The Cellar Ch. 03

With a feral roar, he pushed deep inside her quivering walls, holding himself there while his flesh pulsed its scorching seed into her womb. In that moment he wished he could be bound to her, that he could give her what he held back for millenniums, but he couldn't, it simply wasn't fair. Promises had been to Annette, and Joelle deserved better than an eternity with him.

Lucien had no desire to release her, if they could linger there forever, consumed by one another, he would gladly make whatever sacrifices necessary. But when her body began to grow weak between his arms, he pulled himself free.

Wrapping her in towels, Lucien laid her decimated body on the bed and tenderly kissed her mouth. As he toweled off, she stared in awe at his body. Perhaps it was the glistening water on his skin or perhaps it was the lighting, whatever the reason, it felt as if she were seeing him for the first time.

The tight, lean muscles of his chest extended gracefully into the belts of sinew that defined his abdomen. The raw, powerful musculature of his arms melded seamlessly into imposing shoulders and a broad chest. The taut skin of his thighs wrapped tightly around the perfection of its thews, drawing the eye to the exceptional gift cradled between them.

"What did you take from me this time?" she asked, knowing that he fed on the pieces of her soul she no longer desired.

"Despair," he noted triumphantly.

"That was a pretty sneaky trick Lucien," she scolded. Certainly it was the best sex she'd ever had in her entire life, but it was still underhanded.

"Thank you," he chuckled.

"You called me your girlfriend," she asserted, pulling from the bed and wrapping herself in a towel.

"Yes, I seem to recall that," pleasantly he offered.

"Did you mean it?" Her eyes narrowing as she glared.

"Though I am not certain what that entails, I believe I do," he asserted.

"Oh." She rocked back on her heels, astonished by the revelation.

"Come back," he requested confidently.

"You hurt me. You don't do that to your girlfriend," she scolded.

"It won't happen again. Come back."

With a defeated sigh, Joelle finally relented and spoke four words that utterly stunned and confused Lucien. "I belong to you," she muttered.

A cock of his head solidified his state of puzzlement.

"Not as a possession or a plaything," she clarified, "You own a piece of me now, just as I own a piece of you."

Lucien wasn't certain how exactly she knew that, but it was certainly true. Joelle did own a piece of him now, but that fact would, in all likelihood prove disastrous for both of them.

"I am so very sorry," anemically he offered.

***

Over the course of the week, an all consuming ache filled Joelle's body, coupled with a ravenous hunger that never seemed to wane. It was her intention to tell Lucien about it, but she was concerned that if he knew, he might find other methods to satiate himself. Though he'd told her there was no way she could sustain him, she still held out hope that she could. So she ignored the ache and hoped that it would simply go away. But it didn't, and she was beginning to feel sick.

"Eating again?" Lucien asked, peering over her shoulder.

"Eggs," she confirmed, "and you?"

"You," he purred as he slipped his hands beneath her skirt. After last night she must have been famished, but then again, so was he. With a swift tug, he freed her from the fabric and carried her to the kitchen table.

"They say that," she gasped as his fingers slipped inside.

"Yes?" He smiled as her eyes softly closed.

"Relationships..." she gasped again as his thumb rolled against her clit.

"What about them?" Lucien's smile broadened as her mouth flew open.

"That start with such... oh." Her body trembled as he reached her g-spot.

"With such what?" His tongue teased her nipples.

"In-ten-sity... oh, my god," she gushed.

"Trust me, he has nothing to do with this. Go on -- you left off at intensity," he purred, tickling her g-spot with his long fingers.

"Burn out quickly," she blurted as she bore down against his hand.

"Is that what they say?" He laid her back against the table and slid her hips over the edge. "And what do you say?" Lucien knelt between her legs and enjoyed the fruits of his labor.

"I... uhm... can't," she squealed as orgasm fibrillated her walls. There were no words left in her vocabulary, she seemed to have forgotten them all. The only thing that remained was Lucien's fingers buried deep inside and the feel of his mouth.

He watched with sinful pride as her body twitched and writhed against the table, succumbing to the final throes of orgasm. Even though he hadn't moved an inch, it took several minutes for her body to still. With a gentle stir of his fingers, her body shuddered again, fully releasing what sweetness still lingered inside.

