

It’s been so long since anyone’s lips have touched my pussy, I’d nearly forgotten the sharp, almost painfully sensitive sensation that came with it.

Famine’s mouth moves over my outer lips, all but devouring me.

I try to stifle a moan. It slips out anyway.

In response, I feel him smile against me.

Oh my God.

I stare dazedly above me at the dark sky, trying to remember how Famine and I got here, with his face pressed against my core.

We were supposed to be enemies, right?

I don’t think enemies do this …

His tongue slips inside me, and I let out a yelp. My heart is thundering, and thank goodness it’s beginning to drizzle because this situation is starting to make me sweat.

Famine’s hands glide over my thighs as his lips work against me, and I think he’s taking in the feel of me—all of me. But then his mouth finds its way to my clit—

I jerk away from him—or at least I try to. His hands turn into manacles, pinning me in place.

“Unless you want things to get very interesting, I suggest you stop squirming,” he says.

I pause to eye the Reaper. “Things could get more interesting than this?” I say breathlessly. I mean, a horseman of the apocalypse is going down on me.

Famine responds by nipping my clit, and holy shit. I squirm—I squirm like my life depends on it.

The Reaper breaks away. “I do so hate following through on threats,” he says.

The liar. He loves that shit.

The ground around us begins to tremble.

“What’s going on?” I say, distracted from Famine’s ministrations. I begin to sit up, and the horseman pushes me back down.

He flashes me a wicked smile. “You have always been too curious for your own good, haven’t you?” he clucks his tongue. “Naughty human.”

I stare at him, completely confused, when out of the corner of my eye, something moves.

Before I can register what it is, I scream.

And then it touches me!

“What the fuck!” I nearly slip out of Famine’s hold because your girl here learned her lesson last night: I’m not sticking around to wait for bad shit to happen to me.

Famine laughs, then pins me back down, even as that thing wraps around my wrist; a moment later another shadowy object slips around my other wrist. And that’s when I realize it’s the Reaper’s plants.

He literally grew plants to hold me in place.

Famine continues to laugh from where he lounges between my legs. “Did you really think I was going to do this the human way?”

Seeming to punctuate his words, another two vines wrap themselves around my ankles.

Oh this is so messed up.

“Are you seriously using your plants to keep me from moving?” I say.

His only response is another nip to my clit. Again I try to move away from the almost excruciating burst of pleasure, but this time I’m held in place.

By freaking shrubbery.

This might be the weirdest situation ever, and I’ve been in a lot of weird situations.

“You are a kinky freak,” I tell him.

“Shhh …” Famine says, his voice vibrating against my core.

“A kinky control freak,” I amend.

He presses another kiss to me just as he slips a finger inside me.

Sweet Jesus.

Now that I’m unable to escape, Famine mercilessly moves his mouth on and off my clit in an absolutely maddening way, all while he fingers me.

This is way too much all at once, but pinned in place as I am, I can’t get away.

“Famine—Famine—” I pant, “Please—please—please …”

He adds another finger inside me and—

I arch into him, letting out a breathless scream as a violent orgasm rips through me. It stretches on and on, and the Reaper’s mouth is on me the entire time.

Even once my orgasm is over, he hasn’t relinquished his hold.

“Stop—stop!” I beg. “Please.” I’m shaking from my climax. I don’t think I can take much more.

Reluctantly, he pushes himself away, moving up my body until our torsos are flush with one another.

I feel his cock pressed hard against my thigh, and I think he’s going to slip it in, now that I’m as wet as the Atlantic, but instead he chooses to just stare down at me, drinking in my expression.

He brushes back my hair. “Are you going to behave?”

“What are you even talking about?” I say, my voice still breathless.

Tilting his head, he studies my expression some more. “Hmmm,” he taps the side of my cheek as he thinks, “perhaps I should torment you more. I do so love tormenting you …” He begins to move back down me.

“Wait—wait!” Good God.

He pauses, his gaze sliding back to me.

“I want to touch you too.”

