Chapter 1: The Hunt
The Autumnal Hunt of Alderaan
Rey’s breath steamed in the cold as she panted, fighting to rein in her fear. She forced her breathing to halt, striving to hear over the wild race of her heart. The only sounds were the peaceful chirring of crickets and the rustle of wind through dry grass. Detecting no followers, she exhaled, lungs burning from her fear-driven flight. Her eyes were luminous as she scanned the lucent field stretching before her, its undulating horizon fading off into the night.
The plains were featureless but for the occasional old oak, left to stand amongst the crop fields to offer workers midday shade. Pressed up against one such tree, she thanked the Maker for the priceless respite it offered. She swallowed, using the motion to try and slow her breathing. The silvery plumes that unfurled from her lips were a dead giveaway. The full moon didn’t help either, illuminating details in stark relief, washing color away and turning all a pale, ghostly blue.
Rey knew she didn’t have to make this so hard on herself, knew that many maidens had foregone the added terror of running, simply giving themselves over. Once released for the Hunt and Claiming, a maiden had free agency over her conduct entirely and could submit or resist as she chose. Complete passivity just wasn’t a part of her makeup—it was better to resist and fail than to never have resisted at all.
Gritting her teeth, she shivered, rebelling from the thought as oil flees a droplet of water. A chill gust of wind stirred the yellowed grass, lifting the hem of her gown. Her mahogany hair was unbound, and it too floated about her body, loose strands tickling the back of her arms. She could smell the perfumed oil the clerics had rubbed into her skin, preparing her according to ritual.
The scent of rose geranium should have been soothing and pure, an indulgence of the senses. But the circumstances to which it was attached had transformed the lovely fragrance into something damning, and she condemned it for what it was: just another flag for the hunter who stalked her somewhere in the night. She squeezed her eyes shut, cursing her luck for the hundredth time as a wave of desperation flattened her to the rough trunk of the tree.
The autumnal Hunt of Alderaan was not something she’d ever worried about, being born with entirely the wrong coloring. The maidens used in the rite were always pale-eyed and fair-haired, the lighter, the better. It had been this way since time immemorial, as had the stipulation that only high-born lords participate in the Chase and Claiming that coincided with the blood harvest moon, and only those who were yet unwedded at that.
There had been calls over the centuries for the practice to end on the premise of sanctioned barbarism, but the Autumnal Hunt endured. It was a carry-over of timeless hedonism, deeply steeped in the lore of the region, and old traditions died hard. Even with the occasional rumblings of disquietude, the questionable ancient practice of the Claiming continued unabated every fall.
Rey shivered miserably, recalling the disastrous moment that had sealed her fate.
It had happened three weeks ago on an outing to the Briarwood. She’d been gathering late-season berries along the edge of the forest with a small entourage of women from the village. Absorbed in the pleasant task, she had lost track of distance, wandering from the safety of the group. She’d looked up at the sound of hoofbeats, heart beginning to pound as she saw a lone rider astride a magnificent stallion. Her throat had further constricted as he’d neared, the trappings of a high lord becoming visible as he’d raced toward her along the brambled edge of the forest.
Too late, Rey had realized she was alone. Tucking her basket to her hip, she’d stood aside, bowing her head in fear and hoping he’d just blow past her on an errand of some importance. The second stroke of ill omen had been the horse reining up before her as a deep, masculine voice demanded she raise her head. She’d obeyed, reluctantly looking up at the young lord astride his impatient stallion.
Their eyes had met, and the haughty look on his face had shifted to one of surprise. He’d sat back in his saddle, drinking in the sight of her with wide, dark eyes, lingering well past what was decent. Her unease had grown as he’d continued to stare, doubling when she saw the way his gloved hands tightened on the reins of his mount. When he spoke again, his words had been clipped, as if he waged some internal battle.
He’d asked her name and that of her village in an uneven voice. Rey had fought the urge to flee, trying desperately to project a courage she didn’t feel, giving the requested information as a stone sank in her heart. The lord had given her a final look, his gaze raking her body in blatant appreciation as he inclined his head, departing with a small, ominous smirk. The look in his narrowed eyes had been enough, just enough to let her know that trouble was a storm headed her way.
Gazing down at the sacrificial gown they’d dressed her in, Rey felt the scream choke in her throat. She cursed herself for wandering away from the townswomen, adding a choice curse on him as well for having the impertinence to shirk eons of tradition. She froze at the crack of a nearby twig, her tumultuous emotions forgotten. There, faintly but closing in, was the rhythmic stride of a man. Adrenaline electrified her limbs.
The steady sound of footsteps moving over dying grass drew nearer. She tensed, looking down at the white dress glowing in the moonlight, knowing the tree she hid behind offered little cover, knowing also that should she bolt, there was nowhere else to take shelter.
Her mind shrieked its need to escape, translating to a buzzing of energy in each muscle, begging to be burned. She stopped thinking and galvanized, exploding forth in a sprint, skirt hiked about her thighs, racing for all she was worth over the yellowed fields. Even with the cumbersome burden of the dress, she was swift as an arrow, granted extra speed by her desperate will to escape, to remain free and thwart her fate as long as possible.
The pounding gait of her pursuer continued to increase as he gained on her, getting louder until she could feel the impact of his heavy footfalls on the ground. She didn’t dare to look back, focusing solely on running without tripping up, her bare feet flying nimbly over the barren ground. Feeling his fingertips at her waist, she let out a cry, arching in the air, a last desperate act of escape before she was captured by rough hands.
She keened as he took her down, landing atop her and while sparing her the majority of their impact with his forearms. A strangled scream escaped her gritted teeth as she struggled to turn over, unable to resist while facing away from her attacker.
It wasn’t a fight designed for fairness.
His strength was far superior and his well-muscled body dwarfed hers, keeping her pinned to the ground. Rey cried out, ceasing to struggle when a large hand fisted in her long, dark hair, pulling it back. He deftly slipped a large hand beneath her, sliding up her ribcage to rub with purpose over her breast before closing about her throat.
She whimpered, fearing his violence, her breath yielding panicked silver jets to the chill night air. Keeping a firm hold on her neck, he raised himself, turning her over to face him. The coward in her wanted to die at the sight of him. He wore only a loincloth and a golden helm that concealed all but the hard glitter of his eyes. The majestic antlers of a stag crowned his helmet, their pointed edges branching up to pierce the heavens.
He was utterly terrifying, and a broken sob escaped her lips as she watched him produce a length of rope.
Defeat was a paralytic flooding her veins as her struggles were so easily overcome, her wordless cries ignored as he bound her wrists and feet. His movements were unhesitating, and she could sense the dark enjoyment he took in securing her. A shudder rippled through her, and she looked away.
Neither of them spoke; there was no need. She knew he wouldn’t stop, and he knew that false comforts were additional cruelty.
When she was fully bound, he stood, a giant looming over her. Her lips were parted, her face a pale mask of distress as she lay helplessly, her dark hair fanned about the ground in tousled disarray. The hem of her silken gown pooled about the junction of her thighs, exposing the length of her firm, shapely legs.
He watched her in an agony of eternity before speaking at last. “Rey,” he murmured, his masculine voice gravelly with emotion, “never have I seen anything so surreal, so hauntingly beautiful as the sight you make, lying bound in the moonlight.”
Her eyes slipped closed as dread constricted about her chest, a wave of weakness rolling through her limbs. She would have recognized that low, resonant voice anywhere, even if he hadn’t given himself away by saying her name.
Her lips parted, trembling. “You--you are the lord I met along the Briarwood,” she stammered weakly, unable to keep from asking her next question. “W-why me, sir? I am not the right s-sort of girl...” she cut off, unable to finish as a violent shiver sabotaged her ability to speak.
“I’ll have none but you,” he replied simply.
Her eyes squeezed shut in distress, a single tear tracking into her hairline as she tried to brace herself. Bending low, he gathered her up as he would a child, slinging her easily over one broad shoulder.
His intent to move the evening along awoke a panicked resistance, and she cried wordlessly, pounding at his broad back with tethered fists. Straightening her torso, she arched backward, splaying her hands against the solid muscles of his chest, struggling for all she was worth.
He continued to walk, seemingly unperturbed, switching the arm that wrapped about the back of her legs, keeping her pinned to his chest. She jumped as she felt his free hand engulf the back of her thigh. His palm began to slide ominously up, triggering a steady drip of cold dread within her veins. Her skin prickled as it moved intimately over the globe of her buttock, lifting her gown and coming to rest on the small of her back. Pressing her firmly to his shoulder, he freed up his other hand, the one with a superior range of motion.
Understanding dawned, and she fought even more desperately, feeling horribly exposed…he was going to--“No! Please --!”
The first sharp smack of his palm on bare skin shocked her into silence, but it was the next consecutive five that stole the fight. The impact of each spank reverberated up her body, accelerating her whimpers to full-throated cries. With each landing of his palm, he imprinted the concept of helplessness upon her tender, untried flesh.
On the sixth round, she let out a final broken sob, going limp against him, rendered passive by the shock of being spanked and the newfound understanding of his response to insubordination. He hummed low in his throat, a sound of approval. His palm stroked light circles over her flushed skin, soothing away the pain and transforming it into a warm, strangely relaxing heat. The vise of his grip relaxed and he held her gently, as though he could feel how docile she had become.
They’d been walking for an indiscriminate amount of time, her vision limited to the upside-down sway of moonlit land. She could smell the ceremonial oils he’d been anointed with, vetiver and cedar from the mountainous regions to the North. Unable to do much else, she inhaled the masculine scents, offhandedly registering that they weren’t unpleasant. Amidst the numb complacency that had taken hold of her, her mind still sought for any sort of positive thing to cling to, adrift as she was on a flat sea of despair.
The soft nicker of a horse broke the silence, and he murmured soothingly to it in greeting. Her mind spun with indecision as she was set on her feet. He seemed to read her, keeping one hand about her bound wrists as the other tipped her chin up to meet his eyes. “If you fight me or attempt to flee, you’ll find your earlier schooling but a warm-up. I enjoyed it far too much to deny myself, should you be unwise enough to tempt me,” he warned, his voice grim.
Her hazel eyes sparkled with defiance, and she wrenched her face away from him, regulating her insubordination to a simple refusal to look at him.
He allowed it, swinging up into his saddle and reaching an arm to capture her waist, hoisting her easily into place. Rey closed her eyes, her head falling bonelessly against his chest as she exhaled a half sob of defeat. The corded muscles of his arm flexed, tightening around her protectively as they wheeled about. With a sharp word, he spurred his horse into a gallop, stealing off with his prize through the cold, pale night.
Chapter 2: The Seduction
Rey, now captive, is born away by her hunter for the rite of Claiming. His conduct isn’t as she anticipated, and her emotions war as she is subjected to his whims.
I think I tagged this fic as PWP, yes? And so it goes...
The stars were hard points of light that twinkled overhead, uncaring of the doings of mortal men.
Rey watched them sightlessly, held within the cage of her captor-lord’s arms, her body rising and falling in sync with the gallop of his horse. Her feelings were a closed circuit of misery, cycling from defeat to dull terror to an irrepressible urge to flee. The constant shift between the three prevented any sort of logical thought from forming, resulting in paralytic indecision. Their journey was a strange prolonged torture--one she wanted to continue. As long as they rode, her fate was kept at bay.
Her keeper loomed in her peripherals, blotting out the stars and dwarfing her petite frame. The onrush of wind was brutally cold where it met her skin, but his body cloaked her back with heat, preventing her from achieving total numbness. He’d been silent as death, his corded arm wrapped tight about her waist, keeping a firm grip but refraining from taking further liberties with her person. For this, at least, she could be grateful, having assumed the worst of every conceivable situation she might encounter this night.
Rey knew not how far or which way they’d come. The landscape gave her no clues; all was a bitter blur of endless fields, and they’d been traveling in a straight trajectory for what felt like hours. As they rode abreast of a craggy oak, he suddenly drew them to the left and over a low rise, slowing to a trot. Up ahead, a warm light pierced the icy monotony like a beacon, and her stomach knotted as they neared enough for her to recognize the low, grassy rise of a ceremonial barrow.
Its rustic oaken door was thrown wide to emit a flickering glow; a golden maw waiting to devour them both.
Her heart beat painfully as he reined them up to a stop before it, sliding fluidly from the saddle before the horse had even stopped, pulling her with him the moment his feet hit the ground. He wasted no time, shouldering her slight weight as he secured his mount to an iron ring. She’d gone weak with dread, swaying with his movements as he bore her over the threshold.
Rey watched with dull terror as the vast expanse of starlit night was replaced by something far more intimate: earth and low beams, firelight and a broad alcove strewn with white furs.
She heard a heavy bolt slide into place, barring her only route of escape with a rusty groan. Crossing the close quarters in three strides, he knelt, lowering her to sit at the edge of the fur-draped alcove. Candles were lit everywhere, and a small fire snapped in the hearth. She kept her gaze down, watching the flickering light play across the pale muslin of her gown, frozen with the uncertainty of what was to come.
Rey had certainly heard whispered rumors, despite the strict edict swearing past tributes to secrecy. All hearsay erred on the brutal side; that the premise of the hunt whipped the men into a lather, unraveling the fabric of their decency and inspiring hedonistic lust, with no holds on how or what was perpetrated. There was only one mandate this night. Just one rule that must be obeyed: the claiming of a maiden’s blood. Rey shuddered in abject misery, plagued by visions of desecration, morbidly wondering at the sort to which she’d be subjected.
Sitting there, bound and helpless, she watched his hand reach out to cup her chin and slowly tip her head up. He stood before her, a statue embodying all that was dangerous. The primal glow of firelight licked up his body, illuminating the formidable lines of his musculature and glinting from the tips of his antlered helm.
“You will be mine tonight, and I’ll take everything,” he said, stating what she already knew in a low, passionate voice. “If you please me, I’ll reward you in ways you couldn’t dream. You already know what awaits should you resist…”
“Now look at me, and keep your eyes up,” he said, his voice treacherously soft. She swallowed, furiously blinking the water from her eyes as she was released. He reached up, strong hands gripping his antlered helm, sliding it off to reveal the striking face of the lord from the forest.
His hair was enviously glossy and black as moonless night, as were his lashes and thick brows. They contrasted dramatically with his skin, marble-pale and dotted with beauty marks. His clipped goatee framed lips that were lush and distracting, and his well-muscled body was the sort that made the village girls blush and whisper amongst themselves.
Altogether, he was a vision of masculine perfection, but his eyes...they were truly extraordinary. Haunting and intense, they were hard to meet, possessing a simmering depth of emotion that captured in spite of herself.
She felt breathless--faint in the hot wash of his scrutiny, unable to look away for fear of his retribution. Allowing his gaze to devour her, he stepped casually to a sideboard, not releasing her from his stare for even a moment, as if he was intent on having her in every conceivable way this night.
He retrieved a studded goblet and filled it from a decanter before returning to her side. She stared weakly up at him, unable to breathe, her bound hands resting listlessly in her lap. “You will drink,” he stated, bringing the rim to her lips as his huge hand cradled the back of her head.
The liquid was herbal fire, burning a path into her body as she sputtered, struggling to continue swallowing as he slowly tipped the chalice for her. Its taste was acrid on her tongue but left a sweet, grassy aftertaste in its wake. The effect was startlingly rapid. She felt a warmth suffusing her limbs, branching like molten gold through her veins. Her tension ebbed, muscles loosening as the elixir took effect.
Setting the goblet aside, he again stood before her, the intimidatingly large bulge of his cock suggestively level with her face. She couldn’t restrain a pleading look as she stared up at him, her expressive eyes swimming in the glow of the candles.
He was unreadable, giving away nothing as his hands reached out to touch her. One lifted a burnished lock of her hair, running it between his fingers while the other traced the contours of her face. She blinked, somewhat surprised by how gentle his large fingers were. He was rapt, almost boy-like as he stared at her, as if he had never before seen a woman and was thoroughly wonderstruck.
His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, straying over the plush curve of her lips. He exhaled sharply as one sorely tried, pressing lightly, testing their give. She watched the sea-change in him, watched his eyes sharpen with hunger. Her heart began its race as he pushed slowly into her mouth.
“Suck,” he rasped, his voice hoarse.
By now her limbs were languid, suffused with whatever intoxicant she’d been given, the sharp edge of her fear mercifully dulled. Her eyes slipped closed as her lips sealed around his thumb, giving herself over to his command. She drew upon skin that was soft and free of calluses; the skin of a lord. Her lips furled as she applied a gentle suction, taking him deeper into her mouth.
Hearing his groan, her eyes drifted open to see him staring down at where she suckled him as one hypnotized.
If she’d thought him intense before, she was at a loss to characterize his current expression. He was on fire, his dark eyes burning with unsated hunger, a hunger she knew she’d only fueled with her acquiescence. Her upper body went slack as he removed his thumb and bent double, hands lifting her head to meet his ravenous kiss.