"Make love to me," she mumbled.

"No more taking chances until I have a firm method of control."

"How long will that take?" she whined.

"Sadly, I have no answer to give."

Lucien watched as she ate her strange meal of eggs, it seemed an odd thing for someone to crave. If he actually ate, any food produced by the squatting of an animal would be repulsive.

"Lucien, what's the deal is with sex? Explain it to me."

"I enjoy it," offhandedly he replied.

"That's not what I meant," she chastened, "explain to me why it's such a big deal. Why does it change you?"

"I seem to struggle more than most I'm afraid, though I am not certain I understand the reason. I suspect it may have to do with balance."

"Balance?"

Now was the time for explanation. It was a question she'd asked often; was he the human embodiment of evil or something completely different. The truth, however, was far more difficult to define. So, with a great deal of thought and consideration, he attempted to explain his plight.

Though molded from flesh and bone, and given a heart, he was still bound to hell. Certainly he was demon, there was no question about that. The form, however, the suit that he had been given, was man. And as a torturous twist, he was endowed with the most basic of human elements, free will. Though in the service of Lucifer's army, and expected to perform certain tasks, the balance of his existence was governed by his own desires and he had been given quite a bit of latitude.

Even more disturbing, Lucien, and those of his ilk, was a patchwork quilt of Lucifer's favorite pieces. Yet every sin was countered by a smattering of virtue; just to keep things interesting. Envy and wrath, were tempered with a sprinkle of empathy. Gluttony and greed were diluted by self-restraint. Sloth was mollified by the ever-present motivation of hunger. Pride was subdued by servitude. And worst yet, emotion imprisoned by lust.

Endowed with the very conflicts of man, he was held captive by eternal turmoil. It was the devil's cruel trick, a veritable play on the duality of man. The only problem was, the balance wasn't always quite right and, in Lucien's case, he felt as though some tendencies were stronger than others. What's more, when the balance was way off, the inner beast was revealed.

"But what it is you're supposed to do?" she asked.

"I am merely an influencer, designed to sway those teetering on the razor's edge. In Lucifer's estimation, lust is the gateway into the land of depravity, though I'm not certain I agree. Wrath seems far more effective."

"So you offer them a nudge in the right direction. Isn't that cheating?"

"Joelle, I cannot turn a good man bad, nor can I corrupt those who are incorruptible. I also cannot take that which is not offered willingly. Man's free will casts the deciding vote and should they chose the darkness, I am merely there to provide the direction."

"So if free will casts the vote then why do you need to voodoo spell people?"

"Ah, that. It's a simple soothing mechanism and really has no bearing on what you will allow me to have. For instance, the night I first took you, I allowed you to succumb without fear or trepidation. However, I never removed your free will. You offered to me the pieces you chose."

"What did I give you?"

"Hope and despair, in equal parts. But the beauty of the human spirit is that you can recover them, should you truly desire."

"Why me?" she asked. "What was it that..."

"You were a perfect balance," he interrupted, "of sin and innocence. I was enamored with your essence."

"Did you sway me? Am I now on team Dark Lord?" she asked, not noticing any change in herself it seemed a reasonable question. If she was now one of the minions of doom, it was probably a good thing to know.

"No, though I stopped trying quite some time ago."

Lucien no longer desired her to change. The gifts of fear and despair she gave him were weights lifted from her soul; and on the odd occasion she offered hope or love, he reveled in those as well. He wanted Joelle to remain pristine and untouched by darkness. She was perfect, just as she was.

"Okay, so how do you deal with walking away every night without being -- satisfied?"

Shaking his head, Lucien laughed, "I presume you're implying that those trysts must leave me aroused, but you would be mistaken."

"But you seem aroused..."

"With you," he interrupted, "I am very aroused."

***

It was the rapturous feel of his tongue that enticed her awake. Her hips responded before she could connect the feelings in her brain and she found herself rolling her pelvis against the thrust of his fingers.

Lucien coaxed and prodded and drew the syrup from the rich well she so enthusiastically provided, draining her to completion and leaving her spent and wasted on the bed. She was the most delicious of treats, though he knew she could not sustain him much longer.

As the hours passed and his thirst persisted, he required more of her, yet the more voracious his hunger, the less she was able to provide. It was a frustrating and ultimately fruitless endeavor.