Famine wasn’t moving before, but now he seems to go utterly still. I can see him hesitate, and I have no clue what would cause a fully aroused man to mull over a woman begging to touch him.

Then, wordlessly, he lets those vined monstrosities relinquish their hold on me.

I sit up, rolling my wrists as Famine seems to retreat. He doesn’t lounge back the way he usually does, expecting people to serve him. If anything, he seems a bit remote, as though he can’t quite bring himself to ask this of me.

The horseman’s not used to this. He’s used to taking what he wants, and he’s used to being taken from, but allowing someone to give him something without any underlying motive? That appears to take some effort.

I prowl forward, moving over to where he’s kneeling. Gently, I rest my hands on his shoulders.

“Lay down,” I say softly.

The man who bends to no one now follows my orders without complaint, though his eyes stare at me a bit distrustfully.

I slide my hands over his thighs, smiling a little when his muscles tense beneath my touch.

“Loosen up, this is going to be fun,” I say, massaging his legs a bit.

I move between his legs, kneeling before his cock. I can feel the dirt slipping off my hair and down my neck. This feels a whole lot more primal than what I’m used to. But in this case, different is good.

Famine’s dick is tantalizingly close, and for a moment I let the tension stretch out.

My gaze meets the Reaper’s, and the air is practically crackling with his nerves.

I lean in, my hot breath fanning over his erection. In reaction, it jerks.

I smile.

“Little flower, based on the look you’re giving me, I feel like I should be worrie—”

Before he can finish the thought, I wrap my mouth around him, my hand moving to the base of his cock.

Famine hisses out a breath.

I don’t give him a moment to recover. My mouth begins to work him, up and down, up and down.

He lets out a moan that is sexy as hell.

Famine was right of course. He should be worried. I’m going to make him reconsider sex. Wholly and completely.

He’s going to be mine once I’m finished with him.

I use every trick I have on him, from swirling my tongue around the sensitive head of his cock, to cupping his balls, to even pressing a finger into his ass—the last one of which causes him to jerk against me.

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” he swears, “what sort of witchcraft is this?”

It’s my turn to ignore him, doubling down on my efforts, my mouth and hand working him.

In response he groans, his muscles clenching. His hands find their way into my hair, and he grips me like he’s holding on.

With my free hand, I cup his balls again.

His hips buck, and his cock twitches in my mouth. “Dear Lord—you need to stop.”

Um, ignore.

“Ana—” His voice roughens, his cock continuing to twitch against me.

Ignore.

“If you want things to progress … Jesus … stop …”

He showed me zero mercy. I’ll return the favor. I continue to glide my mouth over him, my hand pumping the base of his shaft.

“Fuck, flower—” Famine’s grip tightens in my hair, and then he’s thrusting against me as he begins to orgasm.

I taste him then, his cum filling my mouth for a moment before slipping down my throat. Over and over he pistons against me, and I wring him dry, working him until he’s gently prying me away.

“Have mercy,” he says, his hazy eyes meeting mine. His cheeks are flushed and he looks thoroughly fucked.

Beneath me, his muscles now relax.

I flash him a very wicked, very proud smile. He actually begged me for mercy. I definitely want to hear those words again.

And I want to make him feel good all over again, just for the sake of seeing his pleasure.

I push aside that particular thought.

He hauls me up to him, then breathes in my ear, “Ho-ly shit.”

“And to think you could’ve been having this the entire time,” I say tartly.

There’s a long pause, then Famine lets out a surprised laugh. “Little flower, you are, perhaps, even more devious than I am.”

His eyes spark with delight. He runs his hand over my back, seeming to enjoy the feel of my skin. But then his touch stops. It moves down a little, then up.

I stiffen against him, aware of what he’s now noticing for the first time.

“Ana.”

My gaze meets his.

“What are these?” Famine asks, running his fingers over the lines that crisscross my back.

He’s seen me naked plenty of times, yet he’s never gotten a good look at my back.

“Scars.”

“Scars,” he repeats calmly. Too calmly. “From what?”

