Page 23 of Skyn (After the End #3)
Messy
He pulls me out of the tiny lab room and walks me to another side of the beach. Ben is holding me tight at his side, like I might slip away. The wind is picking up slightly, drawing my attention to the fluttering edges of a canvas yurt, with lit torches all around.
“Is this where you live when you come here?”
“No. The mannies just constructed this. I’m very sorry… My neuro-link needs a little work.”
“I need you to build me a kill switch,” I say.
“Done. I can build you a neuro-link if you want,” he says.
A neuro-link would connect me to my own little uncanny-valley murder robots. It’s a little too big for this mine girl.
“I’d like to remain a little bit of a mystery,” I say, ducking inside the yurt.
The scent of old cedar and faintly damp canvas makes twilight feel more intimate than it has any right to be.
The floor was strewn with overlapping rugs, each one in varying shades of red and gold, worn and faded, as if trying to convince me they’ve been here forever, even though their edges still curl from being hastily laid out.
In the center, a low table sits cluttered with mismatched candles—none of which are lit but give the illusion that something romantic just popped off before I got here.
Above, the domed ceiling stretches high, the taut fabric rippling with every gust of wind outside.
He pulls me to him. “Keep your secrets, then, wife.”
A large, low-slung bed takes up most of the room, though its sheets are far too white for a place like this, practically glowing in the moonlight. He catches me looking at it.
“You know,” he whispers, his voice thickening, “I think what they’ve taught us about desire…
it’s all wrong. They say it’s depraved to want someone—to want to fuck someone the way I have wanted to fuck you since I slipped that black dress over your shoulders.
But I think it’s natural. The way I respond to you. ”
“Brave hypothesis, Doctor.” I swallow hard, my throat tight, my hands itching for something to do. I reach for the yurt flap, moving to tie it closed as if I can shut out everything that’s unraveling right now.
“Do you want to know something else?” His voice is low, barely more than a murmur, and yet it lands heavy on my skin.
I nod but don’t move. His hands, warm and rough, palm my hips.
He’s not tentative, not asking—just taking.
I think back to how I once begged Josh to touch me, how desperate and shameful that felt, and here Ben is, relentless, as if he’s compelled.
If I’m honest, he hasn’t stopped wanting me since he first saw me.
“God, you’re intoxicating. You’ve brought me to my knees.” Then he actually does it—drops to his knees in front of me like it’s some kind of holy prayer. His hands grip the back of my thighs, and he nuzzles into my belly. His utter surrender makes me throb in my panties.
He lifts one of my legs, draping it over his shoulder; his rough cheek brushes the tender flesh of my inner thigh.
Ben licks right there like I’m a plate with leftover sauce.
I almost lose my balance, and he grips my hips.
He presses his lips to my… What is it? Honeymoon muscle?
Sucks lightly, then harder. His tongue traces the soft crease at the juncture of my thigh. He bites where he licks, and I moan.
He makes up for the bite by inching closer until his nose is pressed against the soaked center of my panties.
His tongue flicks over my clit, teasing through the fabric, each stroke sending sparks racing up my spine. Then he grips my hips and sucks—hard—drawing me into his mouth even with the wet cotton between us.
Before I can catch my breath, he hooks a thick finger under the edge of the fabric and slides it aside. His mouth finds me again, bare now, and now he is sloppily sucking my clit and making wet, greedy noises as he licks me clean with his rough tongue.
My knees feel like spaghetti noodles, and I hold his shoulders. I’m afraid my throat is closing; I can’t catch my breath as he guides me into the heat of his mouth, grounding me in sensation. His palms slide over me, stroking, circling, until his fingers—metal-warm, thick—slip inside of me.
I choke on a gasp.
He withdraws slowly, his fingers slick, glistening, and holds them up between us like proof. “Love,” he says through rasping breaths, “is messy.”
“Ben—” I gasp, but he doesn’t respond. He puts my leg down, and his hand clamps around the backs of my thighs, securing me against him when he lifts me over his shoulder.
He strides toward the bed with a singular, unstoppable purpose. I feel the strange, thrilling edge where his flesh meets metal, the contrast sharp against my skin.
His hold tightens—as if he thinks I might run. As if I could.
The dummy. I never would.
His grip may be firm, but the trap he’s set is tender. I’m caught. Fully.
He lowers me, slow and controlled, until my back lies flat against the cool sheets. He’s between my legs before I can catch my breath. His hands move to my hips, and I can’t think as his gaze locks onto mine, dark and unreadable. “Can you take all of me?”
“I don’t know,” I sigh, but I want to try. I want to die trying.
“Have you…has your mouth ever kissed a man’s shaft?”
He looks embarrassed, and I don’t want that between us. “Tell me what you want, and I will do it.” I wrap my hand around his thick cock, stroking steadily as he pushes into my grip. The platinum veins throb beneath my palm, and the taut muscles of his stomach tighten with effort.
“Can you please put your mouth on me?”
The words are strained, almost reverent.
I lean in, letting my lips glide over the dark, flushed head—weeping, almost unbearably beautiful.
The second it touches my tongue, it jumps—a sharp, reactive twitch. The sensation is electric, and my throat tightens against the sudden rush of saliva. It’s growing, getting even larger in my mouth, and I struggle to adjust my jaw.
Panic and pleasure war within me, and I suck him, hard. Ben writhes, and I let my teeth graze the quicksilver veins.
A salty-sweet syrup oozes from the head, coating my throat.
And it throbs again, harder this time. His cock is stretching the limits of my mouth, its warmth pressing against the roof of it, the back of my teeth, until the edges of my lips burn with strain.