She had been kissed before, but never like this.
He held her immobile, plundering the cavern of her mouth, greedily taking that which his thumb had just enjoyed. Rey moaned as all thought departed, banished by the dizzying sensations she was being made to feel. Her head tipped back before his incursion, resting upon the bridge of her shoulders as he consumed her with hungry abandon. The kiss was carnal and suggestive, and she whimpered in consternation as her sex throbbed in response.
He continued in a ruthless slide of lips and tongue, dipping in, tasting her over and over. Her mind spun as he rearranged her reality into wet, hot pleasure. Without even knowing, she was harmonizing with him, trying him on, allowing his gentle sucking and biting before freezing in confusion when her mind briefly surfaced.
What sorcery had he subjected her to that she should cooperate with him?!
She tore away with a muffled cry, her own zeroed pupils staring at him in abject distress, chest heaving for breath. “W-what have you done to me?”
He returned her stare with one as merciless as it was hungry. His muscles flexed sinuously in the firelight as he sank fluidly into a crouch. “My dear girl,” he chided, his massive hands folding ominously about her bound wrists.
“ I haven’t yet begun .”
A startled cry slipped her lips as she was seized and dragged backward across the furs.
Lifting her bound wrists high above her head, he caught her bindings on a hook embedded along the frame of the alcove. Rey writhed foolishly a moment, stilling as she caught sight of the thing glittering perilously in his hand. Her lips parted as she beheld his hunter's dagger, and she tore her eyes from it to stare at him with her heart in her throat, unable to speak.
His face was intent as he slipped the blade under the bodice of her gown, pulling it away from her skin and ruthlessly parting the muslin with a rough sssssnick. She was motionless with dread as he ran the cutting edge down the length of her gown, returning up to slice through the delicate sleeves at her shoulders. The ruined fabric settled at her sides with a sigh, leaving her naked body exposed.
A wave of dizziness swept her, her sight breaking up into temporary static as she continued to grapple with unfolding events. Her mind screamed for her to writhe and fight, but her limbs had succumbed, paralyzed with weakness. Watching him with teary eyes, she used the only thing she had left for defense, abandoning all dignity as the word formed on her lips.
“ Please .”
His dark brow shot up at the sound of her plea. “You would beg me for mercy?” His voice was soft yet cutting, and his slight smile sent chills racing through her. “Even knowing full well what we’re here for?” He lifted the chalice she’d drank from and downed the remaining tonic in a single swallow.
“I have very little comfort to give you,” he said, purposefully setting the dagger down before fixing her with a predatory look that made her heart skip.
“Your virgin blood will be spilt...its taste shall I know…”
She choked back a sob, wishing foolishly that his voice wasn’t so haunting as it cruelly spelled out her fate.
“I can assure you of this, however” he continued silkily, “the only blade that will pierce you this night...is one of my own flesh...”
His fingers had laced about her bound ankles as he spoke, unworking the knots. Her mind sped as her legs were freed, the urge to kick and thrash barely exceeded by the fear of provoking greater atrocity. When his iron grasp drew one ankle toward the corner of the alcove, it was almost too much for her to bear. He was binding her again .
He seemed to sense her devolving sanity and responded, claiming the other ankle with the speed of a striking serpent, tying her to the sinister hooks that circled the perimeter of the sleeping alcove, legs spread wide, taking her feeling of utter vulnerability to untold heights.
Kneeling between her trembling thighs, his dark eyes raked her staked-out body with a calculating look as his hands alighted on her knees, slipping up her thighs to grip her hips as he slid forward onto his front. Rey hyperventilated, squirming as she felt the feather-light caress of his lips on the inside of her knee, brushing warm, wet kisses up the soft skin of her inner thigh. He moved to her opposite knee, repeating his erotic tasting of her, fair in his treatment of both trembling legs.
Her panic increased as his kisses became more heated, sucking and nipping at her firm muscle as he neared the junction of her thighs, the build of his craving spelled out in bites. The helplessness was sheer agony, and she writhed feeling his teeth close on the tender junction of her groin. She threw her head back with a loud cry, eyes squeezing shut as she braced for pain.
There was a whisper of movement, a stir of air parting and suddenly his lips were on her own as he nudged her mouth open, tongue sweeping in with a passionate groan. Her breath was choppy against his cheek as a twisted sort of relief flooded her mind; grateful to have his mouth busy with her lips, safely above that tender area she’d always been taught to protect. Her body was dwarfed as he caged her, his chest warm and broad against her breasts.
He stalked her compliance with cunning patience, biding his time as he continued his gentle assault on her mouth, kissing her until she relaxed against him. When her lips were soft and pliant, he released them, nudging her head aside to begin anew at the curve of her neck, coaxing her devolving sanity with sharp-toothed bites followed by languid, sucking kisses.
She felt his hand trail over her ribcage and brush over her breast, the very center of his spread palm circling teasingly over her nipple before continuing to stroke up the exposed skin of her underarm. Her hands clenched about her bindings, straining as the goosebumps rose, her nipples pebbling almost painfully along with them. He acknowledged them with a sinuous circling of his chest, the carved muscles of his pectorals brushing teasingly at her sensitized tips.
Rey moaned breathily as he moved over her, his mouth following the rounded underside of her breast, biting at its softness. She cried out, a strange anticipation filling her with unfamiliar want as his mouth, newfound source of sensational pleasure, skirted so close to her puckered pink bud. But he avoided her nipple altogether, his dark head moving over her chest to lavish the same divine torture on the curve of her right breast, taking great mouthfuls and sucking hard, biting at her, making her whimper and strain.
She could smell the intoxicating scent of the oils they’d anointed him with and the masculine tang of his skin. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with him. Obeying the spell he’d cast, her back arched, eyes closed as she instinctively sought his kiss. He must have been waiting for some such sign, for his lips finally found her aching bud and enveloped it.
Rey felt a little of her die inside, mind stuttering at the absolute epiphany of rapture she was being subjected to. She keened softly in disbelief, her head falling back to the furs. The animalistic hungry sounds he made were driving her mad, brows furrowing as she found the strength to look down, ruined all over again by the sight of his sinful lips nursing at her breast.
She blinked, faltering at the eroticism of it, suddenly aware of the toll he was taking between her thighs. His lips unfurled sensuously, sliding wetly over her nipples, and her sex responded, by now dripping and soft, as if the two very-separate areas were somehow interconnected.
Her panting was becoming frantic, and he growled, placing a last bite on her areola before sliding tellingly down her body. She stared as he settled between her thighs, panic climbing the scales once again. Her breathing peaked with a held breath and she closed her eyes on his look of dark amusement, unable to handle the sight of him enjoying the state of her sex. Shame cloaked her like a mantle, and she choked on it, waiting for mockery that never came.
Without preamble, the tip of his tongue stroked up her slit.
She gasped loudly, eyes flying open to blink up at the curved beams, stunned.
A deep groan of satisfaction reverberated over her flesh as he did it again, tasting her ponderously, his hands now wrapping around her hips, kneading and squeezing them lightly, like a cat showing its pleasure. His breath was hot on her wet skin.
“You taste like the feast of the ages, Rey, and I’m going to fucking devour you .”
His words were delivered with a calmness that belied their meaning, and but she wasn’t allowed time to fret before his mouth latched onto her sex. She cried out, pulling at her bindings, without anything to save her as he sucked passionately at her pussy, chipping away at her sanity with every move. She pleaded and whimpered wordlessly, devastated by the sight of his dark head between her thighs, the obscene wet sounds his mouth made against her flesh, and most of all the feeling of him--nursing at her sinfully, better than she ever could have dreamt.
Rey arched, her gasps and moans growing impassioned. Her hands twisted the tense rope that bound her, nails leaving crescents in her palms. “You like that, do you,” he husked, licking a wet stripe up her before sucking delicately at her throbbing peak. “I can taste it,” he paused, looking up and smirking when he saw her distressed look. She shook her head in fierce denial and he laughed softly, his mirth twisting the barb of truth within her ruthlessly.
“Deny it if you will. It matters not. Even in your innocence, your body responds in earnest,” he said, lips brushing her as he licked gently between words, “gifting me sips of your sweet nectar.”
She moaned brokenly, her traitorous sex illustrating his point as he continued his crusade to thoroughly debase her. What little writhing she could get away with stilled as she felt her body slowly breached. Her breath suspended as he introduced the sensation of being touched from the inside.
Chills broke out over her skin as he fingered her with shallow strokes, watching her response with a deep rumble of satisfaction before returning his lips to her clit. He continued to work on her, testing the give of her untried body, wrenching forth short, breathy cries.
His masculine groan went right to her core, and she felt herself grow even wetter, encouraging his entrance as though she needed it. He continued his back-and-forth, sliding deeper into her slick sheath and retreating, until the length of his finger was met and he could penetrate no further. In and out he stroked, his mouth sealed over her peak, besieging her with the doubled pleasure of being sucked and fucked all at once.
Never had Rey felt so much, and her mind fumbled with the newfound carnality even as its last dying bid for resistance fell silent. The perfect storm between her legs won out. She tossed her head, arching as the building ecstasy he traced into her matured, unfurling divine wings.
It took glorious flight on the drive of his next resounding thrust, soaring shatteringly forth. Her trailing cry pierced the hazy air as her body rendered pure sensation. She heard herself crying out from a distance, but it didn’t matter, blinded as she was by the sparks of light bursting within her, weaving tracers of unadulterated pleasure up the pathways of her nerves.
All was dark as she panted, tracking the dulcet sound of his praise, gravelly with emotion as he lavished her still.
I didn't mean to leave off in such a, uh, *precarious* place, but damn if I plan anything effectively.
Forgive my undying skills in the disorganization department. Strengths, weaknesses, meh...
On the bright side, I'm a goddamn kitchen goddess who happens to be all about that *sauce* :-P
Chapter 3: The Claiming
There is no clever double meaning in the title. The premise is met.
Awareness returned to Rey as she clung to the taut rope about her wrists, breasts rising and falling with each heaving breath. The whole span of her lower body felt languid and tingly, as if the thing he’d done was magic. As cohesive thoughts dazedly began to form, she looked down to see he’d divested himself of what little he was wearing. He was now fully naked, his erection as formidable as the rest of him. Her eyes traced the line of his resplendent shaft, noting its extraordinary sword-like reach. Somewhere at the back of her thoughts, detached alarm bells sounded as she pondered how that might fit inside... With effort, she tore her eyes from his manhood, skirting up his pale, well-muscled body. The molten heat of his stare hit her like a wall, and her mind registered how worked up he was.
How beautiful and terrifying.
She swallowed, trepidation making its return felt as a dart in her belly. Her eyes skirted his body, perceiving the current of energy that animated each limber muscle as he prowled over her, watching in growing awareness as he undid the ties at her ankles first, then reached for her wrists.
His gaze alone was enough to bind her.
Her brows furrowed in confusion as she was freed, bringing her arms down to rub at her chafed skin. He hovered above, caging her, smoldering; a firestorm caught in the form of a man.
“I’ll not have you bound like an animal for the Claiming, you deserve at least that much.”
Lowering his head to her throat, he brushed her hair aside, his voice lowering an octave as he kissed below her ear. “Besides,” he murmured, nipping her skin, “you’ll need to hold on to something.”
She inhaled sharply at his words. Frightening and mysterious though they were, they didn’t match his actions, and she followed his face, considering him through a new lense.
It was unexpected that he would show her these kindnesses. From the first moment the clerics had come for her, preparing her with their ceremonies and feeding her naught but milk and honey, she’d known her virginity was forfeit; an offering of purity taken in whatever manner her hunter saw fit. The Claiming demanded a blood sacrifice. Awareness didn’t cancel the fear of it, but his sudden show of compassion was more than she could have hoped for, and, from the stories she’d heard, far more than was usual.
Such were her thoughts as he ground his hips lightly into the wet mess between her thighs, the forbidden sensation of his heavy shaft flossing through her folds bringing her back to the present. He had slipped a hand under her neck, cradling her head while the other hand whispered down her side. His lips sought to claim hers, and she hesitated for a beat before her mouth consented with a soft sigh. Much of the tension held in her limbs relaxed as she admitted him willingly. In this action was the admission of something else: a new truth.
There was sanctified pleasure in the bestial things they did.
His tongue stroked hers, punctuating that fact with each sensuous glide, teasing reciprocation from her.
It was almost unconscious, the way she stroked him back.
He groaned emotively, his rigid posture softening ever-so-slightly, a small thing that spoke volumes, giving her a first tiny glimpse at the power she wielded with the velvety pass of her tongue.
She wondered at it, noticing how his hips had gentled their insistent grinding at the first sign of her participation. They now rolled slowly, mimicking a ship atop low swells. She raised her arms between them, hands opening to splay tentatively over the expanse of his chest, her fingers trailing out over the exquisite line of his collarbone to grip his rounded shoulders.
He watched as she opened just a little, timidly exploring the unfamiliarity of his body, watching her with eyes that glittered in the shadowy light. In the lull, her boldness grew. Her lips parted as her fingertips mapped his exceptional build, enthralled by how much bigger he was and the hypnotic flex of his arms.
He must have enjoyed her light touches, for he groaned, teeth closing on the bridge of her shoulder. His hand splayed over her hip, dwarfing it before snaking around to cup the globe of her buttock, kneading her, causing her sex to throb with want. Her mouth sought his and he growled his assent, giving her what she sought. His kiss was cunning, teasing further compliance with each hot stroke of his tongue, doubling down as his cock slipped dangerously against her sex; wet above and downright indecent below.
Her low, throaty moan galvanized him, and he slid lower, grasping her thigh and pulling it up to his side while his other hand followed suit. Rey found herself wrapped about his thrusting hips, held in place by hands that splayed about her thighs. He shifted the attentions of his sinful mouth to her throat, and each kiss, every bite wove the spell about her tighter, blinding her with red desire until she couldn’t see.
All that remained were his hands rubbing her, his mouth leaving a wake of exquisite destruction, and the wild throbbing of her sheath, begging for that which pressed against it, so close to fulfillment...
At last caving to the instinctual urge to have him within her, her lips parted to loose the word she’d spoken before, for the opposite reason.
“ Please .”
This time, her plea begged for mercy of a different sort.
This time, he acquiesced.
His blown-out eyes met her half-lidded stare, and she felt the velveteen head of his cock sink gently into her, his brows furrowed with desire barely-checked.
She held her breath, watching in suspense as a muscle clenched in his jaw. Her flushed red lips froze open as he pushed in a smooth motion, her slippery muscles giving to his insistent thrust. His eyes rolled back as he slid into a vise of liquid heat, but she didn’t see it. Her own were shut tight, bracing against the burning stretch of being filled, nails sinking deep into the solid muscle of his biceps. A sharp, pained cry tore from her as she tensed in agony.
His cock was a weapon, and he’d impaled her on it.
Her thighs squeezed his hips while she sobbed softly, unable to move. He kept her pinned, his enormous shaft buried to the hilt. His lips sought hers, kissing her trembling mouth, murmuring softly to her, trying to comfort her but not letting up. She could feel his throbbing in their stillness, knowing that what hurt her so exquisitely felt like heaven to him.
Her breath hitched when he cocked his hips back, stolen with a cry as he slid back into her. Purposefully, he sheathed himself yet again, verifying her body’s transition, claiming beyond all doubt that which was his this night. Her lament echoed about the cavern, nails raking grooves down his back. And suddenly, he was up on all fours over her. She only had time to blink twice in surprise when his head was between her thighs again. He followed up her violent initiation with a touch shockingly gentle, his tongue slinking between her swollen folds.
With brutality and devotion, he completed the ritual.
Her hands pulled at the bed furs, knotting in them with a sharp gasp as he pushed her thighs wide, taking her off guard as he began to lap at the mix of her wetness and virgin blood, his deep, masculine growls vibrating against her aching flesh.
Her fingers trembled, hesitating for only a moment before plunging into his jet-black hair, back arching as his tongue speared into her then licked intently, claiming her maidenhood in this primal way.
Rey’s mind fumbled with the implications, the erotic context of his actions slowly dawning, struggling with it--twisting...grappling...and all at once she let go, her body going limp as the room spun.
She swooned against the bed furs, taken in every sense of the word.
Her eyes slipped closed as she gave in to the forbidden things he did, lips parting as she tipped her hips up to where he devoured her. He groaned, his mouth wandering up to latch on her clit, sucking hard as his fingers found their way inside her. She strained, widening her thighs even further for him, giving him everything.
The decree was satisfied, and there was nothing gentle left, drunk as he was with lust and the taste of her blood on his lips. Now he finger-fucked her with deep, passionate strokes, reveling in her mounting cries as he added a third with ease, gently spreading them, preparing her as best he could.
