Blind Faith Ch. 04 Bound by Tempt

I'm crushed. Your text couldn't have been more disappointing.

'Have another thing on. Catch you later in the evening. Don't miss any of your obligations. - Youknowwho'

You know me. That should have sent me spiraling--battery operated toy, a pint of guilt, maybe some commiseration tears. But you told me to stick to my plans.

I'm not all work and no play. Far from it.

I work hard. I play hard.

My pleasures? Not as kinky as many assume.

I dance.

So imagine my utter shock when I walk into class and you're there--gorgeous in that soft pink leotard and your ridiculous little black tutu.

No one wears a tutu past age eight.

Yours is different. Ragged at the edges, a perfect balance of grunge and I-don't-give-a-fuck. You've got on a slouchy charcoal shrug, sleeves rolled, loose enough to blur your bust line, tight enough to hint at strength.

Fuck.

You almost make me wish I dressed femme.

Or maybe I'm just grateful I don't have a dick. It'd be at full salute right now--and these black tights don't forgive anything.

My heart starts pounding. Fast. Loud.

My worlds aren't supposed to collide like this. You're not supposed to see me like this. This is against all the rules of the Conclave.

How did you even know this is my dance school?

Tux shoves me from behind. 'Stop blocking the door, woman.'

I exaggerate the stumble, slipping into the joker role--secretly checking if you're watching. You are. That mysterious smile curves your lips as you stand off to the side, eyes tracking me.

A shiver ripples through me. I'm already wet.

I hang my bag, peel off my light jacket, and stretch my wings wide--slow, deliberate. All just to show off the tight lines of my body.

'Stay on your side of the room,' Tux complains.

I brush her again with the edge of a wing, teasing.

She sticks her tongue out at me, then marches to her spot, front and centre.

The primaries dance in front.

I'm not a primary. Not even close.

I take my place in the back row. Not because I'm a demon. I dance with all my heart. But for me, it's just a hobby.

For Tux, it's everything. It's her lifeline.

You glance over your shoulder, frowning. You nod toward the empty spot beside you--expecting.

I bite my lip.

There are rules. And then there are rules.

Madame's rules are absolute. She tells you when to move up. We don't decide.

I lower my head, demure. A quiet shake.

Not this one. Not today. This one's beyond what I'm willing to risk.

My heart races as the rest fill in. At the last minute, a flash of black tulling fills my sight. I look up, shocked. Then smile as you settle next to me.

Holy fuck. I could take you right now, in front of everyone.

A few might join in.

'Welcome Ruun to the class. Where is she... ah. Very well. She starts from the back,' Madame's thickly-accented Common cuts through the murmurs. She claps her stony hands together--one echoing crack that slices the room.

'We begin with the warm up.' She raises her arms, almost touching the ceiling. She's graceful and glides. Madame was a star in her younger days. The first troll to solo in the Grand. Now she teaches us.

The lesson begins.

You turn the wrong way--too quick, too sharp-- and collide straight into me. Your arms wrap instinctively around my waist.

You blush, flustered. 'Excuse me,' you murmur, then twist smoothly into the next position as if nothing happened

But fire surges through my skin. I'm suddenly burning, flushed and overheated--and class has just started.

Madame picks up the pace. Her eyes scan the mirror, watching everyone through reflection.

You dance beautifully. Too good to be in the last row.

As soon as her gaze shifts away, you're in my space again. A pivot, not a twist.

Your hips press into mine before you melt away--effortless, fluid, back in step.

Gods-dammit.

I stumble, misstep. My rhythm falters.

'Light on your feet. Less wing, please.'

I'm not the only winged being--but mine are the biggest. The comment lands anyway.

I blush furiously.

As we pivot, you flash me that glint--that barely-there smirk, eyes all sparkle and smoke.

You meant to do that.

Gods, I know you did.

Two can play this game. I know the routine.

A while later, I spin with a side step behind you, slipping my hand under your tutu, sliding up your inner thigh almost to-- I claim your spot, forcing you to move over.

You don't resist. Instead, you glance back, eyes wide and amused, daring me to push further.

