Worlds Apart Ch. 02

I instantly missed the skin-on-skin contact and cursed myself, but I found comfort in the fact that he did not move away entirely. The pressure of his leg against mine gave me the courage to continue.

"Who are you?"

He smiled fully then, clasping his hands in his lap. "My name is Vincente Renard."

I swallowed. "What are you?"

"I am a dyson."

The immediate image in my head was of the TV commercials for the popular vacuum cleaner. Especially the claim that they were known for continual, optimum sucking power due to their design. The analogy was eerie. I shuddered from the thought. "And what is a dyson?"

His smile faded a little, his hands clenching in his lap. "It is a reptilian-human hybrid."

I recalled the change in the temperature of his skin at the party yesterday. A memory of a National Geographic special flashed in my head about how snakes and other reptiles regulated their body heat by their environment. So he must be cold-blooded, therefore cold to the touch. But by touching me, a warm-blooded human, his own temperature increased.

"So, the um..." I tilted my chin down and glanced at his lap. I choked back a moan when his cock moved beneath his pants in response. As if it had a mind of its own and could hear me and understand my unspoken question.

Vincente chuckled. "He likes you. Very much."

"He?" I couldn't breathe for a moment. I closed my eyes and swallowed heavily.

Vincente just laughed again. When I felt his hand caressing the top of my thigh, pushing the edge of the shirt up, I opened my eyes. He was watching me intently, the blue of his eyes like the ocean under the moonlight.

I stumbled through my next question, my face so hot from blushing I thought I must have a fever. Somehow, I managed to ask him how it worked...if my analysis of what had happened after he slid his cock into me had been accurate.

"Yes, Danae. Stroking stimulates him. Prepares him. Just like any human phallus."

I snorted. "Except yours has a fucking snake for a head."

His smile faltered again, his eyes darkening. He didn't say anything more, and his hand stilled, hidden beneath the shirt's hem.

I gulped, wishing he would move his hand a little higher—that I hadn't pissed him off—but also praying he wouldn't do it just yet. I had more questions to ask.

"I can, however, perform in the usual, human way when I so desire. I can please a woman either way. I think you would agree."

I nodded slowly, my eyes dropping to his waist. I found myself licking my lips as I remembered just how much pleasure he had given me since we'd entered his private quarters. Then something else occurred to me.

"So you use the snake-method only for reproduction? You can control whether or not you get a woman pregnant?"

His smiled widened and the light returned to his beautiful eyes. "Yes. It is the perfect...what is the word you use? Birth control?"

Except he's in control of when to use it. I kept my mouth shut and tried to refocus. It did not help that he moved his hand again, inward but not upward. My lower muscles contracted in anticipation. I silently begged him to hold off a few more minutes.

"Was there anything else, Danae? I can feel your heat against the back of my fingers. I so desire to touch it. Taste it." He proceeded to flick his tongue out seductively to demonstrate.

I groaned and reigned in my passion. "How old are you?"

"I was born in 1542."

I quickly did the math. He looked pretty damn good for 470 years old. I gulped again, trying to wrap my mind around that fact. "Where are you from?"

"France. Marseille to be exact. My father was a viscount. A title of nobility. He died in a duel."

"I'm sorry to hear that." I stretched, or as much as I could being confined as I was. "So does that make you the Viscount Renard now?"

"Yes, but it does not mean as much now as it did then. Time changes perceptions. Rulers. Laws."

"Was your father...or your mother...a dyson?"

"Only my father. He courted my mother from an early age. My grandparents on my father's side were both dysons, but only my grandfather on my mother's side was one. Both of my grandfathers had known each other well. My maternal grandmother was a human. She accepted her fate, such as did my mother. They knew nothing of our kind until their wedding night, yet they both came to embrace it. They were much like you, Danae. Beautiful. Provocative. Courageous."

I closed my eyes for a moment. This conversation had gotten stranger by the minute. I wanted to ask how a female dyson differed from a male, but I had more pressing questions. "Is your mother still alive? Do you have any siblings?"