Just as Rey felt that magical build of pleasure begin to crest, he stopped. She cried out, bewildered as she was flipped over, her backside pulled up to meet his hips. The plush velvet tip of his cock nudged at her, and she gasped, stiffening with a cry as he slid into her again, her fists knotting amongst the furs. She would have bucked off of him but for his iron grip on her hips, holding her in place as he began to thrust, insistent on having her. Her thighs trembled as she was penetrated over and over, slick muscles stretched wide around his magnificent girth.
Her cries became staccato, timed by the pace he set. Rey’s mind departed, reduced as she was to the animalistic sensation of receiving him. Her body slowly conformed to his hardness, the initial pain replaced by a blossoming warmth. She instinctively synced her breath with his movements, his connections beginning to tingle with mounting pleasure.
There must have been a subtle change to the pitch of her next moan, a tone she wasn’t aware of...but he noticed and slowed their rhythm, his hands releasing her to roam her body, rubbing sensually up and down her sides. “Yesss--” he hissed, drawing each stroke out, coaxing the sensitivity from her sheath. His hand reached around her hip, finding her throbbing clit and rubbing it back and forth.
Her body was alive, electric for him as he stroked and strummed her. Rey tossed her head back, straining against his hips as he began to pound into her, his urgency building with her cries. She heard herself from far off, begging him to please, please keep doing it, please not stop.
As her world broke up into dots, she wished she knew his name, wished fervently as her sight went dark that she could scream it…
There was no light as she broke through the void. Her body had become as the night sky, and he, a meteor shower, each stroke raining down the most brilliant ecstasy. Keening softly, she staggered as each star tracked through her in dying rapturous pleasure. She was oblivious to the way her delicate muscles gripped him fiercely, clenching and releasing as she melted all over him, barely aware of his responsive groans.
Rey was boneless, light as a feather as he flipped her back over, sliding her calves up onto his shoulders and reclaiming her with a sure stroke. Her limber body was a thing of beauty as he bent her in two, lips finding hers as he thrust several more times, achieving a depth of penetration that was near unbearable.
She watched with dazed eyes as his face crumpled with what could be agony or ecstasy of the highest accord, burying himself to the hilt and stilling, quivering, before his hips jerked up hard. His cries were low and winded, his breath stolen as he came deep within her womb, his sweat-slicked muscles gleaming as they tensed. Still in the waning throes of her own climax, Rey panted lightly under him, perceiving the subtle sensation of his cock pulsing inside of her. The feeling was warm and unfamiliar, and she whimpered quietly at the strangeness of it.
He stroked his hands up and down her legs, rubbing her soothingly while he stroked slowly, working his seed into her. His eyes were closed, still partaking in the rapture of his claim, and he kissed adoringly at her ankle, murmuring softly to her, gentling her with a voice low and soothing. She sighed when he eased her legs back down about his hips. To her chagrin, they trembled violently, and even her concerted attempts to relax yielded no relief.
He saw it, lowering his body over hers, propping himself up to give her a tender look. “Your body is not used to this,” he murmured, brushing the wet strands from her temples. “Fear not, my sweet. Your muscles are fatigued because they’ve never been worked this way before. They’ll settle eventually.”
His dark stare was magnetic, and she took a deep breath, wanting very much to believe the concern she saw there, to believe the sweetness she felt in the touch moving soothingly over her thighs.
Holding her captive with his unblinking gaze, he lowered his lips to meet hers, eyes never leaving her face as he gauged her mood.
His kiss was slow and tender, deepening with an emotive groan when her sheath tightened around him. Rey was bone-tired, body and mind utterly spent. A part of her still worked at the puzzle of his gentle kiss, mulling the unusual manner of her claiming and the hints of tenderness she’d glimpsed through the armor of his lust.
He paused, pulling back but an inch or so, eyes wandering over the planes of her face as his fingers toyed with the dark strands of her hair. She drew a breath to speak but halted, the words stillborn on her lips.
He noticed it and responded softly. “Rey, my sweet. Trust is not a part of the Hunt and Claiming. I understand that, and still I must implore you. The roles we’ve played this night have run their course; the rite has been performed and tradition satisfied. From now on, never hesitate but come to me without fear.”
She blinked slowly, her hazel eyes catching the firelight as she took in the open look on his face, free of any signs of duplicity. Her voice was hesitant. “Please, then. If it isn’t too bold, I’d know your name,’ she murmured, the barest ghost of a smile crossing her reddened lips, “I’ve been at a... distinct disadvantage as you’ve had mine all along.”
His smile was transformative, taking the dark intensity of his stare and alchemizing it into a divine warmth. A bird fluttered in her chest as she beheld him with his guard down, his pleasure in her pure and honest, untainted by the nights lusty ritual.
“It’s Kylo,” he said, watching her intently, “Kylo of the House of Ren.”
Rey inhaled sharply through her nose, eyes widening as it dawned that she’d just been claimed by the sole heir of Alderaan’s most distinguished House. Her lashes fluttered as she lowered her eyes out of habit.
He lifted her chin gently, seeking her gaze again. “Kylo,” he insisted, not unkindly.
“Very well then...Kylo,” she murmured.
Moving carefully, he withdrew himself from her body, settling flush against her side. Propping his head up with an elbow, he continued to watch her with his dark, encompassing stare. Rey shivered at the sudden loss of his warmth, her brows furrowing a little as she felt the aching throb of her sex clench around nothing. Her frown deepened, hazel eyes blinking delicately, unable to mask her look of confusion at the hot gush of juices now running over her upper thighs, released by his absence.
He seemed to know the very thoughts of her mind, dipping low to kiss her again, his pillowy mouth grazing softly over hers, distracting her with the sensual meet of their lips. She responded, unable to remain still and just receive when he felt so good. It was slow and sweet, and his gentleness emboldened her some, making her just comfortable enough to ask the question that wouldn’t let her rest...
“If you really mean what you say, there is another thing I’d know,” she said, looking up at him with clear eyes.
“I did, and I do,” he replied.
“Kylo, you...you broke with the traditions of the Claiming. Why? What did you see that day by the Briarwood that would make you do such a thing? Why me?”
His expression changed, growing distant as he stared at her, lingering. He inhaled as if steeling himself and began, his voice oddly wistful. “I saw something in you, something far beyond the exquisite beauty of your form.”
Now he gazed past her, eyes narrowing as he searched for the words. “You looked up at me, and our eyes met.” His stare returned to pin her in place. “Rey, it was as if I- I... recognized you. My head swam for a minute, and I was not myself.” Her brows furrowed a little, still watching him quietly, listening.
“When my mind returned, I was overcome with an inexplicable, near-crippling desire to have you. Like the continuity of my very life depended on it. It was all I could do not to seize you right then and carry you off for myself.”
Here he paused, reaching out to grip her shoulder. “This is not who I am, Rey, and for me to have this strange, uncharacteristic premonition, to be subject to a sudden, crushing need for a stranger only served to astound me further.” He stroked her, trailing light touches down her arm. “I knew how auspicious the moment was when it happened, but the dreams have only poured foundation about bedrock--” he broke off, pulling her onto her side to face him, his hand reaching up to cup her cheek. His voice was low and urgent. “Rey...I’ve dreamt of you, without fail, every night since first we met.”
His dark eyes were alive and endless, devouring her. “I am a tactical man. I believe in logic and scoff at superstition, and yet I am possessed , unable to rest without visions of you haunting me, night after night. The torture is most divine, my sweet, but I couldn’t continue to abide by it.”
“The time for my hunt had come, and I couldn’t back away from it. It could never have been anyone but you,” he declared, passionate as he brought her hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle, staring her down all the while. “Rey. You are all I see, and I had to have you.”
At once she felt terribly vulnerable. A lump had formed in her throat, threatening to render her speechless. She knew what happened on the morrow; the clerics would find her, initiated unto womanhood and left in a sea of furs stained red with her virgin blood. They’d bear her off to the temple and look after her until she was healed, releasing her with a generous purse.
Her eyes were profoundly sad as she looked at him. “And so you have,” she managed, the unspoken left hanging between them.
His face darkened as he read her sorrow. “Rey,” he said softly, stroking her cheek, “You couldn’t know this yet, but...you’re mine . Not just for tonight. When I say, ‘you’re all I see,’ I mean it in the most literal of ways.”
He’d flipped her hand over, bringing it to his lips, peppering his words with cloud-like kisses to each knuckle. “Your reflection is everywhere; gazing from the windows of shops as I pass, gracing the clouds as the weather turns cold, my every night haunted by visions of your fairness.” His stare was bottomless, and she felt herself going weak, succumbing to the tenderness of his actions. “My obsession is not of this plain, and I’ll not let you go,” he growled, one arm tightening possessively about her slight waist, pressing her close. “At dawn we ride East, to my family keep. I’ve had a country estate prepared for you there...I will send for your belongings to be delivered shortly.”
She blinked furiously before shaking her head, not understanding, not really. “But, Kylo,” she protested weakly, “this is, I--they won’t--” His fierce kiss silenced her. “Hush, little one.” She melded to his body, finding no fight or resistance to give as he pushed her backward, hips tucking into the cradle of her thighs again.
“It’s all been arranged, well before tonight. I can’t continue without you; I must have you near,” he asserted, his voice ringing with a lord’s conviction. “My Rey, my light. I need all of you, all the time. ”
As his lips found the dip of her throat, she exhaled, a long sigh of submission. His steely resolution was absolute, and there existed no recourse. She could argue, she could flail, but when what energy she still had was spent, she was still utterly at his mercy. He continued to ravish the incredibly sensitive skin of her neck, murmuring softly to her.
“I was taken from the first, and I’ve only just made you mine...yet, all I want is more.”
She shivered, her mind floundering as her body came alive under his touch. “I’ve not had enough of your sweetness...” he trailed off, thrusting his hands into her hair, cradling her head for a possessive kiss as his first thrust rocked into her slippery core, drawing a heartfelt cry.
“I will never…” he murmured, finding a slow, steady rhythm.
Rey tried to keep some part of her sacred as he plundered her body and mind, tumbling so sweetly against her, wearing away all common sense. She tried to protect her heart, little bits of it fluttering away as his name slipped her lips over and over. He was as a thief in the night, come for her tender innocence, leaving in its place treasure of a darker sort.
Pleasure and pain, intimacy and surrender.
With muscles trembling, she learned the dance of give and take.
With each thrust, he drove the sordid magic of the night deeper inside her, reworking her understanding of what a man and woman were to each other. Time stopped, and there formed a low current connecting them. She could feel it when her eyes closed; a thrumming urge born of their intimacy, and something else.
A thing dark and seductive.
It danced at the edge of her mind, haunting and irresistible, a part of her she could never have known existed. The perfect response to his dominance.
The desire to continue giving in.
This concludes our story, which was meant to be a one-shot but went all Incredible Hulk on me. I struggled some with that ending, and hope it wasn’t too unrealistic or anticlimactic. Lemme know what you make of my brand of madness!
The finale will be a bonus
chaptermini-series told from Kylo’s POV. Love writing/reading him sooo much, I couldn’t pass up the chance!
Thanks for reading! xo
Chapter 4: The Waiting Is All
Kylo is the sole heir of House Ren, one of Alderaan's most distinguished and powerful lordships. He is independent, gruff and notoriously unflappable. While on a diplomatic visit to a neighboring keep, he comes across a maiden at the edge of a forest and is shaken by a strange, supernatural exchange between them. The brief moments of their interaction haunt Kylo in the days to come, rearranging the make of his constitution and bringing him to heel. Plagued by visions of the girl, he contrives a scheme to possess her.
Welcome back fellow lovers of all things sordid! This chapter is a Kylo's POV follow-up to the first three chapters that detail Rey's capture and claiming. It starts us three weeks prior to the Hunt and tells the story of that fateful meeting and it's aftermath. The source and extent of Kylo's obsession are revealed along with background on how Rey came to be targeted as a tribute for the Hunt.
All I can say is... writing Tormented!Kylo was waaaay too much fun. Ah, the things you uncover about yourself through the creative process... It's like a spiritual journey in reverse. ;-)
*HUGS* to Avidvampirehunter for her clean-up of my nutball ramblings. If you enjoy my writing, I'm 110% that you'd adore hers. I know I do, and I'm a shameless pimp of things I love. XD (Some personal faves on Ao3: All That Implies and Parasite
If you haven't had the pleasure, treat yo self! xo
Without further yammering, I give you Kylo's POV. Hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Kylo inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the sharp autumn air as he watched the arousing spectacle before him: his Rey, being lovingly stripped down by the black-robed clerics, her nubile form revealed to him in the flesh.
As each perfect curve was unveiled, he felt the ground crumbling beneath his feet. His fortress of strength was indeed built on sand, and she was expressly made to make that humbling truth evident. His eyes reverently traced the gilded lines of her body, momentarily overcome.
He felt his insides go liquid with unadulterated want as he beheld her naked; skin painted by firelight, a searing vision that repaid his burning stare in kind.
The viewing was intended to stir the blood of the hunter, giving a visual taste, and he could attest that the practice was efficient. His cock had grown hard on and off all day as he closed in on putting this strange, all-encompassing obsession to bed, and his lip quirked wryly as it twitched in continued frustration. The wait had been excruciating.
So close, but she was still off-limits.
She couldn’t see him where he waited in the dark, hidden by the panel of fabric that allowed for one-way viewing of the brightly lit tent where they prepared her. Sage wands smoldered in the corners, purifying the air with their pungent tang. The clerics were stoic as they anointed her smooth skin with rose geranium oil, the very scent of purity and innocence. Her delicate musculature gleamed golden in the firelight, now hidden from his view as a white muslin gown was pulled over her head and smoothed about her figure.
A vision of purity she was, lovely as the starlight.
Stunning as she’d been that afternoon when first he’d seen her.
The day had started innocently enough. He’d sat through the third round of negotiations with the Lord of Glarus Keep before politely excusing himself for an afternoon ride. The obligations of being the seat of such an influential, well-posited house were non-negotiable, but at the very least he could dictate when he’d had enough for the day. One could only take so much haggling over trade tariffs before a breath of fresh air was in order.
His unannounced appearance sent the stable boy into a cold sweat, the lad scurrying about as he hurried to saddle Kylo’s uncooperative Alderaanian stallion. Mounting up without adieu, he’d tossed the boy a coin for his effort and left the castle in a blur, racing through the gates as though chased by the licking flames of hell. The stallion was fleet, his dark coat shining in the late afternoon sun, mirroring the luxuriant gleam of the black satin waistcoat his master wore. As the minutes slipped by, Kylo felt his cares fade to background noise in his mind, lulled by the pounding cadence of the ride.
Veering from the main thoroughfare, he rode past spent orchards of fruit as he made for the Briarwood, so called for the unforgiving thorny thickets that peppered it in dense copses. The air was clear as a bell, and he slowed from a sprint to an easy gallop, now pleasure-riding about the circumference of the wood as he let Blackfell take the lead. He discarded all thoughts of treaty stipulations, inhaling deep draughts of crisp autumn and taking in the red flares of vine maple that lit the shadowy woods.
It was here he came upon her.
His sharp eyes honed in on a slight figure at the edge of the forest: it was a young woman with a harvesting basket tucked to her hip. She’d heard his stallion’s hoofbeats and backed up to the brambles, her dark head bowed in customary acknowledgment of his lordship. He had intended to blow past her, but as she came into clear view, something made him draw up on the reins.
He told himself it was only curiosity—that he merely wanted a better look, for she was obviously fair. Reining up before her, he gentled his ill-mannered horse with a soothing word, taking in the sight of the maiden before him. Her rich, mahogany hair flowed over her shoulders like a cloak, and she kept her eyes down, stubbornly refusing to look at him. This recalcitrance only served to inflame him. Having intended to merely wish her a good day, he now found himself provoked, possessed of an uncharacteristic desire to make her bend to his wishes.
“Look at me,” he commanded quietly.
Her breast filled with a deep breath, and she raised her head slowly, unwillingly. Their eyes met, and he was pleased, for she was stunning... but Kylo only had time to register the nuanced play of green and gold before he was rendered blind and dumb in his saddle. The meet of their eyes triggered some sorcery, and his body stiffened in shock.
Though he gazed at the girl still, a play of ever-changing visions moved over her face, liquid and translucent: A candle-lit room, snow falling outside a window as he ran a comb through her long, dark tresses. The dark, icy waters of a mountain spring, her naked body so pale as she cut gracefully up to the surface. A field of tall grass where they lay entwined. A dappled grey mare that bore her away from him, her face playful and laughing as she fled, and he -- blinked furiously, shaken to the core as the haunting visions ceased and normal sight returned.
The maiden gazed at him still, her lovely face uncertain.
At once a madness descended, blinding him in a red swarm of stinging want.