At the end of the second song, I do just that.

'Temptation, please Madame.' I call out loud.

She falters, pauses. Then smiles. 'Of course, it has been ages since we did a demon dance.'

Others in the class clap, cheer.

I fix you with a predatory stare as I strike the first pose, claiming the Seducer's role. You don't have wings--mine flare wide, marking my territory as I turn on the spot. My arms extend, waiting for my lover.

The music swells.

You spin, eyes roaming my form, your fingers graze where touch is forbidden. Then you settle into my embrace, leaning back to look at me. You've accepted my invitation. You are Enticed.

The music wraps around us, a slow, heated pulse. I move with purpose--each step, each sway meant to draw you in. My wings curl around your sinuous body as you tempt and tease; the world narrows to the space between us.

You know your moves. But I know yours better. I anticipate every shift, every twist--capturing you with my wings again and again. Our eyes lock. The heat between us thickens, electric. You move, I'm already there. You weave, I deflect. I claim you in our dance, pulling you closer until you submit.

This dance isn't about steps. It's about lust, control, and the promise in every breath.

As the last note drifts away, we stand breathing hard, wrapped up in each other--we almost touch. Millimetres separate us. You make love to me with your eyes. You want me.

I hear a few claps, but you cave in first. You close the gap, pressing your lips to mine, wrapping your arms around me. I give in, dipping you low as we make out in front of the entire class.

A wash of applause greets us as I help you to your feet.

You smile. 'Surprise.'

Madame approaches, fluttering herself with her large hands. 'My. You two are excellent with this form. Will you perform at the upcoming presentation night?'

You turn first. 'Yes. We will. We'd be honoured to.'

Fuck.

My parents come to those things. Will they know?

Honestly? The fear adds to my excited state.

I barely notice as class breezes to a quick end. I grab your hand.

'Don't go home yet.'

You just smile. 'Can you teach me that jazz routine?'

We're the last class. Puzzled I nod, the music plays on my phone and we begin.

Slowly, others filter out into the night. When we're alone, you grab your bag and look at me.

I grab my things and follow you. Are we going to that unit again?

The building is empty except for Madame's office light. You lead me into another area, the change rooms.

You press a finger to your lips as you slip into the men's room. I hesitate, a flutter of nerves catching my breath before I follow. The door shuts behind me, swallowing us in absolute darkness.

Your hands find me from behind, the soft edge of your tutu brushing my skin. I feel the blindfold cover my eyes.

'Ruun?'

'Shhh.'

It's been so long since I felt your touch, the ache from class nearly breaks me.

You lead me by touch to a bench, help settle me down. 'Did you practice?'

Oh boy, did I. I can get my dildo right down my throat now.

'Yes.'

Your hand lets go. 'Stay there.'

I hear shifting, the sound of someone standing, walking towards me. I hear a zipper undo.

'Open your mouth, Zee,' you mutter, your voice echoes through the tiled room.

I obey.

A delicate tip touches my lips, slick with the sharp scent of arousal. I lean in, drawing him into my mouth, tracing the ridge with my tongue.

He sighs. 'You're gentle.' His voice is soft, lilted. I then hear your giggle--bright, unexpected--and my excitement sharpens. You're watching.

I wrap my hand around his shaft, stroking his length as I suck. He's a good seven inches. Human. Manageable.

I work my mouth around him, slicking him with spit, deeper with every breath. When he reaches the back of my throat, I pause--wait until I hear him inhale--then I swallow.

He jolts forward, hands bracing against the wall behind me. 'Fuck yeah. Take all of it.'

I could fall in love with that voice.

He shifts.

I hear your voice--cool, commanding. 'Do as he says. Good girl.'

I smile around his shaft, and plunge deeper. My hands grip his ass as I ease him in, inch by inch. Choking. Gagging. He groans, one hand settling gently on the back of my head. Not commanding. Just... there.

'Ooooh, gods.'

My lungs begin to burn, begging for fresh air.

I pull back, sucking his tip, catching my breath. Then, I push again. Shallow, rocking thrusts as I coax him deeper. His body trembles. He gasps--breath fraying at the edges.