Every few hours the process would repeat, with necessary variation, though each sinking her deeper into darkness. He drank from her ravenously, sparing no method to entice that which he sought, the elixir, the potion, the essence of life.

A sickly pallor played against her skin and as he was about to relieve her of one last meal, her body trembled and she grew suddenly cold.

"Why did you not tell me you were ill?"

"I didn't want you to go," she squeaked.

"Joelle, you must tell me when I... when I'm killing you."

"Hmmm," she muttered, her eyes burdened with exhaustion.

"Sleep now," he whispered. He lay with her until the warmth returned to her skin, before retiring to the locked room inside the cellar.

***

"This will never do," Lucien grumbled from the open door of his bedroom. Joelle, a stunning vision, lay wrapped in moonlight, draped naked across his bed. She had been asleep for nearly sixteen hours, with no sign of waking. He had tried to rouse her, touching his mouth to her skin, tasting every inch of her body, but she barely stirred.

"No, this will absolutely never do." Lucien was hungry; no, he was starving. It was his greatest hope that she could sustain him. Since first he had fed upon her, he had longed for none other. Yet his requirements far exceeded her abilities. "Sleep lovely, I will see you anon."

Something stirred inside her head, a voice, a sound, it wasn't clear but it rang like bells against her ears. Joelle felt the bed around her, searching in vain for the warmth of his body. Though the sky was black, it was lit by the brilliance of a near-full moon and, as her eyes adjusted, she knew she was alone.

But the sound, she pondered, it hadn't been inside her head. For a moment she thought it had come from her own mouth. She strained to listen, shaking her head as she tried to expel the thoughts from her mind. However, there was no mistaking the sounds of pleasure, the sounds of sex.

The moans of ecstasy grew louder as she shuffled down the hall, drawing her toward the door at the opposite end. She lingered outside, uncertain whether or not she wanted to know, but unable to remain discontented.

Joelle's fingers trembled against the knob as she twisted slowly, gently pushing open the door as the latch released.

"Oh my god," she whispered, her hand flying to her mouth. She stood, frozen, unable to pull her eyes from the scene playing out on the massive, canopied bed.

Cascading streams of onyx fabric trembled from the lattices, as not one, but two women enjoyed Lucien's gifts. Fervently his mouth worked between the legs of a shapely blonde, her back arched, allowing him unrestrained access to her very depths.

Joelle watched in horror as Lucien's spectacular fingers toyed diligently with the thin brunette. Her hips pitching against his knuckles as she worked to consume every inch, guttural groans pouring from her parted lips.

Was this what she looked like? Dazed and detached? A lust zombie? A stupid, mindless, orgasm machine?

The thrusting and rolling of hips was too much to bear and Joelle sprinted back to the sanity of his bedroom. His bedroom, silently she repeated, her mind wrapping around the words. This was his home, his bedroom, his life, or whatever it was, and she was the visitor.

There was never any denying what he was, he had been honest about that from the very beginning, maybe even too honest, reckless almost. Yet she accepted him for what he confessed to be and, even though there was a niggling doubt, she'd hoped to satisfy his needs.

She dove into bed, wrapping two pillows around her head, determined to drown out the sounds as she disseminated and distilled the information in her brain.

"Stupid! I am a total jackass," she mumbled into the pillow, "for fuck's sake, what on earth was I thinking? Shacking up with a demon? Who does that? Seriously, what kind of depraved moron does something like that?"

Joelle lay in suffocating stillness, barely able to breath, but taking no chance that she would catch wind of a moan. The irony of this scene was not lost on her and she was nine again, hiding from the sounds of her mother's screaming and the light which would inevitably pour into her room every night.

It had begun less than a year after her father's death. Her mother had married Carl, the man who was supposed to protect them and keep them safe; the same man who drained her spirit and robbed her of any chance of a life. And at sixteen, when she'd finally had enough, she was banished from the house after confiding in her mother. Ironically, it was at that memory the tears began.

Joelle shuddered as a spray of light illuminated the room, quickly snuffed by the closing of the door and the sound of Lucien's footsteps -- fifteen, as always -- to the foot of the bed. The roll of her hip, the shift of fabric beneath her, signaled his approach.