He was possessed by the urge to seize the girl and awaken her with violence. Every fiber of his being thrummed with it--the desire to commit the unspeakable--to drag her into the woods and lay waste to her innocence. It mounted and overran the fortress of his stalwart logic, tightened about his concept of morality in a crushing vise.
Terror constricted his mind, his hands tightening about the reins as his faltering grip on control slipped… and as his thighs tensed, preparing to vault him off of his horse, the fever broke.
The madness released him from one breath to the next, and shock sank in as he righted himself.
Something supernatural had just happened, and she was at the heart of it.
His complete lack of control rankled him, and he was shaken by the unknown aspect of what had just transpired. His nostrils flared as he breathed in, making a concerted effort to ground his mounting emotions.
“What is your name, and from whence do you come?” He managed, his voice uneven.
Shame at his untoward reaction to her came creeping in, followed by a whisper of unwarranted resentment. Whatever strange thing had possessed him was now fled, he was free to drink in the details of her person, noting the long, dark fringe of her lashes, how they set off the light of her stunning, up-slanted almond eyes. Her skin was fair and scattered with a faint dusting of freckles, lending her a charmed, youthful appearance. Her lips were absolute perfection; generous and soft and begging for a ravishing. They parted, and he tore his eyes from them with effort as she finally answered.
“I am called Rey, my lord. Rey Kenobi of Glarus village.”
Her voice was lightly accented and lilting. It fell upon his ears like the sweetest of invitations, and he was again taken aback by his uncharacteristic response to her. He clenched his teeth in frustration, determined to regain some semblance of control over himself. Wrestling the beast of his urge to heel, he confined himself to a blatantly sexual stare.
His gaze was somewhat defiant, even retaliatory as he raked the length of her luscious body, infusing the caress of phantom hands into his stare.
The bewildered flutter of her lashes was reward unto itself, and he left her with a roguish smirk.
Spinning Blackfell about, he coaxed the stallion into a gallop, having taken the barest minimum he’d wanted of her. He set a punishing pace, anxious to increase the space between them, frightened by the prospect of what he’d been on the threshold of doing.
That night he dreamt of her. It was one of those dreams so incredibly saturated with color and emotion, he awoke sure he’d experienced it in the flesh. She’d been running through a springtime garden. Pale gray diaphanous fabric streamed from her nymph-like figure as she darted between planters of narcissus and lily-of-the-valley. Her face was hidden from his sight, and she didn’t look back to see how he chased her. Her hair was a warm, dark river he longed to tangle his hands in, and the pervasive tint of the dream was an ache of intense longing.
The third night, he stripped down and slipped naked beneath the sheets—as was his habit. Leaning over to extinguish the bedside candle, he gazed into the wavering flame for a moment, wondering if he’d dream of his muse again. The enigma that had occurred that day by the Briarwood still gnawed at him. Its inexplicability would have troubled his mind just fine on its own, but these incredible, vivid dreams he’d had the past two nights... well . They made the girl impossible to forget, imbuing his waking hours with thoughts of her. The shadow of a smile touched at his lips as he laid back against the goose down. If he had to be haunted, at least it was by one such extraordinary creature.
He awoke to the cheery sound of morning birdsong out his window, hungry for her. When he closed his eyes, he could still see her undressing for him, the erotic spectacle branded in his memory.
How naive he’d been back then.
The fifth morning found him deep in his cups over breakfast, withdrawn and cranky as he relived the latest of what had been a merciless barrage of imagery. She was at the heart of them all. Rey , his mind whispered. Always her .
The hours of the day passed slowly, his thoughts plagued by images of her emotive gold-green eyes, her long, sculpted limbs and feminine curves. His nights were spent frolicking with her in increasingly heated scenes, stoking the flame of his longing into a fire that consumed. He’d wake in the morning to the fade of his fantasies as reality began to take on the taste of bitter ashes.
In the dark of the ninth night, he sat bolt-upright in bed, gasping as the feel of her became memory.
The dreams were getting worse .
His fingertips tingled as they recalled the limber flex of her muscles beneath them. His erection was painful and his balls ached excruciatingly. He groaned in misery, taking himself in hand, stroking as he conjured fresh images of... delicate wrists pinned over her head, firm breasts bouncing beautifully as she sobbed and begged …
With a shudder, he arrived at a quick, unsatisfied climax, his ragged breathing evening out as he stared up into the dark.
He cursed aloud, eyes flickering closed as he did something unorthodox. Something he’d abandoned long ago, eschewing theology in favor of solid, reliable logic.
He began to pray.
The morning after the fourteenth consecutive night of torment, Kylo was sure he was losing his mind. He had visited the healers, watching in stony silence as they’d analyzed the color and quality of his blood, their expertise exhausted after he’d passed all tenants of a mental and physical examination. They had nothing to offer, sending him off with assurances that he was at the very peak of physical health.
So desperate was he to find some relief that he’d even gone against all sense of personal principle and paid a visit to the temple, describing the merciless dreams that plagued him, if not their subject matter. The diviner had smoked of an acrid concoction of dried herbs, tossing various alchemical items into a broad pan of dark water and mumbling as he’d read the signs. Kylo was barely able to hide his disdain when the man had cried out in a warbly voice that the answer lay in a holy pilgrimage to the Western Reach.
He had returned to his family keep in a mood inky and foul, heading straight to the lists to take it out on any unlucky souls who happened to be present. After hours of bruising practice in which he managed to bloody and demoralize half a dozen of his father’s soldiers, he skulked a path to the dining hall to drown all conscious thought in a cask of imperial stout.
He settled in on his third pour when Sir Poe Dameron found him staring morosely into his tankard. His favored knight clapped him on the back in greeting, motioning for a pour of ale and settling onto the deserted bench next to him.
“Well, my friend, this time you’ve done it,” he said cheerfully, smiling as he scanned the crowd around the dining hall. “You’ve figured out a way to cement that unapproachable reputation of yours. Half the keep is convinced you’ve been possessed by the ghost of Darth Sidious.”
He winked as one of the serving girls delivered his ale, her usual flirtatious smile faltering as she took stock of his hostile companion. Poe’s face fell, watching her retreat hastily without the customary lewd banter.
He stifled a groan. “What the hell, Kylo? Now you actually owe me an explanation, since your foul mood is salting my game.”
His jaunty smile fell flat as he read the signs from close up. “Hey. You look like hammered shit. Fess up.”
Kylo finally shot him a short glance, taking a long pull at his tankard. “Go away,” he groused, “I’ve problems that far eclipse your failed pursuits of serving wenches.”
Poe’s expression grew sober as he looked more carefully at his lord, noting the circles about his eyes and the oily unwashed hair that hung lank over his forehead.
His voice quieted. “Man alive. You really are a mess,” he said. “What’s eating you? Tell me so I can help.”
Kylo fixed him with a scowl that would have sent most everyone else packing, finally caving to the unwavering worry on his friends face. “Fine. But this goes nowhere, or it's your hide,” he growled, eyeballing his companion with a warning glare.
Poe nodded solemnly, leaning forward in silent understanding.
Kylo exhaled hard, like a man who shouldered the weight of the world, staring blankly across the hall. “I met a girl while I was on my mission to Glarus Keep.” His voice quieted, then, lost in the phantom image anew. “In all my life, I’ve never beheld anything like her. She was gathering berries along the Briarwood…”
Poe’s eyes widened. “A commoner?”
“Yes,” Kylo replied, his face unusually open, unguarded. “But she--she was...” he faltered, further astonishing his friend by shaking his head, grappling for the right words, “captivating. Beyond that— transcendent . I gazed upon her and knew the flavor of ambrosia for the briefest moment.” His fist tightened around his tankard, the other clenched white-knuckled against the table as his lament burst forth like a pressurized cask dropped to the ground. “Ah, the agony that followed that smallest taste! The crushing desire for more ...” He broke off, hanging his head in defeat. “I’ve seen many a fair maiden, but she, she is something more, and—I can’t get her out of my head ,” he finished, voice cracking.
Poe shook his head, at a total loss for words, as Kylo continued.
“I dream of her every night— every fucking night since first I laid eyes on her. It’s insane. Illogical. And—and I am stripped of the very principles that bring order to my world by my want of her, how she haunts me—”
“Whoooa there, calm down Big Guy,” he said, trying to mask his alarm with a humorous tone. Never had he seen his friend and lord so flustered, by a girl nonetheless, and it rattled him in turn. He gripped Kylo’s shoulder in a steadying squeeze. “What you need is a good romp. Your run in the Hunt is right around the bend,” he said, trying to sound upbeat, “and the timing couldn’t be better, huh?”
Kylo froze at the mention of the Hunt, a lock of greasy hair falling into his eyes as he turned to stare at Poe in undisguised panic.
“What? Did you forget about it or something?!” Poe asked incredulously, the laugh dying in his throat as he watched true dread cloud his friends face.
Kylo’s elbows braced on the wooden table as he held his head up, the very picture of misery. “Fuck,” he swore, then again, harder. “ Fuck! What am I going to do? There is no fucking way I’m going to, to—“ he stopped abruptly, head raising as something wicked caught him in its jaws.
Poe watched his friend’s face alter, eyes opening as one who’s seen the light after years of darkness. If he had to name it, he’d have said Kylo appeared to be having some sort of religious epiphany—more than that, relishing it. For his notoriously unshakable lord, the behavior was so erratic and out-of-character that Poe experienced a moment of actual dread.
Kylo turned to his arch knight, blind to his look of disquiet—blind to all but whatever thought presently consumed him.
“I have it,” was all he said, departing unsteadily and leaving Sir Dameron to stare after him with a look near comical, wondering what ungodly thing had overcome his friend.
Returning to his darkened study, he’d built a fire and lit the room with candles before settling in to pour over several pertinent texts, working out the logistics of his plan late into the evening.
When he’d finally retired, foreboding was replaced with something like anticipation, and sleep didn’t disappoint.
Red wine had spilled down her bodice, by accident or on purpose, it mattered not. It drew him to her as unerringly as an arrow to its mark, and then she was in his lap, embracing him as he dipped his head to taste her. He’d licked the dark rivulets from the valley of her breasts before opening her gown with a sharp jerk, lured by the scent and taste of her wine-soaked skin. His hungry mouth closed around a nipple, devouring it while growling like the beast she made of him, branding her flesh with his teeth. Her fingers had frantically worked at his laces, her need keeping pace with his own as she’d freed his cock, hot and aching with want.
He’d awoken with the memory of her lustrous dark hair brushing his thighs and the slick heaven of her mouth pulling at his length.
For the first time in many days, Kylo allowed himself a smile, basking in the memory. The morning, grown accustomed to the sounds of his tormented groans, was met with calculating silence. The peace he felt stemmed from finally having a course of action, an active strategy to take this blinding obsession of his to heel.
He would have her yet. Patience was all he needed, now.
Stretching languidly amongst the sheets, he arose from the bed with a sparkle in his eye, anxious to dress and begin the execution of his plot. He ignored the jut of his erection completely as he slipped on a heavy velour robe--a dark burgundy that conjured the spilled wine in his dream--and moved into his adjacent study. There was much to do; people to meet, monies to gather and influence to wield.
He rang for his attendant, waiting mere moments before Dopheld arrived and entered the study with a discrete “M'lord.” Kylo had always rued the tradition of keeping a chamber servant, preferring to stand on his own two feet in all affairs, even in the most mundane of daily chores. But he’d always liked Dopheld. He was efficient, meticulous, and above all discreet. He anticipated his master’s moods and worked tactfully around them, ever at his beck and call but wise enough know when to make himself scarce.
Kylo greeted him with more pep than he had in two weeks, and although Dopheld most definitely noticed, his quick, dark eyes didn’t linger any longer than usual.
“Dopheld, I have matters of urgency to see to this morning,” Kylo announced, his movements brisk as he readied for the day. “I shall need to attend several meetings, and I have a matter of import that requires your attention.” He handed over a rolled parchment sealed twice--the crest of Ren stamped into red wax followed by a glob of black bearing Kylo’s personal insignia. Dopheld’s brows twitched up a fraction at the added level of distinction. It wasn’t often that his lord saw fit to afix both seals to a document, and the level of importance was immediately conveyed through the action.
“This must be delivered directly into the hands of the Premier Cardinal of the High Temple, not to a cleric or aid, but to the man himself.” Kylo paused, tapping his quill absently before continuing. “The contents are of a delicate, personal nature. I entrust them to you alone,” he murmured darkly “Deliver my message in the privacy of the Cardinal’s own chambers and await his reply.”
He leaned back in his chair, face blank as he stared down at the watery diamond patterns of light that streamed through the beveled windows, composing his thoughts.
“Leave at once, and have the stable hand ready Blackfell. I depart for Aldera Lake post-breakfast to see to several... pertinent items.”
At this, Dopheld betrayed his surprise with the barest frown. “The Lake District, M’lord? Are you to the cottage?”
“Indeed. It must be renovated. If all goes according to plan, it will house a guest indefinitely. I shall either return late or on the ‘morrow,” he finished.
Dopheld was deft enough not to ask why his lord felt the need to do the work of servants. He was long accustomed to Kylo’s idiosyncrasies and the independent streak that distinguished him from the vast majority of nobles. He nodded crisply. “Your message shall be delivered as specified. If there isn’t anything else, Sir, I’ll take my leave,” he said, backing from the room.
Kylo’s eyes flicked up, amusement stirring in them. “Oh, and rouse Poe Dameron from whatever bed he’s found his way into and have him accompany you—bearing my standard. His presence will lend weight to the import of your errand, and it will be good to put him to work outside of his never-ending campaign to bed every serving girl in the castle.”
The slightest shadow of a smile crossed Dopheld’s face. “At once m’lord. I’ll be sure he’s presentable.”
Events unfolded quickly after that. Kylo had returned from his task to find that the Premier Cardinal was more than willing to acquiesce his request, providing the girl met the essential requirement and be proven to retain her maidenhood. She was to be summoned by the female clerics the day before the Hunt and brought to the temple for the preparatory ceremonies. Her virtue would be ascertained at that time, and a message would be sent out with the verdict.
The messenger he’d sent to discreetly gather information had returned as well with pertinent details of her life. She was an orphan who lived under the protection of her uncle, one Ben Kenobi, a miller by trade. Her eighteenth birthday had passed not one month hence, and she’d thus far rejected the advances of several would-be suitors. Kylo was exceptionally pleased, for it seemed that the fates were lining up in his favor.
There was one final question; that of her virginity.
The days leading up to the Hunt saw Kylo on his knees every night, eyes closed as he fervently prayed for deliverance.
The night before the hunt, his prayers were answered in the form of four short, beautiful words.
She passed the test.
This story shall conclude in a chapter or two. I'm almost nearly certain. Fairly. It depends on how carried away I get with the smut, which has been known to happen. Gotta make it pretty for y'all! ;-) xo
Chapter 5: Now and Not Yet
The Hunt told from Kylo's POV.
The High Priest blesses the Hunt with an incantation. No need to scroll--I give the translation to the right of the narrative.
I was unable to find the words/suitable replacements in Sith...so, this being a fantasy, medieval-inspired AU, I went with the Black Tongue of Mordor. Fitting, right?! I'm of the mind that the Orcs would've cheered on a practice as barbaric as the Hunt.
There were some discrepancies between the two Black Speech translators I used, so my accuracy is suspect at best (but what else is new, LOL).
Kylo felt the tether of his yearning pull as he watched the clerics finish their ritual preparations, their hands smoothing gently over her as they stepped back.
She was examined with great care, her attendants making sure that every aspect befit her role as Tribute. His stare burned through the thin curtain that shielded his presence, once again summoning that oft-revisited moment that had started it all--their first fateful meeting. The corner of his lip quirked in a wry, sarcastic smile. If he had known the torture that was to follow, he might’ve just taken her right then and there.
So much exquisite agony had he suffered, a lifetime of misery condensed and piled into the span of three weeks. He’d barely endured it, but this night would save him. She would save him, preserving his sanity as he satiated the bizarre, soul-crushing need that possessed him.
He took a deep, steadying breath, catching the delicate thread of rose geranium that laced the night air. The tip of his tongue snuck out, licking his lips gloatingly as he imagined how it would mingle with her sweat, picturing the taste on his tongue. The thought made him grateful; grateful he hadn’t caved to whatever had possessed him that afternoon along the Briarwood, grateful his planning had born fruit, grateful for the continuous string of luck that culminated with him standing at the ready, prepared to claim the object of his most ardent desires.
His attention was redirected with jolting speed as he watched the clerics blindfold her, tying a slip of silk in place. It hit him like a slug in the gut, and he was momentarily winded by the erotic sight; the sash over her eyes so white against the darkness of her unbound hair, the lush bow of her lips parted, chest rising and falling with her pronounced breath.