I’ve had this conversation more times than I’d like. Most men, bless their hearts, give an honest attempt at pillow talk, even when they’re paying for my services. So they ask questions.

“The horse whip my aunt was particularly fond of.”

“This is what your aunt did to you?” he says, aghast.

I nod.

He moves me a little so that he can peer at the scars. Whatever he sees makes him sit up further.

I begin to move myself, but he holds me in place, inspecting my back.

“There are dozens of welts,” he says, horrified.

I didn’t think he had it in him to be disturbed by something like this. He inflicts worse on people all the time.

“I’m aware.” I remember all too clearly the sharp, lacerating burn as my skin split open, and the stiff, lingering pain that lasted for days and days afterwards as the injuries healed.

“Why would she hit you?” he says. Famine doesn’t usually show his anger, but I hear it in his voice now.

I lift a shoulder. “It varied. Sometimes it was because I’d forget to do my chores. Sometimes it was because I was too slow—or too lazy. Sometimes I’d say something she didn’t like, and sometimes it was just a look I’d give her.”

“A look,” Famine repeats. He’s staring at me like he can’t fathom it. “And you still lived with her?”

“I was a child,” I say a little defensively. “I had nowhere else to go.”

“Anywhere else would’ve been better.”

I give him a disparaging look. “Spoken like a man who has never been powerless.”

“I have been powerless.”

My breath catches. Of course. I don’t know how I forgot.

He traces my scars some more. “And you wonder why I despise your kind.”

My throat works. What he’s saying is terrible, but I don’t feel his hatred; right now I feel his empathy. If there was one person who understood my pain, it would be him.

“I shouldn’t tell you this,” I admit, “but sometimes … sometimes—God this is perversely fucked up—sometimes I’m actually grateful you and the other horsemen are killing us off.”

Famine goes still, those unnerving green eyes tracking me.

Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t really want to make him believe that he’s doing some good deed by wiping us all out.

I rub my temples, feeling like I need to explain myself. “When I think of all that’s been done to me and others like me, when I think of every mean act I’ve seen—acts done without remorse or a second’s thought—sometimes it feels like there’s something fundamentally wrong with human nature. I don’t understand why we can be so hateful to one another.”

I feel shame as I speak, but then—in the wake of my words—lightness, like I’ve unburdened myself.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Famine asks.

“That I sometimes hate people just as much as you do?” I say. “Was I supposed to? Would it have changed anything?”

The look he gives me says plainly that, yes, it would’ve.

There’s a long pause. Finally, the Reaper says, “If you feel this way, then why do you get upset when I kill?”

A hollow laugh slips out. “I don’t always hate humanity. And even people who do bad things aren’t always bad.”

Famine gives me an incredulous look. “Like your aunt and the woman who was going to give you to me.”

“Elvita,” I say.

“Fuck her and her name too,” Famine says. “You can’t give someone away like they’re a sack of flour or a candlestick. You are a person.”

Does the horseman realize he just basically said that humans have some inherent value? That’s new …

“And you can’t routinely beat someone and pretend to still love them,” he continues.

“You don’t know that,” I say, my voice coming out as a whisper because he touched on something real and deep. “It’s not that black and white.”

“Are you serious?” he says, disbelieving. “We’re talking about the people who hurt you, Ana. How can you come to their defense?” Famine looks outraged on my behalf.

“They gave me a home when no one else would,” I argue.

“I would’ve,” he says.

“Am I supposed to regret not heading off into the sunset with the man who murdered my entire town?”

“They were scum who abused a kid—and they abused me.”

The moment the words are out of his mouth, his jaw clenches and unclenches.

I open my mouth to argue with him some more when he stands, scooping me up in the process. “Enough of this,” he says, carrying me towards the wing of the estate where his rooms are. “I want to taste that pussy of yours again, and damn you, but the concessions I would make just to get your cunning mouth back on my dick.”

Concessions? Now that’s piqued my interest. Maybe I’ll still get my moment to save humanity after all.

A blowjob to end all bloodshed. I really do like the ring of that.