My breath hitches as Ben pushes insistently toward my throat, probing, moaning, and guiding himself deeper.
“Take it all in that pretty little mouth of yours.”
I need the encouragement. I try. I really do.
But the pressure builds fast, too fast—his thick length pushing against my throat—and panic sweeps in, hot and sudden.
I gag, eyes watering, and wrench my head back with a gasp.
His cock slips free, wet and gleaming, resting heavy against my chin.
Nothing that huge and pulsing has ever been anywhere near me.
Ben pulls me up and covers my mouth with his.
He weaves trembling fingers into the cloud of my hair and says my name again like a prayer.
His voice wraps around me like a vise, and all I want is to make this machine beg for me. There’s nothing like this feeling. He moves his dick between my thighs.
“This is how you saved me,” he said, “giving me your soft body every night. I remember, Fawl. I remember you trembling for me.”
My hand shakes as I press my palm against his platinum chest. The metal is warm—no, hot, like he’s burning from the inside out—and beneath it, the steady thrum of his heartbeat.
“Fawl,” he murmurs. His breath hitches when I slide my hand up, feeling the cords of his neck pulse underneath my fingers.
He pulls me closer, pinning me against the furnace of his chest. His cock presses hard between us—slick, insistent, radiating heat like contraband smuggled under fabric
He cups the underside of my breast, lifting it slightly, watching as it swells upward.
When my nipple peeks out from beneath the glittering cloth, dark and tight like the moon of ome istant planet, he groans, such a raw, sound for a refined machine to make.
His lips trail down my jaw, my throat, each kiss softer than the last but no less consuming.
I feel his breath—ragged and searing—ghosting across my chest, making me arch instinctively toward him.
He glides the tip of his cock along the wet mess he has made of my pussy, murmuring my name. Coaxing me open.
Slowly, he guides himself into me. Whispering about how perfect I am, how soft. He wants all of me. He needs me.
The thick head presses deeper a slow, stretching intrusion that makes me gasp. I clench around the impossible fullness, trying to adjust, trying to breathe. He groans as he inches deeper, easing out just enough to hear the obscene, wet sound of it.
That noise alone makes him shudder.
“I’m going to try to control—” he chokes, but I arch into him, wrap my legs around his waist, and pull him closer.
It breaks him.
“Oh fuck—you’re gripping me everywhere… Fawl, please…”
His voice unravels, collapsing into gasps and fragments. Desperate. Disarmed.
“More. Don’t stop. I need—just—give me everything…” He’s begging me like I’m hiding more pussy in a closet somewhere. I realize that I’m shutting my eyes when he lifts my chin to kiss me. I blink open and he is there.
God’s above.
He’s beautiful to me. His face is flushed, eyes glassy, but it’s the look underneath that undoes me—like I’m the only damned thing he’s ever truly seen.
And in that instant, I swear I fall again—hopelessly, shamelessly, entirely—for this man fitting himself inside me.
He sinks again into my sweet, hot center. And I part easier this time, eagerly. The tight heat he finds makes him close his eyes as if in prayer and draw deeper. I rock my hips to fit more of him; I’m so painfully full.
I feel the platinum veins throb. I’m wet and stretched, and the sound he makes as he seats himself deep inside me vibrates in my chest.
“My little wife,” he says between huffs of breath, his cock slicking in and out, coaxing my hips forward, invading a little, then withdrawing like an indecisive general.
I will never get enough of this. I feel myself give way, surrendering to his pumping greed, my soft skin buckling under the pressure of his kneading hand.
My moans fill the yurt, echoing in the small space. He pushes my legs even wider, pressing my knees against the bedsheets, straining my tendons into a near split.
“Wide open,” he whispers. “Look at you take it.” He is mesmerized by how our bodies joined.
The world shrinks to the press of my fevered skin against the cool sheets. I grip them like rail handles, as if I might be flung out of this bed with one twist. My body has long abandoned its reason, its structure of bones and tendons; I’m a river rushing into the mouth of the sea.
My spine arches. And he lets go of my knees and holds my hips, pounding into me at the perfect angle. I splinter into sharp, glittering bits. Pleasure mushrooms inside me, and I clench and cry out, before pulling him into me and kissing him until neither one of us can breathe.
I feel the moment he decides to abandon all pretense, and the shock of anticipation in my chest is downright feral.
Finally, Ben the man.
“Fawl…so good. God, it’s so good,” he moans, an animalistic hunger in his rhythm now, rough and unrestrained.
There is no sweet word for it. Nothing this primal could be glossed over with purple prose.
He fucks me now, digs into me like he’s mining for minerals.
I offer up all that I have. And my heart rattles inside its cage as he stuffs me with his hungry dick.
His mouth kisses everything, eager and demanding, closing over what his cock and hands cannot reach. The wet slap of our bodies is so erotic, I am on the brink again. Ben’s pace is punishing. The heat is overwhelming.
“I’m going to come inside you.” He jerks. His pace is ragged. The sharp edge of pain mixed with the intoxicating drug of pleasure is more than I can resist. The unforgiving hardness of his cock is supernatural.
His body presses me into the bed, so strong and massive. I wrap my arms around him because I somehow want him closer, deeper.
“Fuck, it’s so tight and wet,” he whispers, still gripping me like he’s afraid to let go. I can barely breathe, caught in this wild, reckless moment. He releases into me a river of passion that warms my insides like liquor. The sensation courses through me like molten silver, hot and bright.
“Fawl!” he cries out. And I meet his powerful thrust with the last of my strength. His face crashes into me, kissing the breath out of me as he declares definitively, “Genius.”