Chapter 313: The Unmasked Saint

"Ophelia," said Kellar, and put his open hand to her face.

"Tell me," said she, and turned her face into the palm, seeking it.

"Earlier you said nobody had ever called you beloved," said Kellar.

She went still.

"I am going to say it every time I am inside you," said Kellar. "Not because I am naked. Because it is true."

Ophelia’s eyes filled at once, but none of it fell.

"All right," said she, and her mouth moved like it cost her.

Kellar got on top of her and set her legs around his hips. The straw pricked her back and the air of the room raised the hair on her arms.

Ophelia covered her mouth with one hand, muffling the tearing scream she let out at feeling all of Kellar’s cock inside her.

Kellar took her hand off her mouth.

The scream came out whole and broke in half. There was nothing of pain in it.

"Did I scream too loud?" asked she.

"The door is closed," said Kellar. "Nobody is coming in. Scream all you want."

"I do not know how loud I scream."

"You will find out."

He moved again. And again. Ophelia stopped counting.

The straw pallet creaked beneath. The candle was on the floor in its clay dish, and the flame leaned every time the air of the room shifted.

Outside, Grok heard the scream and did not move from the threshold. He had the order not to open and he kept it to the letter, hand on the latch, eyes front.

Ophelia groped blind, found the edge of the pallet and gripped it. Then she found Kellar’s back and gripped that too, with her nails.

"There," said she. "No, not there. Higher."

Kellar went higher.

"There," said she, and her voice cut off.

"You see?" said Kellar.

"I see," said Ophelia. "I see what you are going to do before you do it."

"Then tell me."

"You are red at the edges," said she. "Like when..."

The sentence went out of her. Kellar did not wait for it.

She had her face turned to him and her eyes open, and she looked at nothing and looked at everything. Kellar’s aura had gone thick and barbed, and the barbs moved with his hips, and Ophelia followed them with her eyes the way you follow a storm from a window.

"Your mouth fills up with things you do not say," said she.

"Yes," said Kellar.

"Tell me one."

"You are squeezing too tight."

"Is that bad?"

"No," said Kellar. "It is that I will finish early."

Ophelia laughed and the laugh turned into a pant.

She brought her hand down from his back and laid it on his belly, open, without pushing. Kellar stopped entirely. She protested in her throat, a short ugly sound he had not heard from her before.

"Why are you stopping?"

"Because I can."

"I do not like it."

"I know."

He waited. He counted. He let her feel the gap, her own pulse, the way her body stretched forward after what had been taken from her. Her aura went thin and taut, like a thread about to snap.

Then he gave it back all at once.

"Beloved," said Kellar, and she arched and let out a word that was no sentence.

The staff had rolled off the pallet and lay on the floor, and she stepped on it without noticing and pushed it further.

"The staff," said Ophelia.

"On the floor."

"Let it stay."

Kellar took her by the hips and set her where he wanted her. She let him. Her thighs were shaking and it was not from the cold of the night.

"Master," said she.

"Tell me."

"More."

He gave her more. The pallet slid a hand’s width across the dirt floor. The candle blew out when the air moved and the room went dark and Ophelia did not care, because she had never needed light for anything.

She saw all of him. She saw him red and gold and disordered, and under all of it she saw what he was not saying, the part where he had to clench his teeth to keep from finishing. She put her hand on his chest and left it there.

"You are holding back," said she.

"Yes."

"Do not hold back."

"You first."

"I went first twice already."

"Three," said Kellar.

And he took her to the third with his thumb, without slowing, and Ophelia screamed and the scream broke into three pieces and the last was a sob.

Kellar followed two thrusts later. He sank to the hilt and stayed there, shaking, his face in her neck and his fingers dug into the pallet.

"Beloved," said he again, against the skin.

Ophelia put her hand on the back of his neck. She said nothing.

The silence lasted. The candle smoldered on the floor.

When Kellar pulled out, she drew her legs up and stayed on her side, and he dropped down beside her on his back, his chest rising and falling.

Ophelia felt along the floor with her hand until she found the staff. She dragged it to the pallet and set it against her breast again, and this time not like a newborn, but like something you leave where it goes.

"The Bear God saw us," said she.

"The Bear God has plenty of work," said Kellar.

"He was here."

"Then let him stay the night."

"you should respect the Bear God," said she.

"He is a good friend of mine," said Kellar. "Do not worry about him."

"And what would you do if he really came?"

"To what? To a threesome with us?"

Ophelia laughed out loud.

"No, idiot!" She corrected herself at once. "Sorry. Sorry, master."

"So that is how you really are," said Kellar. "This is the real Ophelia? I suspected your submission was fake. You look exactly like a spoiled little princess."

"And that bothers you?"

"I love it," said Kellar. "Devouring you gets more delicious."

Ophelia felt something pressing against her buttocks. She went still.

"You are hard again," said she, low.

Kellar found her face with his own.

"And what are you going to do about it?"

Ophelia jumped on him.

"Today I dominate you," said she, her face a hand’s width from his and a whole smile on it, with nothing of fear in it. "All night and all day. You do not leave this room until I dry you out."

"Those are big words," said Kellar. "Let us see if you can keep them."