His agony was short-lived as she was gently taken by the forearms and escorted out of sight. He listened to the rise and fall of ancient incantations as they led her to the rustic trellis that marked the Hunt’s threshold. They fell silent as one and his skin prickled in the stillness, every sense keenly attuned as he waited with held breath. The deep bay of a hunting horn split the night, and he knew that her blindfold had been dropped, knew that at that very moment, she ran from him.
That mournful tone was his queue as well, but he ignored it. His dark eyes drifted closed as he envisioned it: her dress hiked up to permit the flurry of nimble feet, desperation singing through each delicate muscle as she raced to evade him. The pyre of his anticipation built itself higher as he parted the curtain and stepped into the hazy, sage-scented preparatory space.
Four priests robbed in black greeted him, one bearing a tray of herb-infused oils while another offered him a full chalice. He downed the potent elixir in several impatient swallows, breathing out to dispel the fiery spirits. Warmth suffused his limbs, and his eyesight sharpened as the tonic took effect. The low baritone of their chanting filled the firelit quarters, mingling with the scents of cedar and vetiver as multiple hands moved over his body, rubbing the traditional oils into his muscles. Were he not so singularly focused, he’d find this part of the ritual abhorrent, loathe as he was to have others encroach so intimately upon him. It didn’t even register as he swayed lightly under their touch, holding his arms out in uncharacteristic docility. The image of her own similar preparation had branded itself into his thoughts, superimposing itself across his reality and stirring his already-hard cock.
He’d seen the fine tremor in her limbs as they’d prepared her, knew it was her fear manifested. The sight of it had awoken an unwelcome beast, something wicked and depraved and ravenous, a cold, uncaring vestige of his masculinity that slavered after her response.
The first real test of his willpower.
He acknowledged his predatory reaction with no small amount of awe. It was now painfully clear now--how a hunter left to his own devices could commit the atrocities of rumor--an almost natural progression of the unchecked, hedonistic lust that the Hunt enabled.
The logical reason that had always defined him had been his saving grace, cutting through the churning sea of desire she’d evinced when she showed up in his life. That quiet inner voice prevailed, banishing for the moment his animalistic response. He’d had the past six days to weigh the possibilities of his conduct and their various outcomes, and he had determined that carnality could not be allowed full reign this night.
Dimly, he realized the hands of the priests had parted from his oiled flesh with a whisper, and that they were now shuffling back into the four corners, their eyes downcast. As one, they bowed, indicating the time had come. At long last.
Impatience sang through his blood as he strode from the tent, following the torch-lined path to the trellis. A high priest in blood-red robes waited beneath the brambled arch, holding in one hand a coiled length of rope and a golden helm in the other. The firelight winked from the antlers that crowned it, branching up like forked spears of lightning.
Kylo drew abreast with him, kneeling as he’d been instructed. The high priest began the incantation, the unsettling language of the ancient tongue ringing out over the solemn gathering:
Baj vosu doturog ang grish / let lust bind the iron in your blood
Drepa vajaz / kill the girl
Naugraufom nalt gru / awaken the woman
Nen grish han / under a blood moon
The priest’s warbling voice trailed off as he lowered the crowned helm over Kylo’s head.
"Rise," he intoned, motioning Kylo to stand.
He bestowed the coil of rope and produced Kylo’s hunting dagger from within the folds of his robe, handing it over as well. Then he retreated with a small bow, leaving him to stand alone beneath the ceremonial archway of fertile rosehips and piercing barberry.
A pregnant silence had fallen over those assembled, their worshipful gazes locked expectantly upon the helmed hunter beneath the archway. The torches guttered lightly in a chill breeze, their light causing shadows to cavort like ghosts.
Kylo felt the muscles of his abdomen knot as he awaited the final blessing, impatience and excitement warring for dominance.
The robbed priest’s voice rang out into the darkness, resonant and eerie.
Ukh jashat! / go forth
Agh latob gajup muruk vajaz grish / and may your hunt bear a maiden’s blood
His mind rejoiced as pent-up energy flowed through his muscles, coiling them into tight springs that released him to the night; a crowned god possessed with thirst.
The moonlight streamed over shorn fields, illuminating the night world a cold, pale blue.
Through the low, meandering hills of the agricultural tract he raced, surrounded by miles upon miles of croplands. The harvest was over, and the landscape was barren and open, dotted by the grand old oaks that were the only cover in these parts. All by design--the Hunt weighted in his favor. From the setting to the stark, white gown they cloaked her in, to the full moon with its brilliant light. All arranged to favor an easy capture, which he fully intended to take advantage of.
His eyes were sharp as he tracked the signs of her passage--outlines of delicate footprints pressed into the dew-covered grasses. Curbing and distracting her from her plight was foremost in his mind; he didn’t want her fear-filled run to last any longer than it had to. Pausing, he scanned the open fields as he crested a low rise. There at the bottom of the hill was another sentinal tree, and her footprints headed that way. His eyes focused on it calculatingly.
A quick flutter of white from up ahead, the smallest wave of surrender from behind its trunk. The night wind betrayed her where she hid, passing gently over the fields in an icy sigh. He proceeded in a walk, now confident that he had her location pegged. She must have heard his stride, for all at once, she bolted. Any logical cool-headedness he’d managed was obliterated by the sight of her fleeing-- white muslin a froth about her thighs as her dark hair whipped unbound from her shoulders.
The way she moved spelled out her desperate insistence on escape.
He launched into a sprint, taken by the primal need that suffused his mind and turned his vision red. Only one thing mattered—catching her and taking her to the ground, seizing her flailing limbs and making her understand how she was his.
Faster. His feet pounding the ground with the fury of his hunger for her.
Closer. The futility of her flight becoming clear as his stride ate up the distance.
Upon her. His arm reaching out, hand splayed mere inches from her waist.
Victory brushing the tip of his fingers, sleek and tantalizing as he made contact. She arched instinctively, doing everything in her power to evade him.
His hand looped about her slight waist, glorying in the unparalleled triumph of seizing her.
He braked a little, his thighs locking to curb some of their furious momenta before taking her down. Wrapping her body within the cage his arms, he lay into her, letting his weight bring her aground, the rigid brace of his forearms taking the brunt of the impact.
She keened, silvery and sharp.
Kylo responded to the animalism of it with an inward groan. That cry--the sound of prey being captured--triggered a primal reaction, causing rapture to bloom, tracing a finger of heat straight to his cock. Blood surged through his veins, his mind well beyond the ability to find fault for enjoying her distress.
The way she struggled beneath him was divine, and he allowed it for a moment longer than he had to.
Her hair tickled his cheek, and he caved to the first impulsive urge of the night.
Reaching up, he slid a hand into that dark mane, reveling in its silkiness even as his hand formed a fist. A strangled cry slipped her lips as he drew her head back, arching her back toward him. Turning into her, he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the scent of her skin. So vital. So pure. The hand that gripped her waist slipped easily up her body. He savored the delicacy of her frame as his questing fingers smoothed over her rib cage, rubbing purposefully over the swell of her breast and up to close about her slender throat.
Now she became very still in his grasp, and he raised himself to turn her over, keeping his grip firm. She whimpered when saw him, her eyes enormous with fear as they traced the forked antlers that crowned his helm. Her panicked breath streamed from lips he ached to taste, parted and red with the exertion of her flight.
Sitting up, he quickly uncoiled the length of rope at his hip, keeping her locked between his thighs. She struggled when she saw it, her fight revitalized by the prospect of being bound, crying out as she tried to evade the grasp of his hands. All it was was delaying the inevitable, and it wasn’t seconds before he had both wrists wrapped within one massive hand. Her capture was satisfying in a way he preferred not to acknowledge, and he focused on tethering her wrists with quick, unhesitating movements. Halfway through, her wordless cries ceased along with her resistance, and she turned her cheek, unable to watch.
When she was fully bound, he stood, staring down at her with his heart in his throat. Her lips were parted, face a pale mask of distress as she lay helplessly, her dark hair fanned about the ground in tousled disarray. The hem of her gown pooled about the junction of her thighs, exposing the length of her shapely legs.
His eyes traced each line, mapping her perfection with awe before speaking at last.
“Rey,” he murmured, “never have I seen anything so surreal, so hauntingly beautiful as the sight you make, lying bound in the moonlight.” His tone betrayed the depth of his emotion, and her eyes slipped closed as she recognized his voice.
“You--you are the lord I met along the Briarwood,” she faltered, her voice hoarse. “W-why me, sir? I am not the right s-sort of girl...”
A violent shiver wracked through her, sabotaging her ability to speak and jarring him into motion.
“I’ll have none but you,” he replied curtly, bending down to hoist her over his shoulder and beginning their walk.
She instinctively fought him, just the way his red-blooded side had hoped she would.
Arching against his body, she writhed, landing blows down his back with her balled fists. Kylo smiled quietly to himself as he adjusted his hold on her, slipping a hand under the hem of her gown and roaming up the back of her thigh. Her skin was smooth, and he felt her shiver as his hand passed over the sensitive round of her pert ass, coming to rest upon the small of her back with her skirt bunched about his wrist.
He could almost feel understanding wash over her as she froze. Too late, my love.
Her voice was shrill with emotion. “No! Please--!”
Drawing back his hand, he landed a first gratifying swat to her buttock, shocking her into silence. One was not enough to steal her fight, so he continued the discipline, spanking her again on the other cheek. Her firm flesh bounced with the delivery of each decisive stroke. It was devilishly satisfying, as were the whimpers that now sneaked past her lips. His cock strained against the loincloth he wore, and he studiously ignored it. When her buttocks were a lovely red and he’d achieved of her a low, broken cry, he forced himself to subside, tersely reminding himself that the purpose of his reprimand had nothing to do with his enjoyment of it.
He followed up the roughness with light rubs, soothing the sting away from her flushed skin. A deep, low purr of pleasure rumbled from his chest as she molded to him, and he smoothed the skirt back down over her legs. His hands were gentle now, silently conveying his pleasure with her.
The stars twinkled down at them as they moved through the barren, moonlit fields.
Kylo cradled Rey tight against his body, thinking as he walked that he’d never held anything more precious in all his life.
She remained passive, draped bonelessly over his shoulder, her weight negligible. He wondered what she was thinking at the moment, could only assume she was adrift on a sea of worry. The game he played was intricate and host to a slew of pitfalls, his own need being one of the worst offenders. Never had the stakes been higher, and he hadn’t wanted anything in all his life like he wanted her. There’d been endless minutes to consider his approach, a slow march of hours to weigh the means to achieve the end he sought.
He would have her this night, and she, him.
For all that slaking his lust would be satisfying, his ultimate goal was the Rey of his dreams. With all the passion of his soul, he sought her. The girl who leaned into him as he combed the morning tangles from her hair. The playful nymph who ran from him laughing, looking over shoulder with eyes that danced. The one who pressed him with tender kisses, her breath fanning his skin with devotion.
But the maiden bound in his arms wasn’t she. Not yet. She didn’t know him and was rightfully afraid. He knew he’d need to perform a substantial bit of magic this night, skillful sleight of hand to turn her perceptions around and begin the long road to reciprocation.
He felt her delicate muscles tense beneath his hands. Any maiden would find the Hunt and Claiming terrifying enough without having to wonder about the manner of its conduct. The stories that circulated saw to that, establishing the already-dark ritual with a reputation for gluttonous indulgence. He’d have to go slow, balancing tenderness with the quenching of his needs. The way he handled her would have to be the tell-- the breadth of his feeling spelled out in touch and deed.
Anticipation tightened his core when he thought about the things he’d do this night. The initiation to come was more meaningful to him, more profound than she could ever imagine. Never in a million years would she guess at the collective fate they shared, or the long road that had led him to her.
As the high lordling of one of Alderaan’s most distinguished Houses, Kylo represented a fine catch. Should he have been born without his title, the dark good looks he’d inherited would have assured him game aplenty, a fact Sir Dameron always found cause to lament. From the dawning of his adolescence, girls had made it clear that he was desirable, illustrating their willingness in ways bold, subtle, and every manner in between.
By the marriageable age of eighteen, he was well-accustomed to the flirtations of women from every social class. From the visiting nobleman's daughter who had snuck into his room in naught but her robe to the fluttering lashes of serving maids, Kylo had seen it all. He could write ponderous tomes on the beguilements of the fairer sex, lecture for days on all the little tricks and variances in the seduction they tried to initiate...to no avail.
To his mother’s endless misery and his father’s frustration, he rejected them all.
As the years marched on and he remained unwed, those closest to him had schemed to find him a match, each in their own way. His mother would summon him to luncheons and soirées where they’d be “unexpectedly” joined by some pretty maid or another.
His father would impose business that saw him to neighboring keeps where he’d be hosted by eligible ladies. And of course, Sir Poe Dameron persisted in dragging him to various brothels, where he’d inevitably wind up engaging the madams of the house in raucous games of dice while he awaited Poe’s reemergence. There were no restrictions on what class a noble might choose from, and wherever he went, painted eyes followed with keen interest.
Through all of it, Kylo was mostly amicable. He enjoyed the wiles of women, always treating them with unfailing courtesy, admiring the way they moved and their graceful curves. He’d chat gamely with them or take a spin on the ballroom floor, but always he demurred when deeper intimacy was sought. What few experiences he’d had were as instructive as they were unfulfilling, and he remained uninvolved and untouchable.
This, of course, led to a slew of rumors.
Some said that he preferred men, others that he kept a host of mistresses and was determined to remain a bachelor, while still others whispered that he’d been born with a heart of ice. It drove his lady mother to despair, and while he regretted her suffering, his idealism remained: he’d have none but the one who made his pulse race, and he’d yet to find her amongst the neverending parade of satin and lace, cotton and roughspun muslin.
As the years marched on and his youth dwindled, he became gruff and unapproachable in the manner of one who’d seen it all and was unimpressed. His rigid morality and a deeply-rooted sense of idealism grew even more resolute, and the licentious behavior he observed of his peers only served to underscore the sacred nature of what he sought in a woman. He didn’t place so much of a value on his own virginity. It was more that he relished the idea of making his mark where none had tread, and he quickly enshrined the purity of such a union as the only standard he’d accept.
So when the summer of his twenty-eighth year had drawn nigh and his father threatened to disown him should he not participate in the tradition of the Hunt, he’d caved to expectation, conceding that at the very least, he’d lay with one untouched.
That evening ride along the Briarwood had changed all.
One look into those extraordinary eyes and his world had tilted, knocked dizzyingly from its axis by the firestorm she caused. And the nights leading up to the Hunt...he never dreamed a human could contain as much desire as he had for her and yet live. The past several weeks had been a brutal lesson, and his hubris was eclipsed only by his motivation to make her his own.
And now he had her in his grasp, so soft and warm and alive. His hands tightened protectively over her, shaking off the urge to caress her form. He’d sworn himself to wait until they were safely ensconced, wanting to afford her that small dignity.
Striding briskly to ward off the chill, he carried them over a low rise and to the pole of a property marker where he’d left Blackfell. His horse welcomed him with a quiet nicker, and he murmured reassuringly, reaching up to pat his satiny flank. Gently, he lowered her feet to the ground facing him. He easily read her thoughts as the indecision played across her lovely features. Keeping one hand about her bound wrists, he tipped her chin up to meet his eyes.
“If you fight me or attempt to flee, you’ll find your earlier schooling but a warm-up. I enjoyed it far too much to deny myself, should you be unwise enough to tempt me,” he warned quietly.
Her expression was defiant, but she merely turned her head away, refusing to look at him.
Satisfied she wouldn’t bolt and force him to hunt her down yet again, he swung up into the saddle, dipping low to snare her waist. She was so light as he lifted her, her body so tender. His arm tensed, bracing her as he wheeled about, and he felt her head fall back against his chest. She exhaled a soft sob of defeat, and he responded to it by pulling her more securely into the warmth of his body. With a sharp word, he spurred his horse into a gallop, stealing off with his prize through the cold, pale night.
They skirted the ghostly, moonlit fields, moving steadily toward the barrow that had been prepared for them. Its location had been disclosed earlier that day, and he’d insisted on seeing it. The Cardinal was taken off-guard by his request, evidently unused to participants showing an interest in the shelters provided for the Claiming. But the man had obliged without comment, dispatching a priest to accompany Kylo through the harvest lands to the site of the barrow.
He had descended into the ancient shelter, observing that the hearth was well-ventilated and the bed furs were of snowy mink as specified. The wormwood elixir and goblet he’d requested were set on a sideboard, and he had noted the hooks set at intervals around the edge of the sleeping nook, his eyes darkening when he dwelt too long on their purpose.