"Alas, the answer to both questions is no."

"So I will eventually die, too."

"Not necessarily. My mother died of a broken heart shortly after I was born. Had my father survived the duel—which he fought to protect her honor—she would have lived as long as he did. He was her life-force. As long as he lives, so does she. My father's parents raised me. They still reside in France."

So my own fate rested on Vincente's. "Are there many dysons?"

He tilted his head back and forth. "Not as many as there used to be. It is in our nature to reproduce. It not only carries on our lineage, but it also revitalizes the parents. When one cannot find a mate to copulate with...well, it is true what your culture claims." He smirked then. "Without it, you will die."

My mind was full. I no longer wanted to think. I only wanted to feel. But I had one question left. And for some reason, it was the hardest one to ask. "The wine. Or non-wine. What is it, really?"

He didn't answer immediately, as if considering my question.

Why answer the other ones so candidly but not this one?

I felt his thick finger press up and between my swollen labia, rubbing against my clit. I screamed, my body arching of its own freewill, my wrists pulling on their restraints. "Stop it! If you keep doing that, I won't be able to think!"

He ignored me and pressed his finger against me again, flicking it quickly a couple of times, his thumb stroking the inside of my thigh. I wondered if he had been a rebellious child.

This time, I bared down, clamping my thighs around his wrist. Still, he teased me. I grunted, trying to keep my composure a little while longer. "Tell me. Tell me what I was drinking."

"You are correct. It is partly wine. It is from my country and is quite vintage." His hand stilled.

I sighed from the instant—if only momentary—relief. "And what is the other part? Tell me and then I will let you have your way with me. I just want to know."

He slowly raised his eyes to mine. They were as dark as midnight now, and I swear I could see into his soul. If he even had one. He turned his body toward me and then, using both hands, he easily spread my thighs as though they were made of silk, not flesh and bone.

My pussy throbbed from his absence and the cool brush of air against it. I inhaled deeply, taking in the mixture of sandalwood, his musk, and my own arousal. My arms stiffened above my head, and I held my breath.

"It is the perfect cocktail that stimulates the libido. In me, it only invigorates. In you, it heightens the arousal. Increases the potential for conception. The more you drink, the stronger the result."

I growled. "Damn it! What is it?"

"My blood."

I didn't even have a chance to process his words. He leaned down and sucked my clitoris into his mouth, his tongue flickering away like a candle's flame. At the same time, he thrust two fingers deep inside of me. I screamed, coming so hard I saw stars and had to close my eyes. And then I blacked out.

###

My dreams revolved around me and a man floating in an endless sea of pleasure. I don't recall his face, but I could feel his cock sliding in and out of me ever so slowly as if it were real. The frustrating part was, I never climaxed. It would build and build and build, and just when I thought I was finally going to fall over the edge, something pulled me from my sleep.

But I never came fully awake, and I never stayed awake long. Exhaustion always pulled me back under, usually to a black emptiness for a while, and then another dream would begin. It was always sex, but sometimes it was missionary, doggy-style, or cowgirl; other times, it was oral, both for him and I.

I had had dreams similar to this most of my adult life. I would wake up feeling like I had really been having sex but not reaching orgasm. The difference this time was, I could remember every elicit detail, not just bits and pieces.

At one point when I woke up, I heard my own whimpers and cries echoing in my head. I so wanted to find release. It was driving me insane. I forced my eyes open, and I saw my body practically folded in half, my hips raised so that I was resting on my upper back.

I could feel pillows beneath my back and behind my head, supporting me. Before me knelt a perfect specimen of a man, his large hands cupped beneath my knees, holding my thighs apart. His thumbs stroked back and forth against my skin. At the same leisurely pace, I felt him stroking his cock in and out of my pussy.

Instead of looking up to his face, my eyes trailed down his naked torso. Outlining each muscle in his abdomen. Following the engraved V as it led to a dusting of dark curls surrounding the base of his cock.