Lucien knew she was awake, he could tell by the absolute rigidity of her body, and it didn't take a genius to understand why she was smothering herself with pillows. Perhaps he should have warned her, it hadn't even occurred to him. Human emotion was something he'd never really connected with, until now.

"Joelle," he whispered, pulling the pillows from her face and moving to brush the hair from her stunning cheek.

"Don't you dare touch me with that hand!" she shrieked.

It was only after hearing the falsetto in her voice that he realized the depth of injury he had inadvertently inflicted. "Would you prefer the other?" he offered in a feeble attempt at levity. The look on her face, however, was far from amused. "My apologies, that was very insensitive of me."

"Fuck off."

"You're upset," he acknowledged.

"You're very perceptive for someone completely brain dead."

"Joelle, what would you have me do? Would you have me starve?"

"No! I understand that I'm technically a visitor here and that this is your home. I get that, and you have every right to do what you want in it, just as I have every right to find it intolerably repugnant. And furthermore, being a guest in your home does not give you the right to treat me however you see fit."

"I see," he offered, still working to digest her argument.

"Oh, fuck off. I should never have come here."

"I paid the rent through next month, you can have it all back if that is what you desire."

"I do," curtly she replied, crossing her arms in defiance.

"I hope you will reconsider. I am truly, abashedly, regretful for wounding you. Though I cannot deny my nature or my needs, I should have been more considerate of your own." Lucien fished from his pocket, the keys to his car and laid them gently beside her hand. "It's yours. Should you choose to leave, I will not stop you."

"How considerate of you!" she hissed. Joelle pulled his robe from the floor and grabbed the keys, before rushing to the door. "I think I'll sleep downstairs. I'll collect my things after you slink off to your lair."

In the morning, Joelle packed her meager possessions, all of which Lucien had acquired for her, into two bags and walked to the car more than a dozen times. She'd even gone so far as to put it in drive, but something kept her anchored there. And thus began the staring contest between her and his vintage car. She sat for hours on the wide stone steps to Lucien's home, scowling at it. By sunset she surrendered.

"You win!" She hurled a rock at the Ford but it fell short by a solid ten feet, skittering into the grass.

Joelle couldn't bring herself to go, not like that, not in that way. Regardless of the rage which percolated in her veins, the fact was, she still wanted him. So, despite her temporal lobe arguing strongly against it, she trudged her way into the house and waited for him to come for her, intent on making him grovel.

***

Lucien wondered what Joelle was doing hold up in his room. If she came out at all, it must have been during daylight hours, he hadn't seen her since their tiff. It was torture knowing she was just beyond the door, lying in his bed, wrapped in little more than a sheet. But he wouldn't impose himself on her. When she was ready to talk, he would be waiting and would take whatever venom she had to spew.

Sleep was impossible. Her days were filled with endless wondering and the evenings were immersed in his intoxicating scent. A pacing shadow patrolled the hallway outside the bedroom, but never beckoned to enter. Four days had passed without a single knock at the door and by the fifth she'd had her fill of waiting. It was clear they had reached an impasse. And so Joelle did the one thing she always did when people hurt her, she struck back.

After apologizing to the Mach One for the rock throwing incident, she peeled from the driveway. The afternoon sun began to sink heavy in the western sky and it was Happy Hour, a perfect time to score.

Joelle drove to the closest bar, pulled her tight sweater as low as it would go and pushed inside. So many possibilities, she thought, as she scanned the crowd, composed of blue collar workers and middle management dorks, all easy targets. But there, at the end of the bar, a lone stranger sat, angrily plucking at the tiny straw in his bourbon. He'd be the easiest mark.

"Hard day?" she asked, gliding into the stool beside him.

"It's getting better," he offered, with a broad smile.

"Buy me a drink," she insisted, dispensing with the trivialities of courting.

"What'll you have?" he asked.

"Whiskey, rocks -- a double." She slipped up her skirt as she crossed her legs, knowing that his eyes would follow.

"What's your name?" she asked as she downed half the glass.

"Dennis," he offered, "and yours?"

"Jo," she replied. "So Dennis, now that we've dispensed with the formalities, let's get down to brass tax. Do you want to fuck me or not?" She gulped the balance of her whiskey and motioned to the bartender for another.