Satisfied that conditions were to his standard, he’d nodded to his escort and they mounted up, returning directly to the temple. His final act before submitting himself for preliminary preparations was a follow-up with the Premier Cardinal. The meeting was brief, wherein a generous donation was provided to the Order in exchange for assurances that Kylo was free to spirit the girl off at sunrise. With that penultimate detail secured, he relaxed as best he could, reluctantly allowing the priests to steam and scrub his body, serving him naught but ginkgo tea and honey. The time had crawled, delivering more of the torment that had become his standard fare, the day waning with agonizing reluctance.
As they galloped through across the fields, he mused that their ride was its own unique form of torture. Her lush body bounced suggestively against his chest, and the hand that gripped her waist felt electric with the need to explore the soft curves of her body. He swallowed, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he grit his teeth with the effort to refrain. Now began his offensive on her expectations of debauchery. He soothed the raging beast of his desire with reassurances that the taking was to come, silently reminding himself of the vital role of balance.
As they rode abreast of a craggy oak, he reined Blackfell to the left and over a low rise, slowing to a trot. Up ahead, a warm light pierced the icy monotony like a beacon, and his hunger for her sharpened as the welcome glow of the barrow became visible.
Its rustic oaken door was thrown wide to emit the flickering light from a fire; a golden womb waiting to enfold them into the earth.
He felt her muscles tense with renewed panic when she saw what awaited, and he perceived the need for quickness. Reining up before an iron ring, he slid fluidly from the saddle before Blackfell had stopped entirely, allowing her no time to fret before pulling her down and shouldering her as he secured his mount. Ecstatic triumph and worry warred for his attention as he bore her over the threshold, closer to the joining that would claim them both.
Chapter 6: The Forge
So begins the breaking of Rey. In all honesty, I don't know whether I have any right to claim "porn with plot." So, um...enjoy yourselves! ;-)
I wish each one of you a happy holiday and all the best of life to come in 2019. <3
The golden light of the barrow beckoned invitingly, offering respite from the night’s sharp chill. Kylo held Rey close as he ducked through the low, beamed threshold, carrying her down into warmth. He didn’t hesitate as he pushed the oaken door shut, winding down the clock on the time of their innocence. The heavy bar slid into place with a rusty groan of finality.
His chest was full of darting sparrows as he turned, his dark eyes scanning the intimate setting he’d seen earlier: earth and low beams, firelight and a broad alcove covered in bed furs white as the driven snow. The wormwood elixir sat on a sideboard beside an ornate golden goblet. All was in place. His heart pounded heavy against his ribs, pumping blood that grew increasingly electric with each minute that elapsed.
Crossing the close quarters in three strides, he knelt, lowering her to the edge of the alcove and drawing back. A sharp-toothed, poignant joy flooded him as he gazed down at her where she sat; a dark-haired nymph in a sea of pearly white fur. Her head was bowed in silence, completing the picture but for the twined rope that bound her. His cock pulsed with lust. To have her here in the flesh after drowning nightly in heated visions of their lovemaking was nearly too good to be true.
Hidden within his helm, Kylo nibbled his lip as the gravity of what was to come washed over him. It was one thing to sit ensconced in his towers of stone, plotting out tactics from the comfort of his study. It was another thing altogether to come face-to-face with the conquest of his heart’s delight, sitting sorrowfully before him, a captive fully aware that her virginity was forfeit.
The Hunt was infamous for its gluttonous sexual indulgences, and it wasn’t a stretch to assume she was likely worrying at the indecency she might be subjected to. Most all lords who participated were well-seasoned, having learned the pleasures of a woman long before their Hunt. They viewed the opportunity to deflower a virgin as a sparkling gem set amongst the many notches in their bedposts.
In ways that delved well beyond the physical standard, Kylo was an exception. Add to that the fact that he’d been bewitched by Rey weeks earlier, that he’d used all of his influence to bend the rules and seek her as tribute and the situation could only be called what it was--most unusual. He knew it, but she didn’t, and she couldn’t until after he’d achieved his goal.There was only one mandate this night, but one carnal rule he must follow as a hunter, and he fully intended to satisfy it, albeit in an unconventional manner. How he went about claiming her was entirely up to him, and therein lay the path to his imperative.
His gaze tracked over her bound and helpless form. God, she was dreadfully erotic, just sitting there doing nothing at all.
Slowly he reached out to cup her chin, drawing her head up to look at him. The firelight scattered winks of copper through her dark hair, licking sensuously up her body, begging to paint the canvas of her nude form. Her hypnotic eyes swam with unshed tears, a watery garden of green and gold.
He saw all of it.
A painful lump formed in his throat and he swallowed reflexively, utterly moved by the sheer scale of her perfection.
He felt his heartstrings pull, sounding a distant alarm. Staring into her eyes like this was dangerous in the moment. All she had to do was add an eloquent plea to that look and he could be swayed from his course. She’d slip like sand through his fingers, laying waste to all his carefully-crafted plans to make her his. Kylo inhaled deeply, casting off the weighty mantle of emotion as he exhaled, reaching for the hard logic that had always guided him. His objectives were of utmost importance, and he honed in on them, shuttering his heart for the time being. He needed to connect with her more fully before he began, and the first step was an unveiling.
“There will be no surprises tonight. You will be mine, and I’ll take everything,” he stated, low and passionate. “If you please me, I’ll reward you in ways you couldn’t dream. You already know what awaits should you resist.”
A small pain flared through him at the fear that sharpened in her eyes, but being honest was as essential as unwavering follow-through.
“Now look at me, and keep your eyes up,” he said, a warning given softly.
The corner of her lip twitched but she obeyed as he released her chin. Reaching up, he grasped his antlered helm and slid it off with a shake of his head.
He knew what she saw, knew his looks were a weapon. It had happened many a time--women spilling their secrets with mead-softened lips, whispering of disarmament and dark magnetism. Now he leveled her with a stare infused with the bottomless depths of his want. He watched her lips part as she returned his gaze with wide eyes, saw that her breathing was erratic, though the substance of her emotion remained a mystery to him.
He stepped over to the decanter and goblet, not releasing her for even a moment. Her startled blinks were a treasure to him, the sight of her nervousness setting his blood on fire. The wormwood elixir he poured was verdant as the forest floor, its deep green hinting at a wicked potency. Healers served the potion to calm hysteria, and it was a common serve at the close of battles, renowned for its ability to relax and blunt the sharp edge of emotion. Still watching her carefully, he returned with the filled goblet in hand. She stared weakly up at him, her bound hands resting listlessly in her lap.
“You will drink,” he insisted, carefully bringing the rim to her lips, sliding a firm hand about the back of her head.
She sputtered as the fiery liquid hit her tongue and he slowed, letting her adjust before continuing to tip the chalice, insistent she take several large mouthfuls. A little moan escaped as she struggled to continue swallowing, and he encouraged her with soft words, subsiding when half the chalice was gone. He knew the initial bite of the elixir faded into a mercifully sweet aftertaste, but the magic lay in its rapid effect. Even now, warmth was branching through her limbs, melting the sharp edges of her fear, robbing her tension with the stealth of a thief.
Setting the goblet aside, he watched her a moment longer, taking stock of the way her muscles had loosened, the tense set of her back softening. She stared up at him, her glorious eyes unable to refrain from pleading with him. He wondered if she had any idea what that plaintive look did to him, how it hardened his resolve to turn the tables on her, get her to that place where she begged for mercy of a different sort.
But no. She couldn’t know, innocent as she was.
His eyes wandered over her rosy cheeks, settling on the sweet, tender bow of her lips. How they called to him, like the irresistible song of the sirens of lore, beckoning with promises of untold delights. His eyes darkened as he unspooled but an inch of his carefully fettered desire, one hand slipping along her jawline to thread through her hair while the other traced the contours of her upturned face.
Ever-so-reverently, his fingertips mapped her delicate planes and angles, trying to reassure her of his established adoration. The game he played was hazardous, and keeping it tame was as difficult as he’d thought it’d be. It wasn’t long before the tip of his thumb brushed the corner of her mouth. Succumbing to his mounting desire, he pressed lightly at her lips, testing their give with the look of one starved. He sucked his lower lip between his teeth, biting unconsciously, unable to stop himself as he pushed slowly into her mouth.
“Suck,” he commanded in a haunted whisper.
He watched, spellbound, as her eyes slipped closed, luscious lips sealing around his thumb as she gave herself over to his demand. The sensation of being locked within the velvety, liquid heat of her mouth was his idea of bliss, or it was until she applied a gentle suction, stroking languidly at the length seated within her mouth.
Kylo couldn’t restrain his groan. His cock strained desperately at the cloth binding it—a living thing possessed. Her eyes, so glassy with the effects of the tonic, drifted open at the sound of his misery, widening in belated surprise at the storm she’d unintentionally created.
He was on fire, his dark eyes burning with unsated hunger for more of what she served. Her look of uncertainty was an afterthought as he removed his thumb and bent down, hands lifting her head to join their lips in the firm kiss he’d been dreaming of. He infused the power of his want into the act, holding her immobile and plundering the cavern of her mouth. The sweet sound of her plaintive moan again and all thought departed, banished as he consumed her with hungry abandon.
To have her lips pressed to his, so warm and soft and alive was everything fulfilling . Her head tipped back before his assailment, resting upon the bridge of her shoulders as he took her breath for his own, giving nothing back but dizziness.
Kylo continued to test her in a ruthless slide of lips and tongue. Focusing on his goal, he worked at her suggestively, schooling her reality into wet, hot pleasure. His heart soared skyward when she began harmonizing with him, moving in time with his gentle sucking and biting. He knew it the instant she realized she was complicit in the kiss, for her mouth froze against his and her eyes widened. She tore away with a muffled cry, her own zeroed pupils staring at him in dismayed shock. Her chest heaved with the need to calm her breath, and her lips were flushed and wet.
“W-what have you done to me?”
His breath came hard as well, and he returned her stare of betrayal with one as merciless as it was hungry.
She’d participated, kissed him back .
He smiled at her, his eyes glittering in the dim light. That kiss was the first sigh of acceptance, whether she knew it or no, and all of him rejoiced as he lowered the standard of his restraint. His muscles flexed sinuously in the firelight as he sank into a fluid crouch.
“My dear girl,” he chided, enfolding her bound wrists in his hands.
“ I haven’t yet begun .”
He let his hunger guide him as he struck, drawing a startled cry as he dragged her backward across the furs.
Lifting her bound wrists high above her head, he snared her bindings on one of the hooks embedded along the frame of the alcove. Their purpose had been revealed by the clerics, and though he didn’t intend her to remain bound the night through, they were particularly useful at the moment. She would never consent to what he was about to do, and keeping her restrained was an elegant solution. With her ability to fight stolen, she’d have no choice but to focus on the things he did.
For now, she writhed with teeth bared, fighting him instinctively. He put an end to it quickly, producing the only tool he’d carried short of rope— his hunting dagger. Without a pause, he mounted her with it in hand, not wanting to draw this out more than he had to. Even so, her face was frozen with fear, and she stared up at the glittering blade, unable to speak. Gently, cautiously, he slipped the cutting edge under the bodice of her gown, pulling it away from her skin and parting the muslin with a rough sssssnick. He was reverential as he unveiled her limbs to his sight, eyes alight as though he were uncovering a priceless relic. The sight of her naked body lying in a pool of torn fabric hit him with the force of a gale, and he swayed lightly on his knees.
Her distress was plain as she continued to grapple with unfolding events, and he had to take a moment to refocus the trajectory of his aim. He backed away from her lovely naked form, giving her a breath of space as he rose to stand before the alcove.
Her eyes grew liquid as that sweetest word tumbled from her lips.
“ Please .”
It rang like a bell through his mind, echoing pleasurably, and he fought not to show his enjoyment, merely raising a dark brow at its sound.
“You would beg me for mercy?” He inquired softly, the ghost of a smile crossing his lips. “Even knowing full well what we’re here for?”
There was no usefulness in lies or in softening the blow. Suddenly, he too was in need of fortification, and he lifted the chalice she’d drank from, downing the remaining dram in one swig. The elixir swept through his bloodstream, melting the away the nervousness and leaving only rock-hard resolve.
“I have very little comfort to give you,” he said, making sure she saw how he set the dagger down before stalking back toward her with a hungry light in his dark eyes. His hands engulfed her ankles, fingers unworking the knots that bound them together.
“Your virgin blood will be spilled,” he said quietly, “it’s taste shall I know…”
The words made his heart speed, his cock throbbing in its restrictive cradle. She had gone very still, her blown-out eyes unblinking, captive to his words and the weight of his stare.
“The only assurance I can give you is this,” he continued, “the only blade that will pierce you this night...is one of my own flesh...”
He’d distracted her as he spoke, freeing her ankles only to pull one toward the corner of the alcove, spreading her legs open. A soft sob of despair escaped her lips when she realized he was binding her in an even more compromising position. Sensing her devolving sanity, he responded, claiming the other ankle like a striking serpent, tying her to a hook in the opposite corner. For all of his raging need, her misery pained him immensely, and he bit back the soothing words that formed on his tongue. His response to her distress this night was perhaps the thing he’d agonized the most over.
Of course she wouldn’t want this or him.
The Hunt and Claiming was sure to be the worst sort of nightmare for her. But if he were to offer comfort now, he’d appear an even greater monster when he proceeded.
And take her, he would.
Kneeling between her trembling thighs, he took in her staked-out body longingly. How he’d dreamed of this, thought a million times of what he wanted to do, and yet...he still had to bide his time. His hands caressed her knees, slipping up her thighs to grip her hips as he slid forward onto his front. He was greeted by the devastating sight of her delicate, untouched sex. But more, she shone in the low light, slick with the heat of their kissing. A joyful pang of elation echoed through his mind--the knowledge that he’d aroused her was worth more to him than an entire keep full of gold.
He licked his lips, longing to taste her juices, challenging himself to get her dripping before he consummated their joining. With a deep rumble of pleasure, he began the seduction. Feather-light fingertips stroked arcs up the inside of her knee. Soft lips brushed warm kisses up the skin of her inner thigh. He moved to her opposite knee, repeating his erotic tasting of her, fair in his treatment of both trembling legs.
She smelled like distilled temptation, the scent of rose geranium mingling with the unique signature of her skin to drug him. As he approached the source of her arousal, his kisses became passionate--sucking and nipping as he neared the junction of her thighs. He spelled out the build of his craving with little bites, testing the firm texture of her perfect musculature.
She was fucking flawless, and he wanted unto pain.
Closing in on the tender apex of her groin had her writhing in all the wrong ways, her obvious panic the only thing preventing him from veering from his course. He hovered inches from her sex, warring with his own desires as he inhaled her feminine musk. Lingering there, delirious with the understanding that he could learn her taste with the smallest of moves.
Feeling his hot breath over her cunt, she threw her head back with a distressed cry, eyes squeezing shut as she braced to be touched in that most sensitive place.
Kylo licked his lips hungrily, sucking up the saliva that had pooled in his mouth. Not quite yet, my sweet.
With quick, stealthy movements, he prowled up over her, congratulating himself on his epic, otherworldly wield of control. Using the element of surprise, he descended on her lips, forceful as he nudged her mouth open and swept in to devour her shocked gasp.
Her breath was choppy against his cheek and she moaned softly into his mouth.
In her tone was the palpable wash of her relief, rewarding and sweet to his ears. Even knowing that tasting her was only minutes away, it had been pure agony holding himself back. His response to her feminine scent had been primal, animalistic, and unfamiliar though it was, he was more than ready to explore that side of him. The tantalizing sight of her sex had beckoned like nothing else, teasing him with the promise of her untouched purity. He could only guess what tasting her would do.
He had only managed to control his impulse by taking himself to task, and now he trained the hot focus of his desire on that one goal. Yes, she needed to drip for him.
With that motivation, he lowered his body to hers, caging her as he savored the warm softness of her breasts. He rubbed his chest against hers minutely, humming a low purr of approval when he felt her nipples pucker up in response.
All of these sweet reactions, so deliciously novel.
Now that he’d beheld the fruit of his labor, he stalked her compliance with cunning patience. His kisses were slow and persistent as he moved his lips in a gentle assault on her mouth. He licked deviously at her tongue, stroking over and over until he felt her whole body sag against her bindings. Only when her lips were soft and pliant under his own and she moaned plaintively did he stop. With an approving growl, he used his cheek to nudge her limp head aside. Exposing her neck, he began anew, his mouth sealing over her racing pulse as the breath left her in a sigh. He coaxed her with sharp-toothed bites followed by languid, sucking kisses.
While he worked the delicate column of her throat, his hand began to trail up her ribcage, brushing over the soft mound of her breast. He denied himself the pleasure of manhandling her, instead circling his spread palm teasingly over her nipple before continuing to stroke up the exposed skin of her underarm. Her hands fisted, straining at her bindings as the goosebumps rose, her nipples pebbling along with them. He wreaked further havoc by circling sinuously, the carved muscles of his pectorals brushing teasingly at her sensitized tips.