I feel skin press my lips as I meet his hips. I hold still, throat tight around him. Then I swallow--once, then again. He cries out, shuddering.

His hand grows firm. He takes over--slow, steady. He draws back just far enough to make me swallow again, then pushes in. Over and over. A rhythm. A claim.

And then--he grunts, spilling himself down my throat. Warm. Heavy. Final.

I swallow everything.

Hoping you're proud.

I throw my senses wide--and reel.

There's only his emotions. Sated. Content.

You're gone. And I didn't even hear you leave.

'Remain here,' he says softly. 'Count to forty. Then you can go.'

I hear the zip, his retreating steps. I rip off the blindfold just in time to see the door catch behind him--light fading with him.

I curl up on the bench, hollow.

Who did I just blow?

Why did you abandon me?

Why have I let you have this power over me? What is it about you that makes me lose my head?

I don't know how long I sit in the dark, knees pulled to my chest, his bitter taste still in my mouth.

The door creaks open. I see the outline of someone, I no longer care. The scent of roses hits me.

'Darling. Are you okay?'

I tremble, wiping the tears from my cheeks. 'No.' I pull away from the comfort I so badly want.

'You left me,' I say, my voice breaking with fresh tears.

I hear you slump against the wall. 'Fuck.' Your defeat and anger radiate through my empathy.

'I'm ending our contract.' The words spill out of me before I know what I'm saying.

A light fills the space as you turn your phone torch on.

Your eyes catch mine in the dim glow. 'You want to end this because...?' Your voice is low, almost fragile.

I swallow hard.

Because what we're doing is against the rules? Because what we're doing could get me Burnt Out if we're caught? Because everything about you has sunk so deep into my seams, I don't even know where you begin and I end?

Because all I can think about is when you'll finally share your love with me, for real.

You're fucking my mind, but not my body.

I wish I could voice any of those thoughts.

You call me by my real name--pleading this time. 'Lisbet. Why?'

I meet your gaze. You're crying, too.

'We're so fucked up, Ruun.'

How do you even know my name? My dance? My work? I know fucking nothing about you. The inequality suddenly hits home.

'No more playmates. No more blindfolds. Just you and me. Making love. Fucking each other. No one else--unless we're worshiping the gods.'

You gasp, your hand flies to your chest. 'Zeta.'

My wings flare wide, betraying my desire.

You take my hand in yours, drawing it to your body.

I tremble--if I touch you, I won't hold my resolve.

You press my hand against your crotch and go still.

Are you asking for the Demon's farewell?

I lean in, kissing you. I jam you against the wall, pressing close as I force my tongue into your mouth. My hand slips under your tight waistband, ready to slip in and claim--

But I stand up, stumbling back as I reel.

Holy fuck!

You hug yourself, pulling in tightly. Closing your eyes as you look away. 'I never left you.'

I fall to my knees, pulling my wings in tight. Why didn't I see it sooner?

I wrap my arms around your waist, burying my head in your lap. It all makes sense now.

'I'm so sorry, Ruun. Please forgive me!' I beg, I sob, I will you to be mine again.

I look up, teary eyed. My soul shining. 'I love you. All of you.'

I kiss your stomach. You tremble as your arms reach for me. I kiss your chest as you draw me up. I climb onto the bench, straddling your lap as your lips find mine.

We kiss. We make out. We cry together.

And slowly, I feel you become aroused again.

'Please make love with me.' I've wanted nothing more.

You hesitate. My heart stands still. Did I overstep your boundaries?

'I don't have any protection.'

I laugh. 'I'm on birth control.'

You smirk. 'I prefer two levels of no babies, Zee.'

I smile. 'If we have lube, I can work around that.'

You chuckle--giggle? It's a mix. Just like you. I fall harder in love at that moment.

'I. Always. Have. Lube.' You pull your bag closer.

Oh gods, hear my prayer. Please let this glorious twin spirit be mine forever. Amen.

~*~

You're trembling--and not with desire this time. No acting, no role, no scene. Just you.

I can feel it crackle from your skin. Raw, real. The kind of scared you only feel when you're exposed. And you've just allowed me in.