I blinked, shuddering as I saw how thick and long it was. Which wasn't hard to notice since he had only penetrated me with the tip. Only an inch of his cock glided against the most sensitive part of me as he pushed in. I felt him throbbing inside me. There was a gentle tugging when he withdrew as my tight entrance caught on the ridge below the swollen head of his cock.

My pelvic muscles contracted around him, trying to pull him further into me. Into where I wanted to be touched. Needed to be touched. Over and over again until I came. Yet his pace did not change, and his pressure on my legs stayed constant.

I moaned softly, writhing a little beneath him. I closed my eyes, trying to make myself come with mental images instead. Words and phrases that usually made my body naturally react. But my brain would not function. I was frustrated and unsatisfied, and that just made me more sleepy.

It was at the moment that I gave up trying—that I felt defeated—when pleasure rippled across my body. Starting down low and then escalating as it traveled upward, as if someone had tossed a skipping stone into my sensual pool with precision.

I cried out, my back arching, my hands straining against something above my head. It was too much. My body shuddered as I felt the man stroking me through my orgasm with the same languid pace. I let the sensation pull me back into the void of sleep.

The next time I was drawn back from dreamland, I grunted in despair.

I had been giving the mystery man a blow job. And what a fine tool he had, too. It was eight inches of pure virility. I could barely wrap my long, slender fingers around it completely as I breathed on the tip, my tongue teasing the eye, drawing out the salty precum. He was so hard, throbbing in my hand. My jaw almost ached as I slid him between my lips.

I sucked and stroked and moaned against the warmth gently thrusting in and out of my mouth. My pussy grew damp, contracting with need. I imagined his cock thrusting in out of those lower lips the same way they were doing now above. I fondled his balls, pressing my fingertip into that sensitive spot between his sac and his asshole. He groaned in response, and I prepared myself to receive his seed. To let it gush down my throat as I swallowed it.

But then I woke, mumbling and disoriented. And I was so thirsty.

"Here, drink this."

The masculine voice was familiar, but I couldn't place it. I knew I wasn't dreaming still because the mystery man never talked, just gave and received pleasure.

A hand cupped the back of my neck and lifted my head up. I opened my mouth when I felt the rim of a glass being pressed to my lips. The liquid that trickled into my mouth was warm. Thick. Sweet. Delicious. I instantly felt quenched with one sip.

When the glass was empty, I heard myself beg for more. There was a soft chuckle. My head was rested back on the pillow, then I heard the sound of pouring liquid and the clatter of a glass bottle being set on a metal surface. His hand returned, warm and comforting, tilting my head as I was offered more to drink.

I finished the second glass and sighed. A thick finger traced my lips, gently inserting itself into my mouth. I licked at it. Closed my lips around it. Sucked on it. Tasted my own juices and moaned.

My eyes fluttered open, blinking for a moment to reorient myself. My surroundings slowly came back into focus. The flickering candles creating dancing shadows across the crisp white walls and ceiling. The silk sheets beneath my naked body. The soft cuffs around my wrists and the pillows under my head.

I moaned again, turning my head back and forth as I felt something suckling at my right nipple. Pleasure streaked down to my core.

"That's it, my love. Relax. Surrender."

The voice finally registered, and my hazy brain put a name to this man who was pleasuring me outside of my dreams: the Viscount Vincente Renard. Just the sound of it in my mind made me smile and shudder.

It suddenly occurred to me that he was talking to me—clearly— but a tongue was now rasping my nipple. My eyes flew open, and I shrieked as I glanced down. Instead of Vincente's tongue as I had expected, I stared at his cock, pointed at my breast. The serpent's head was positioned over my nipple, the forked tongue brushing against the sensitized peak as it slithered in and out.

I watched in partial fear and wonderment. When my body stopped squirming, Vincente moved his cock in small circles, allowing the tongue to trace a similar path over my areola. Moisture pooled between my thighs, and I gasped for breath. I could tell by looking at my breast that it was swollen and heavy with arousal. It ached and I didn't want the twisted, erotic feeling to end.

