Winter Veil At Bloodcrest Manor: A Toll Of Flesh Short #1 by Cyran Faringray

Author:Cyran Faringray [Faringray, Cyran]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cyran Faringray
Published: 2023-12-15T18:30:00+00:00

I stammered a long breath through gritted teeth as the shining weapon sliced a neat, superficial x-shape across my left palm. My pulse sped up from the pain … and from Zalthorn being the one inflicting it upon me.

Nyx and Zal had branded a searing connection between agony and lust into my mind. An inseparable, inescapable ligature of suffering and release.

They had trained me like a Gods damned animal, and I enjoyed every fucking second. Hells, I’d crawl on all fours again if they ordered me to.

Zal hummed in sadistic satisfaction as he set the dagger aside on the counter and held my hand above the mixing bowl. His magic burrowed into the wound like wriggling, ticklish worms, and the flow of crimson became a steady tide. With Nyx there to heal me, I would never have to worry about the injuries they bestowed on me. I could enjoy them, let myself fall into their loving torment.

“Blood is a wonderful replacement for eggs,” he grumbled into my ear. “It coagulates just as well, and the flavor …”

I gasped as Zal ran a crescent-shaped claw along the cuts.

“It’s incomparable, Selene. But the anticipation is maddening because it’s you I will taste beneath the sugar, flour, and spices. Because your blood is the ultimate, irreplaceable ingredient for me.”

“Whatever you crave from me, you shall have.” My face flamed as I spoke, heat tickling the shell of my ears. “The moment I returned, I submitted all of me to you both, gave you my body and spirit.”

“And we will ensure you never come to regret your decision. Not for a single second,” Nyx said, her eyes soft and warm before impish desire blazed in them.

Still seated, she leaned forward to push the jars and bowls aside, freeing up space right ahead of me. Zal lifted my arm, catching crimson trickles at my wrist with a keen tongue, eager to not waste a drop.

“Sorry, Selene. Your cakes will have to wait, and you only have yourself to blame,” he muttered. “Yourself, and Hells … the intoxicating scent of your blood.”

Zal’s lips drifted over my palm before he latched onto the wound, sucking. His low, guttural moans vibrated against the cuts, sparking jolts of lightning traveling to my breasts. I arched my spine into him, my nipples peaking. His fingers followed the shape of my stomach and dove behind my waistband, between my legs.

He cupped my sex, and a sigh escaped me, seeming as loud as thunder in the quiet kitchen. My pulse stumbled, my breath coming in quick gasps as I rocked my hips, grinding my slick cunt against his wide palm. His cocks were hard along my back, throbbing in rhythm with each tilt of my pelvis. As my clit rubbed over his warrior’s callouses, my cautious sighs turned into heavy moans. His digits curled in response, barely pressing inside my entrance.

“Hush, pet,” he taunted. “We wouldn’t want the servants to hear you getting fingered in the kitchen, would we?”

“Fuck,” I groaned in frustration.

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