Glancing up from where he nibbled at her clavicle, he saw that her eyes were closed, her head thrown aside as she labored to breathe. It was a sight borrowed from one of his dreams and held a wealth of promise. Emboldened, he moved down her body, drawing a breathy moan as his mouth found the rounded underside of her breast. There he lingered, suckling at her soft curves, exploring her body with his mouth.
She writhed for him, but now without that panicked edge.
When he skirted close to her puckered peach bud, she cried out, and he thought he heard a note previously unheard. But he avoided her nipple calculatingly, his dark head moving over her chest to lavish the same divine torture on her right breast. No mercy did he spare her, taking great mouthfuls and sucking hard, leaving roses to mark his passage as she whimpered and strained against the ropes that held her.
His head spun with gratification--her skin his to taste, his touch roaming the curves and plains of her body. He could smell the sweet, spicy scent of the oil they’d anointed her with and the feminine tang of her skin. Ghosting over her ribcage, he inhaled deeply, taking great draughts of her, filling his senses with the intoxication of her physical presence.
She responded to the sensation of air being drawn over her bare skin, her back arching toward him, eyes closed as she instinctively sought his kiss. It was the very sign he’d watched for, and his lips exalted to catch her nipple and envelop it. He moaned in pleasure as she gave a staggering gasp, rolling the little bud against his tongue, sucking at her skin as though she were drizzled with honey. When he glanced up, he saw that she was looking down at him in a shocked stupor, blinking furiously as she tried to reconcile the sight and feel of him nursing her.
He hummed in delight as his lips slid wetly over her nipples, playing at what he would soon do to her sex. The soft moans he elicited hinted at surprise, a very different cousin to her earlier panicked notes. He obeyed the signs with a growl, placing a last bite on her areola before sliding tellingly down her body to position his head between her spread thighs.
His mind lost a little of itself as he again came face-to-face with her pussy; her open petals were flushed and glistening, juices dripping to pool beneath her on the bedfurs. His eyes were dark as sin as they flashed up to her, unable to keep the victory to himself. She didn’t writhe or fight but instead squeezed her eyes closed, blocking out the sight of him enjoying the reaction she’d been helpless to stop.
With a small shudder of release, he extended the tip of his tongue and tasted her at last.
Her gasp was startled, eyes flying open to blink up at the curved beams, but he didn’t see it, utterly entranced with finally having that which he’d dreamed of. His deep groan reverberated through her flesh as he slowly stroked up her slit again, not bothering to hurry. Unconsciously, his hands slid under her buttocks and around her hips, stabilizing her as he prepared to cut the tethers of his restraint. His eyes fluttered closed, rolling a little as he inhaled her intoxicating scent again. When he spoke, he didn’t recognize the predatory growl that rumbled forth.
“You taste like the feast of ages, Rey, and I’m going to fucking devour you .”
He didn’t give her time to process, fret or even think before his lips sealed over her sex. Now she squirmed, her cries falling upon deaf ears as he lost himself in the delicate flower he sucked at, humming his pleasure as he began to learn her intricacies. Her skin was softer than the petal of a rose, slick and fine and more precious to him than all the riches of the land. Her juices were clear and lightly salty, and he groaned knowing how pure and untouched she was.
Utterly, flawlessly perfect.
Her wordless pleas and whimpers were the sweetest music and all the world fell away, nothing mattering more than this, rubbing her scent all over his mouth as he acquainted himself with her taste and feel. When he’d thoroughly indulged all of his whims, he licked up her petal-crowned opening, hunting for the hidden pearl men spoke of. When she bucked with a small yelp, he smiled, pleased to discover that all he’d heard was true. Experimentally, he nursed gently at it, flicking at her peak with his tongue. He was rewarded immediately with a chorus of startled moans.
“You like that, do you,” he murmured, again taken aback by the low, metallic rumble of his own voice. He licked a leisurely stripe up her, like a naughty child swiping sugar from a dainty.
“I can taste it,” he paused, looking up and smirking when he saw her distressed look. When she shook her head he laughed softly, her adamant refusal pleasing him.
“Deny it if you will, it matters not. Even in your innocence, your body responds,” he mumbled, lips brushing her as he licked gently between words, “gifting me sips of your sweet nectar.”
The reply of her dulcet moan went straight to his already frantic cock, balls seizing up as a fresh surge dripped from her invitingly. He paused the work of his mouth and shifted his weight, positioning his index finger at her entrance. His breath was already held when her own froze as he dipped into her liquid velvet, stopping at the first digit. She was stock-still, eyes wide as she stared up at the low ceiling. Slowly, he stroked in and out, ever-so-gently introducing her to penetration even as he learned how to deliver it.
She couldn’t know how he was both teacher and student, couldn’t know as he fingered her deeper, relishing the chills that broke over her skin. He slid slowly into the temple of her body, his head falling forward to rest lightly on her thigh, watching the incomparably erotic sight through half-lidded eyes that burned with want.
“Rey,” he groaned. “Do you have any idea how amazing you feel?” The note of pleading in his voice was clear as day to him, and he wondered if she caught it too.
She whimpered in response, her own wordless plea.
“How will I ever get enough of you?” He wondered softly, lips closing in on her clit. “Never have enough…” The rest was lost as his mouth sealed over her peak and began to suckle in tandem with the steadily deepening strokes of his finger.
With the iron-clad will of a master tactician, he continued his crusade to coax her pleasure, testing the give of her untried body, wrenching forth short, breathy cries. Kylo felt her grow even wetter, his finger sliding into silky heat with ease, her body encouraging his advance. He continued his back-and-forth relentlessly until the length of his finger was met.
Staring at the width of his index buried within her, he felt his heart lurch at the thought of how much bigger his cock was. The muscles of her sheath, initially rigid and tight, were now limber, as if the friction of his strokes had melted away some of her tension. Cautiously, he added his middle finger, testing her with shallow dips. Her body writhed beneath his ministrations, taking it so well.
“You’re so damn perfect,” he mused, licking once before sealing his mouth over her peak ecstatically.
Strumming her with his tongue, he besieged her with fingers and tongue at once. Her hips were beginning to rock with his motions as she gave in to the salacious movement between her legs. She tossed her head, arching as the pleasure built itself into something unmanageable. He felt his cock throb wildly as she began to beg.
“Please! Oh please...”
Her lovely voice so broken, so desperate as her back arched as high as her bindings would allow. His gentle strokes were now rough, his fist slapping lightly against her nether lips with each thrust of his fingers. There at the last, she took a third without flinching as he fucked her to completion.
Chills of exquisite longing broke over him as her sharp cry pierced the golden nimbus, the first of many as he felt her delicate muscles tighten possessively before dissolving into a flurry of pulses. It was a symphonic thing, the way each throb seemed to release a fresh wave of moisture, gathering until his fingers literally swam in her. Priming her for what was to come.
The emotion in her cries penetrated flesh and bone, crystallizing the need in his blood. His eyes were eclipsed, utterly taken by lust as he drew back, wet fingers tearing away his loincloth at last before moving to her bindings. Flying over the knots as though his life depended on it.
Freeing her for the Claiming.
Thank you for sticking with me, and a bear hug to those who continue to comment! You guys are my own personal angels. xo
Chapter 7: The Secret Claiming of Kylo Ren
This final chapter is the mirror of Chapter 3, this time from Kylo's POV. Congrats fellow smut-lovers! You get another go-around with the Claiming, through a very different lens.
I'm feeling lukewarm on this chapter. The words!! They didn't cooperate and flow, but I've reworked it too much and am just gonna post and say la vie. This chapter brings us to the close of Rey's POV, which is where I'd intended to finish this ficlet altogether. I've apparently got a little thing going with Kylo's POV because it extended itself waaaaay beyond the bonus chapter or two I'd set out to write.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
It had all come down to this moment.
She lay before him, her limbs tied so beautifully, all staggered breaths and soft lips. He wanted to bask in the glory of the aftermath, linger to taste her mouth, savor each revelatory facial expression...but he couldn’t. This momentum was imperative, and he was up in a flash, tearing the loincloth from his furiously-hard cock, freeing it at last from its cursed prison. At once he was at the knots that bound her legs, picking them apart and sliding the nooses from her ankles. He paused briefly to stroke the pink skin underneath in brief acknowledgment.
Glancing up, he saw that she watched him. Her eyes were glassy and half-lidded as she stared down, still trying to catch her breath. Kylo quietly relished her dazed look, a flare of pride sparking through him. Finishing one ankle, he moved to the next, noting how her eyes traveled down the length of his body to fix on his newly-freed cock. It jutted forth from his groin like a third limb, impossible not to miss. She stared at it with wide eyes, not moving a muscle as he freed her legs.
Her trepidation belied her maidenhood, plain to see as she went limp, her gaze swimming as he watched her put two and two together. Nothing about his body was moderate, and he knew how intimidating his manhood would appear, swollen to its full length and flushed with need.
In truth, he was concerned as well and had done what he could in advance to learn the kindest approach. Two nights before his hunt, he'd sought advice from a well-versed expert.
He’d met Poe at their usual table in the alehouse, sitting in watchful silence as full tankards were delivered. After a few sips, he poised his question in a discrete voice. Poe had whacked him on the back with approval, glowing as he prepared to discourse on one of his favorite subjects--how to get her primed for a right and proper fuck.
“First, let me congratulate you on being such a courteous lover. Your tribute couldn’t be luckier to have drawn such a rare hunter as yourself,” he said, magnanimous as he quaffed half his tankard and motioned for a top-off.
Several toasts later, he was pounding the table with a passionate fist, his upper lip mustached in foam.
“Penetration is unethical without that most tantamount of requirements!” He broke stride, leering at a passing serving wench as he pitched his voice in her direction.
“She must be positively weeping with need of your cock!” He declared with a lecherous smile.
Kylo couldn’t repress his own smirk, shaking his head at his friend’s shamelessness. Totally impervious, Poe turned his attention back to his friend, lowering his voice a tad.
“Her pussy, that is. It must swim in a sea of want before you proceed. Furthermore,” he continued, his voice rising again, “she should be made to know pleasure before any is sought...virgins, especially. These sweet, delicate creatures should be ushered into the wonderful world of intercourse in a way that encourages future participation…”
A great hiccup interrupted his narrative, prompting another chug of ale.
“Once you’ve shown her how heavenly it is to join her body with yours, THEN comes the glory of a good, quick fuck.”
A serving wench giggled, favoring him with a come-hither look over one bared shoulder.
Poe’s body was rising from the bench, about to follow his wandering eyes when Kylo drew his chin back with a chuckle.
“Focus for me buddy,” he drawled, “I’ve but one more question and I’ll turn you loose. When first we merge, is there any one way that is best?”
Poe paused, sitting back down as his roguish smile fell flat. He was somber as he turned to look his friend in the eye.
“Kylo, my friend, there’s just no way around it,” he said, his voice betraying a hint of sorrow. “It will hurt, even with the best of preparations. A slow advance doesn’t make much difference. I believe the best approach is a single quick thrust that is held in place; let her body get used to you before moving.”
Poe’s demeanor was utterly sober as he continued. “She will adjust, it’s only a matter of time. And always distract her from the discomfort; use her pleasure against the pain--touch her as you begin to move. A woman’s hidden pearl is a gift from heaven for those man enough to value a woman’s pleasure. Her satisfaction is more important than your own, and when she sees how you pursue it, she will have no choice but to love you most ardently.”
That advice reverberated through his mind as he prowled back over her, his dark eyes taking in the beauty of her form. He met her eyes and held them, seeking to redirect her worry as he reached up and unhooked her wrists.
Her brows furrowed in confusion as he untied her. He hovered above, caging her, smoldering.
“I’ll not have you bound like an animal for the Claiming.”
Lowering his head to her throat, he brushed her hair lightly aside, his voice lowering an octave as he placed a kiss below her ear. “Besides,” he murmured, nipping at her skin, “you’ll need to hold on to something.”
She inhaled sharply at his words and he drew back to meet her unyieldingly, intent on a stare that communicated the ferocity of his hunger.
Instead, he was brought up short by those luminous eyes wandering over his face searchingly. She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time, drinking him in as if he was the first sunrise she’d seen in a year. A surge of tenderness tempered the fire in his veins, and he felt himself mellowing, his lust tamed by the change in her regard. Basking in the sweet light of her wonderment, he felt his determination solidify, vowing not to lose sight of compassion as they crossed the threshold of innocence together.
With utmost tenderness, he lowered his hips to the slippery cradle of her sex, watching her all the while. She gasped at the same time the breath left him, both winded by the way they fit together. He dipped his hips slow, exploring the incredibly soft folds of her sex with his cock, fighting the urge to dip deeper. Her breath was uneven, reeling with the intimacy of facing him as his tip rubbed over her sensitive peak again and again.
He swallowed a lump in his throat. She was so staggeringly beautiful. He knew not how it was possible, but she was even more stunning than she’d been in his dreams, and he desperately needed to kiss her again. His hand slipped under her neck, cradling her while the other whispered down her side, obeying his instinct to wrap her firmly about him. He stared down, unblinking as he lifted her thigh about his hip, holding it flush as he dipped to claim her mouth.
The sound of her moan was absolution. His lips slid over hers, nibbling gently, begging entrance, and she hesitated for a beat before consenting with a soft sigh. Her whole body relaxed as she parted for him, admitting his tongue. Excited by the invitation she so willingly extended, he tasted her mouth slowly, meditatively. His approach was entirely different from the stormy kisses he’d plied her with earlier, forcing her compliance with the surge of his lust. He summoned her bravery with lightness, his efforts rewarded when he felt her hands flutter over his chest.
Kylo’s rigid posture melted as he basked in the glory of her participation. With that first touch, his hips slowed their insistent grinding, seeking to give her space to explore this newfound thing.
He’d never known heaven before the first timid lick of her tongue.
She was so dainty, so cautious as she tried it; her pureness spelled out in with every move she made, and it did things to him. Her feminine sigh slipped over his mouth as she conceded to the enticement he offered with each velvety stroke.
It was a slow affair, her parting from him, eyes bright as they opened and sought his. He couldn’t breathe as her fingers trailed out over the line of his collarbone to rub over his rounded shoulders. It was magic of the highest as she mapped the build of his body wonderingly, her gaze following the path she traced as she explored the unfamiliarity of his much larger form. He shifted his weight and she stared, entranced by the way his bicep clenched into a firm ball of muscle. Her head dipped impulsively, brushing his shoulder with parted lips, tracing his musculature.
How she gifted him.
He groaned, spurred back into motion by a surge of need. Her throat was exposed and he seized the moment, his lips latching on. The round of her hip felt so good in his hand and he gripped it before slipping under her to palm the globe of her buttock. He kneaded, savoring the firm, rounded flesh of her backside, making her whimper when he pulled her sex tighter against his shaft. Her arms drew at him as she sought his mouth, and he growled his assent.
His kiss was cunning, teasing further compliance with each glide of his tongue, doubling down as his cock slipped dangerously against her sex--wet above and downright indecent below. The low, throaty moan she issued was just another click toward his goal. Nothing had ever felt so right as he wrapped her body about his, holding her thighs tight around his thrusting hips, all but melded together.
He’d do this all night if need be, do it until she said the words.
Her hands squeezed at him, testing his build deliriously as he explored her in turn. The sounds she made were easily the most alluring music he’d ever heard; a chorus of need, so soft and lilting. There could never be another after her, she was his one, his only. He groaned, entirely taken with her, biting passionately as he kissed under her chin. His cock throbbed wildly, begging for her, so close to fulfillment...but was it him, or her? He couldn’t tell anymore; the place where their bodies met pulsed in sync, molten-hot and slippery.
She writhed under him, her face flushed, brows drawn together. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, an endless map of excruciating longing. There was but one remedy, the cure her sanction. He traced her glorious suffering with dark eyes that missed nothing. Her lips were his and he took them back, kissing her only to find his surge met, her graceful arms wrapping about his neck, pulling him tighter.
At last, she spoke, uttering the word she’d used before.
This time, her plea begged for mercy of a different sort.
This time, he acquiesced.
One hand reached up to cup her face as he stared into her eyes. He sought to convey the magnitude of the moment as he bared himself to her, his tip sinking gently in. Her warmth parted exquisitely, and together they inhaled, bracing for what followed. A muscle clenched in his jaw as he searched her face.
There will never be another.
Exhaling, he took the leap, plunging his cock into the vise of her body with an insistent thrust.
His eyes rolled back as liquid heat enveloped him, completely lost in the wonderment of immersion. How tightly her body cradled him, quivering at his intrusion. Far off, through the gauzy veils of pleasure, he registered how her nails scored his back. Her choked cry pulled him from his bliss, and his eyes snapped open with dawning concern. His beautiful girl was in agony, muscles tense as she sobbed softly, pinned beneath him. He swallowed, his throat constricting even as he remained buried to the hilt.