Now it was surreal. Reality seemed like the dream. I watched him move his cock over to my left breast, repeating the same, torturous method. My hands clenched, my wrists straining against the chains that kept me from touching him.

Vincente moved over me, sliding a knee between my thighs and pressing up against my throbbing pussy. I moaned in relief. I arched my hips, humping his thigh. He let me continue this way until I felt my orgasm building, and then he pulled away.

I opened my mouth to complain. But as I did, my voice died in my throat because he brought his cock up to my lips and rubbed the tip over them. I felt tears in my eyes. I couldn't let that serpent's head enter my mouth. I just couldn't.

A strangled cry quickly rose up within me, but all that escaped was a whimper.

"Shh, Danae. Close your eyes."

I stared at him for a moment, feeling hot tears trickling down my cheeks. And then I obeyed.

"Yes, that's a good girl." His voice flowed over me, calming me. I felt him straddle my chest, his knees on either side of my ribs, his thighs pushing my breasts up. "Now don't think. Just feel."

I whimpered again but tried to do what he said.

He rubbed the tip gently over my lips, outlining my mouth. I was amazed at how soft it was. I had imagined it to be rough and scaly. My tongue automatically darted out to lick it. When he pressed, I opened further. I moaned as he slid into my warm, wet mouth.

I tried to imagine it was a real cock. I tasted and smelled his musk as my nose touched his pubic bone. When he pulled back, I moaned again, the combined rough-and-smooth feeling of him grazing against the roof of my mouth sending shivers down my back.

Suddenly, I didn't care anymore about who or what he was. To hell with this supernatural sci-fi shit. I wanted to hold him so badly. To stroke him. I wanted to suck his cock.

I opened my eyes wide, mumbling. When he didn't withdraw completely, I yanked my head back and to the side. "Unlock me! Please! I have to touch you."

I had never seen a man move so fast. I couldn't breathe for a moment when he put all of his weight on my chest as he leaned over me to grab the key off the nightstand. He struggled only once, unable to get the key to turn in the first lock. Then my wrists were free.

I don't know if it was adrenaline or the wine or what, but I found strength I never knew I had. I pushed him off of me, flipping him onto his back at the same time. Then I was crouched between his thighs, my hands wrapped around the hot essence of him, stroking and easing him into my mouth.

"Danae, stop." Vincente elicited a deep growl and then lifted my head when I didn't obey.

"Don't you want me to—"

"I do, my love. I do. But I wanted to you to see..."

I looked down then at the swollen, rigid flesh enveloped in my long fingers. Saw that it looked like an uncircumcised cock. A human cock. I felt tears form at the corners of my eyes. "How? I don't—"

"I can control it, my love." He tilted my chin up so I was staring into the endless depths of his eyes. My heart skipped a beat at the desire I saw there. "When we made love earlier, it was like it is now. I know you don't understand. I know this is difficult. It will take time. But I wanted to you to see that you will not be left wanting. I wanted you to—"

"Shh, Vincente. It's okay."

And with that, I dipped back down, letting my hair fall over his thighs. I sucked and moaned as he filled me over and over again. When he growled to use my teeth, I gently scraped them against his rigid pole as I withdrew it. I licked around the head, teasing him, enjoying him. I stroked and squeezed his cock, cupping and fondling his balls. Loving the scent of his masculinity as it filled my nostrils.

Vincente buried his hands in my hair then, holding my head still even though I continued to stroke with my hands. His own moans mixed with mine as his hips bucked beneath me. His incoherent sounds were music to my ears, filling my head, enflaming my own arousal.

"Danae! My god, Danae!"

When he came in my mouth, I wanted to believe that all that really mattered was what we felt for each other. It had been true for his mother and father. But would I be able to claim the same for myself? Could our passion overcome any differences between us?

~ H