For weeks, you've guided every touch. Made me wait. Made me beg. You've fed me sex like sustenance--always enough to keep me aching for the next meal. Blindfolded. Controlled. Tethered to your rhythm. And gods, I worshipped you for it.

But now, you're not a priest or priestess. You're not dom. You're Ruun. And I feel you in full.

I never left you alone. your words echo through my mind, feeling me with hunger.

Your breath, your body, your plan. And you never said a word. You just let me feel you.

Our next act isn't sex. It's Sacrament.

Your hands fall to the bench, limp. You sniff again--silent.

But your emotions speak for you. Fear. Not me. Of being rejected.

I wipe tears from your face, then lick them from my fingers. The soft glow from your phone gives a small illumination, casting haunting shadows on your features.

'Stop. This is my turn.' I wave your hand away from your bag.

My heart leaps into my throat.

Holy fuck.

I see the real you, Ruun. I feel the real you. I know your soul--because it's my own.

Partners have broken it off because I'm too crass, too butch, too much, not enough.

But you--you're scared. And I've never felt that from you before.

You sniff, wipe your cheek on your sleeve. You tremble beneath me. So unsure.

So fucking beautiful.

I fish around, feeling by touch until the tube hits my hand--cold, hard.

'I didn't--' you start.

I hold my hand up, silencing your needless excuses.

'You don't need to say a thing, darling.' I lift the lube into the soft glow of your phone light. 'Do you want this?'

Your eyes widen. Your pupils dilate as your breathing increases. 'Yes.'

I grin. Right answer. 'Do you want to see it?'

The darkness of our last act embraces me like a cloak. You chose that. You gave me the gift of blind faith. But you couldn't see it.

You pause, holding your breath. Thinking. You shake your head. 'No. But I want you.'

I can feel how badly you want this. I smile. I peel off the blindfold from my forehead and hold it out--offering it to you.

Your hand steadies as you undo the knot, tying it around your eyes quickly. You lick your lips, settling your hands on my waist.

I stand, setting the lube down. Fingers tease gently under the waist of your tights. A flash of blue in your bag catches my eye--jeans. The zipper. A prop.

You move your hips, helping me pull your tights down to your thighs. You sigh, sitting up taller.

Holy fuck. I've never seen anything more stunning. I wish I could take a picture.

The click from the bottle echoes against the tiles. Your rapid breath the other sound.

I cup the shiny gel in my palm, blowing softly to warm it. Sliding my fingers over your skin, you gasp--a raw, ragged breath shudders from deep inside you. Your thighs instinctively press to part, but your tights hold you captive, a subtle tension that only makes the moment more hot.

'Do you want to be free?' I murmur, voice low and steady.

'No,' you whisper back, breath trembling. I smile. I knew you could do sub--let go, surrender, and trust.

I prepare myself, careful nothing will rub you wrong. I rinse my fingers quickly, then settle back against you. You wait, still as stone. Like the very first time I saw you. I understand now, you're vulnerable when still.

Gently, I shift your body, easing you down just a fraction. Then, straddling you again with my knees on the bench, I lean in close. My touch is light but deliberate as I rub you in all the places that make you shiver. A small, involuntary squeak slips from your lips, and I drink it in.

As I tease myself into place, every nerve sings. Your scent, your warmth, the way your body trembles beneath mine--it's more than physical. It's a tangled, electric thread binding us, mind and soul and skin.

I want to lose myself in you. So I sink a link. Two ways.

As I begin the descent, I brush my lips against yours. A cry escapes your throat as your arms wrap around me, crushing your lips to mine. Devouring me as you drive my body down.

'Holy gods!' you cry out as I rest in your lap, surrounding you with my warmth. My body. My devotion.

I shudder, pressing you close, feeling your heartbeat ripple through me like wildfire. Every tremble, every breath you take courses into my skin--your warmth flooding my veins. I will you to sink beneath my flesh, and as you do, I feel myself dissolve into you, our senses entwining in a fierce dance.

It's a double whammy--your pleasure echoing through me as mine thumbs back to you, a perfect feedback loop of sensation and need.