This was the reason Poe had looked so sad that night.
Again, he sought to distract, kissing her between murmurs of quiet praise, trying to comfort without letting up. Her breathing was labored and erratic against his cheek, but after a time, she rewarded his effort, bravely nibbling back at his mouth. His cock throbbed within its prison of silken heat, longing to feel more of her. He resolved to try again.
The tug of her sheath when he rocked his hips back was unbelievable--her body begging him not to go even as it bridled at his intrusion. His groan mingled with her cry as he slid back in, claiming beyond all doubt that which was his this night. Her lament echoed about the cavernous space, nails raking grooves down his triceps.
A fissure opened in his heart, and it was too much to take.
With a great flex of willpower, he sprang up on all fours, grasping her waist and pushing her up even as he slid onto his belly, his shaft leaving a smear of virgin blood upon the pale bedfurs.
That should satisfy them.
Settling quickly, he didn’t look up but buried his face between her trembling thighs and began to lave at her, following some primal instinct. He followed up her violent initiation with tenderness, his tongue easing the ache as it slid between her swollen folds. He tasted the iron in her blood, not shying away from her deflowering but worshiping it with lips and tongue. Her hands pulled at the furs, knotting with a hitched gasp as he growled his enjoyment, burying his face deeper into her pussy. He felt her straining, muscles taut as she writhed freely.
All at once she swooned, and he glanced up as she went limp, catching sight of how she stared up at the ceiling in a daze, her pebbled breasts rising and falling. Her groan spoke of letting go, conceding to the pleasure as her eyes slipped closed, fingers winding into his jet-black hair. She was a thing of beauty, arching gracefully as his tongue speared into her, intent on claiming her again.
When her hips tilted up in offering, his heart soared. She gave in to the forbidden, pulling his mouth tighter against her. He groaned, lips wandering up to latch on her clit, sucking hard as his fingers slipped in. Her head tossed as she strained, inviting his advance by widening her thighs even further, giving him complete access.
Kylo groaned, increasing the speed of his thrusting. The decree was satisfied, and there was nothing gentle left, drunk as he was with lust and the taste of her blood on his lips. Now he finger-fucked her with deep, passionate strokes, reveling in her mounting cries as he added a third with ease, gently spreading them, preparing her. His balls ached with the pain of withholding, and he felt his need begin to eclipse restraint.
He had to have her again.
His stomach knotted and his vision began to break into dots. A surge of resolve electrified his limbs and he sprang up, giving her no time to think or fret before his strong hands were flipping her over. Hunger lit through him as he pulled her backside into the air and positioned himself between her sleek thighs. A detached sense of alarm swept through him as he beheld how petite she was, the length of his shaft looking to split her in two.
He resolutely rejected the thought, focusing on the very visible sight of his plush tip working her opening. His pupils zeroed out as he slid into her again. They gasped collectively, and Kylo tightened his hold on her rounded hips, holding her in place as she gathered fistfuls of mink. He had the wherewithal to be glad she couldn’t see him--his mouth hanging open stupidly, utterly spellbound by the feel of her. One word echoed through his mind, growing louder to overwhelm him with the imperative.
With a throaty groan that ensconced every emotion he owned, he began to thrust ponderously, chills pebbling his skin. Nothing could compare to the mind-blistering ecstasy of penetrating her over and over again, the feel of his length sliding on slick muscles designed to cradle him perfectly. It occurred that he might never recover from the sight of her stretched wide as her body accepted him. His hips pistoned and her cries timed beautifully with each slap of his hips, the wet sounds of their sex filling the small space.
His eyes closed as his mind drowned in the heated scene, his world shrinking down to the animalistic feeling of their joining. He felt her taut muscles softening, conforming to the shape of his cock. Her posture grew limber and he heard a subtle change in the pitch of her next moan. Slowing their rhythm, his hands released her hips and began to roam her body, rubbing sensually up and down her sides.
“Yesss--” he hissed, drawing each stroke out, coaxing that desperation he heard in her voice. His hand reached around her hip, finding her clit and pressing sloppy circles over it.
He could feel how live she was, electric for him as he stroked and strummed her. She tossed her head back, dark hair fanning her lower back artfully as she strained against his hips. Kylo heeded her signal, beginning a measured cadence that built as the panic in her voice escalated.
Never would he ever forget how she begged at the last, animating the dreams he’d awoken from sweaty and broken with need.
Her voice cracked and desperate as she pleaded him— please, please...oh please...
When she came, it was glorious. Transcendent and pure, a victory unlike any he’d ever know again.
Her sheath tightened into a vise, those delicate muscles squeezing him almost painfully before dissolving into a series of convulsions upon his length. Unable to hold herself up any longer, she collapsed, her hips held aloft by his hands and the cock that impaled her throbbing flesh. Kylo stared down in wonder, mouth ajar as he rocked into her, stunned by the pulses that milked his length invitingly. The perfection of it made him want to weep, and all at once, his own pleasure surged at the threshold.
He felt it threatening, a storm that wouldn’t be contained, and suddenly he was desperate to see her face. His hands slid up her waist as he pulled free of the warmth of her body and smoothly flipped her over. His cock twitched in protest, bereft as he caught her ankles and slid them up his shoulders, folding her limber body into a ninety degree angle. With a needy cry, he plunged back into her body, bending her in two as his lips found hers.
He kissed her as the seams of his world came apart, pushing his cock deep, claiming her. Deeper, her body giving for him beautifully as he teetered at the brink of ecstasy. She throbbed in welcome and he launched into her, hips yanked forward by the first blinding explosion.
He cried out hoarsely, feeling as if the very stars tracked through him in brilliant streaks.
It was devastating, his hips chasing the pleasure that rocked through his core, bucking against her, straining instinctively to get his cock a little deeper. As he filled her body with his creamy seed, he was overcome with a masculine sense of pride, the knowledge of his claiming almost as good as the reality. A sound he’d never made before rumbled from his throat—a low purr of gratuitous contentment. The destructive peaks of rapture softened into a cloud-like nimbus, his cock rutting luxuriously in a warm sea of their making.
Easing up, he looked down at where they were joined as his hands stroked up and down her legs. She panted lightly, lips dewy and flushed, the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes upon. He turned his head to kiss adoringly at her ankle, his sweat-soaked muscles gleaming as he worked his seed into her still.
Meeting her glassy stare with his own, he gentled her with a voice low and soothing.
“Rey, my starlight. My heart. You could never know...how magnificent you are…how you turn my whole world...”
With a last nuzzle to her ankle, he lowered her legs from his shoulders and settled them about his hips. Her legs trembled violently, and he watched a nervous frown form on her face.
Kylo lowered over her protectively, propping himself up to fix her with misty, dark eyes. “Your body is not used to this,” he murmured, brushing the wet strands from her temples. “Fear not, my sweet. Your muscles are fatigued because they’ve never been worked this way before. They’ll settle down.”
Her eyes searched his as she took a deep breath and exhaled, her trembling becoming more minute as she relaxed. Holding her captive with an unblinking gaze, he lowered his lips to hers, eyes never leaving her face as he gauged her mood. His kiss was soft and lazy, deepening with an emotive groan when her sheath tightened around him. Pulling back but an inch or so, his eyes wandered over the planes of her face as his fingers toyed with the dark strands of her hair. She drew a breath to speak but halted, the words stillborn on her lips.
He noticed it and responded in a voice low and sincere. “Rey, my sweet. Trust is not a part of the Hunt and Claiming. I understand that, and still, I must implore you. The roles we’ve played this night have run their course; the rite has been performed and tradition satisfied. From now on, never hesitate but come to me without fear.”
She blinked slowly, her hazel eyes catching the firelight as she took in the open look on his face, free of any signs of duplicity. “Please, then. If it isn’t too bold, I’d know your name," she murmured, the barest ghost of a smile crossing her reddened lips, “I’ve been at a... distinct disadvantage as you’ve had mine all along.”
Kylo’s heart sang, the joy inside translating to a disarmingly open smile as he realized the truth of it...she didn’t even know his name. And how could she, given the circumstances? He wondered what she’d make of his lineage, hoped it wouldn’t be too divisive.
“It’s Kylo,” he said, watching her intently, “Kylo of the House of Ren.”
He watched her inhale sharply through her nose, eyes widening. Her lashes fluttered as she lowered her eyes out of habit.
No, no. None of that. He lifted her chin gently, seeking her gaze again.
“Kylo,” he insisted gently. She responded to his understanding look, her face softening at the encouraging smile he offered her. It felt to him like trying to win the trust of some shy woodland creature, elusive and wild.
“Very well then... Kylo ,” she murmured haltingly, cautious as she broke with societal rules.
The sound of his familiar name on her tongue was more pleasing than he’d ever thought possible, and he let his pleasure translate in the slow, sweet smile he bestowed upon her.
As loathe as he was to move, Kylo realized that the conversation to follow might be aided by giving her a little breathing room. Though in truth, he’d like nothing more than to remain joined with her, his cock cradled within the liquid warmth of her body.
Moving carefully, he withdrew smoothly and settled flush against her side. Propping his head up with an elbow, he saw how she shivered at the sudden loss of his body heat. She gazed down the length of her body, straightening her legs with a look of confusion. He glanced down to see the sluggish flow of his seed pooling beneath her, irreconcilable evidence of his claiming. The sight lit a fire in his chest, and he felt his mind purr with great satisfaction. His eyes wandered back up to hers with all the saunter of a lazy cat, but the sight of her hazel eyes blinking worriedly pulled him from the cloud of his smugness.
He responded to her deepening frown without thought, dipping low to graze his mouth softly over hers, distracting her with a kiss. It was slow and reassuring, and his gentleness emboldened her.
“If you really mean what you say, there is another thing I’d know,” she said, reaching up to touch his face curiously.
“I did, and I do,” he asserted, anxious to continue their interaction.
“Kylo, you...you broke with the traditions of the Hunt. Why? What did you see that day by the forest that would make you do such a thing? Why me?”
Those exquisite eyes stared up at him searchingly, and for a moment, his mind blanked. He’d spent hours on end practicing how he’d tell her about the bizarre and very sudden reverie that afternoon at the Briarwood, agonizing over how mad it all sounded. How could he find the words to describe the nights of ensuing torment, the emotion and lurid detail that had saturated his dreams of her, so much more than the experience of normal dreams?
How could he explain to her that, in the mere span of weeks, and after but one meeting that had lasted precious few seconds, he’d come to need her like he needed the very air that filled his lungs? Was it even possible to convince her that he’d never, in what time remained him in this life, accept another into his bed, his heart, his life?
He was certain the answer to all of these questions was no. The only ally he had was time, and each and every flagstone he paved their path with from this day forward would have to be built of honesty, lest he ruin any chance of her loving him back. He stared, dark eyes lingering as he drank her in.
With a deep breath, he steeled himself and began the most vital disclosure of his life, his voice quiet and wistful. “I saw something in you, something far beyond the exquisite beauty of your form.”
Her brows furrowed a little, still watching him quietly, listening.
“You looked up at me, and our eyes met...Rey, it was as if I--I...recognized you from another life. My mind swam out of focus, and I was not myself.” His eyes narrowed a bit as he searched for the right words. “It was but for a moment, but when I was righted, I was overcome with an inexplicable, near-crippling desire to have you. Right then and there, and all consequences be damned. So strong was this mad urge, like the continuity of my very life depended on it. It was all I could do not to seize you right then and carry you off for myself.”
Here he paused, scanning her, seeing that she still regarded him with an open look. He reached out and curled a hand over her shoulder, lowering his tone to emphasize his next words. “This is not who I am, Rey, and for me to have this strange, uncharacteristic premonition, to be subject to a sudden, crushing need for a stranger only served to astound me further.”
He shook his head, brows furrowing as he relived it. “I knew how auspicious the moment was when it happened, but my dreams have only poured foundation over bedrock--” a surge of emotion overtook him, and he broke off, pulling her onto her side to face him, his hand reaching up to cup her cheek.
“Rey...I’ve dreamt of you, without fail, every night since first we met.”
She blinked at him, her eyes wide with surprise.
He pressed on, clear and direct as he appealed to her. “I am beholden to the principles of logic and scoff at superstition, but since our first meeting, all the truths I’ve held as self-evident have abandoned me. I am possessed by a thing most illogical, unable to rest without visions of you haunting me, night after night.” His eyes softened as he gazed at her fondly. “The torture is most divine, my sweet, but I couldn’t continue to abide by it.”
He stroked the soft skin of her arm. “The time for my hunt had come, and I couldn’t back away from it without serious repercussion. It could never have been any other girl. Just you,” he asserted, raising her hand to lay a soft kiss on each delicate knuckle.
His voice cracked a little. “Rey. You are all I see, and I had to have you.”
The sun in his heart eclipsed as her face grew sad. “And so you have,” she managed in a husky voice, her slender throat working as she swallowed. She left the rest unspoken, a heavy divide between them. Her eyes were bright with sorrow and so beautiful. He drew nearer, needing her to know how this night was only the first, that she’d not be abandoned to the cold, uncaring hands of strangers come morning.
“Rey,” he said softly, stroking her cheek, “I know how crazy and presumptuous this sounds, but there is no other way I can make it clearer…” He paused, infusing his next words with all the depth of his feeling for her.
”You’re mine. Not just for tonight. When I say, ‘you’re all I see,’ I mean it in the most literal of ways.” He’d flipped her hand over, bringing it to his lips, peppering his words with cloud-like kisses upon her open palm.
“Your reflection is everywhere; gazing from the windows of shops as I pass, gracing the clouds as the weather turns cold, my every night haunted by visions of your fairness.” He watched her lips part, eyes blinking rapidly to dispel the tears that swam there as she tried to follow along.
“My obsession is not of this plain, and there will never be another,” he asserted, one arm tightening possessively about her slight waist, pressing her close. “At dawn, we ride East together, to my family keep. I’ve had a country estate prepared for us there...I will send for your belongings to be delivered shortly.”
Her brows knit together as she shook her head, not understanding. “But, Kylo,” she protested weakly, “this is crazy, and I am--the clerics, they won’t--”
There were no words left in him. “Hush," he bid, silencing her protests with a fierce kiss.
His hand cupped the back of her head, fingers threading through her tangled locks as he cradled her. He chased her acquiescence and was rewarded as she melded to his body, kissing him back as her hands slid up his chest. She offered no resistance when he pushed her back and tucked his hips into the cradle of her thighs again. His heart sped with reawoken hunger, and he paused the kiss for a moment longer.
“It’s all been arranged, well before tonight. There is no recourse .” He searched her face with his dark eyes, blanketing her with steely resolution. “I can’t continue without you; I must have you near.”
The breath that passed her lips became a soft moan as his tongue laved the dip of her throat. Her feminine scent filled his veins like a drug.
“My Rey , my light ,” he breathed, kissing hungrily along the edge of her jawline. He was fully erect again and craving the feast of her as a man starved. He continued to ravish her neck, murmuring softly to her. “I was taken from the first, and I’ve only just made you mine...yet, all I want is more.”
She shivered, responding to his words as her body came alive under his touch.
“I’ve not had enough of your sweetness...” he trailed off, his hands tracing her thighs, drawing them up around his hips. He dipped his head and captured her dusky nipple, sucking hard as his cock slid up into her sex. Her emotive cry echoed through the overheated air, the muscles of her sheath contracting about him deliciously.
“I will never…” he promised, finding a slow, steady rhythm as her hands threaded through his hair. With muscles trembling, they learned the dance of give and take. He revisited the texture of each curve of her, touching her with reverence, trembling all the while at the accuracy of his dreams.
Time stopped as he made love to her amidst the snow-white furs, their bodies a harmonious melding of hard and soft. All the world fell away as his mind slipped over the sound of her voice speaking his name. It fell from her honeyed lips in breathy whispers and desperate pleas. But no matter how she said his name, or how often, he only found his need to hear it growing. It was a drug he’d never have enough of. A bolt of joy in his heart.
As the night waned toward dawn, every soft, feminine sigh further enshrined the truth he already knew: he’d been taken that day by the Briarwood, his heart captured by a force outside the realm of logic. Inexplicably drawn to her. Hopeless to fight it.
Claimed by the very first look into her green-gold eyes.
The words may not have been cooperative, but writing the scenario nearly undid me. Anyone else out there down to tangle with Kylo on a pile of mink? (mutters) Jesus H Christ. Send. Help. lol lol lol
Your positive response has been my very delight and I can't thank you enough for all the praise and comments. I'm working on a foray into a rather dark new work, so I am a bit distracted, BUT. I might write up an epilogue to explore where these two end up. Any ideas or requests just throw em at me. Love yous!