You growl, grabbing onto my hips. No longer submitting.

Your urge spikes, primal and focused--I feel it in my bones. I rise onto my knees, giving you room, giving you reign.

You begin to pump into my ass, steady and greedy. I melt into your shoulders, surrendering to the rhythm, to the need, to us.

With every thrust, warmth floods my core--an overwhelming wave of sensation. I groan in pleasure. Yours. Mine. Ours. I can't tell the difference anymore.

While you work, I reach down, dipping my finger into the slick slit. I circle our clit--rubbing, teasing, pinching. You cry out, a raw, high mewl that makes my thighs quake.

'I need to stand.' You call out. You try to stand, you're strong, but not strong enough.

I giggle as I continue my attack on our clit. 'Regroup. Take the fucking blindfold off, Ruun.' I move to the left.

You whimper as you slide out. By feel, your hands caress my ass as I kneel forward--one hand on the bench, the other never leaving our clit.

'Fuck, that feels good,' you say, voice thick with confidence now.

You blindly grope, sliding a finger or two into my hole, lining yourself up. Then you slip back in--home. Safe.

And gods, you take me for the best ride of my life yet.

'Finger us, Zee. Work us over.'

I jam three fingers past our button into the slippery canal, grinding them in time with your thrusts. I push past pleasure into that sharp edge of pain.

You jerk in response, hips slamming to mine as your breath hitches. I keep going, using the friction.

'Fuuck,' you moan, dazed, then remember to move again.

Your grip tightens on my hips, but it's not to control me. It's grounding, you're overwhelmed. I feel it, sharp and liquid, flooding through the link.

This... this is new for you.

The pressure, the pulsing slick, the swirl of touch inside and out. Your clit, our clit, rubbed raw and tender--every flick of my fingers hit you like a spark.

You've never felt sex like this before, and neither have I.

And me--gods, I'm drowning in it. In you. I can't tell where your body ends and mine begins. The pleasure isn't just doubled. It's shared. It reverberates between us, folding in on itself, compounding until I can barely breath. My tongue ties around our entwined hormones, disengaged.

Your voice is ragged. 'Zee... I--'

You don't finish. Not the thought, not the sentence.

Neither can I.

Words are gone. Language too small.

I move by rote. The sensation of an outie mashing with my innie--two conflicting signals breaking my mind. I can't sense. Can't see. I don't know which body I'm in.

And then it hits me--

Your orgasm tears through the link like a thunderclap--raw, raging, unforgiving. It's not the slow swell I know. Not the build and bloom of mine. It's fire and steel and surrender. A need that doesn't ask. It demands.

I feel you shudder beneath me--deep and guttural. Your hips jerk in that uncontrollable, brutal rhythm. Like your body's betraying you, giving in too fast, too hard.

It's not soft. It's not sweet.

It's violent.

You groan, long and wrecked, bruising my hips with your grip. And gods--I feel it. Hot, thick, pulsing inside me as my body takes it. I wasn't ready. I couldn't be. There's no preparing for this.

Your pleasure floods me. Fills me. Fucks me from the inside out.

The heat shatters as my orgasm rides the back of yours--catching your tidal wave, catching us unaware.

You scream again. Your knees give out. My muscles clamp down around my fingers. I keep pushing harder--ruthless. Channeling the raw rage of the emptiness that follows.

You collapse to the floor, hips still lifted, still trembling. You rub your clit through the comedown--crying. Whimpering. Raging.

That what is mine, isn't yours.

I sever the link--fast. Too fast. Shit

I didn't mean to eavesdrop. Didn't mean to hear that thought. That truth.

I spill down after you, arms already reaching. You're curled, shuddering, ribs stuttering on each breath. I gather you into my lap, gently, like you'll break.

You sob into my chest.

I rock you, humming low in my throat. A song without words. A comfort without connection.

I don't ask what you meant.

Because I already know.

To be fair, I'm flooded with a sudden, suffocating case of penis envy.

Fuck. That's a do-again.

'What's mine is yours,' I whisper in the dark.

I mean every word.