The Begging Begins
*Hezzlie*
I feel like I’m having some sort of out-of-body experience. Except every inch of my body is burning with need, something I’ve never had happen before–and I don’t like it.
Because there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.
At first, I tried to ignore it. For the last couple of nights, I’ve noticed my longing for Rowan has increased. Tonight, it’s unbearable. Even though I’m locked in my room, I can smell him. My pussy is pulsating with need, and I can’t help but touch myself as I cry out for him.
He’s ignoring me, of course.
Thankfully, so is everyone else in the house. I’m sure they all know. It’s quite embarrassing. I wish I could keep my mouth shut and suffer in silence, but I can’t.
At first, I was afraid Dr. Bolton would come in and tell me to stop or try to medicate me, but he hasn’t, and that’s a good thing because I can’t even imagine facing him or anyone else while I’m like this.
The only person I’ve seen today is Wilma, and she just drops my food and scurries out. I’d planned on rushing the door when she came back for my dinner tray, but she must’ve had a feeling I would try something because she hasn’t come back for it. My leftovers sit on the table near the window–a window too high for me to get out of. I’ve considered it.
Now, I’m standing by the door, mewing like a cat in heat, begging a man I can’t stand to come and fuck me.
I am a pathetic, disgusting whore.
When I can keep myself quiet enough to listen, I notice that the house is deathly silent. I can’t hear anything else. No footsteps in the hallway. No whispers down the stairwell. Nothing. It’s the middle of the night now, and everyone is probably trying to sleep. They are likely using earplugs or turning on fans to drown out my ridiculous begging.
I decide enough is enough and go back to my bed, one hand thrust between my legs. I’ve never been one to masterbate. Not that I’ve never done it. I just have such little experience with sex at all that I didn’t figure I don’t really know what I’m doing anyway. But I am rubbing myself every way possible, thrusting in fingers, trying to get some sort of release. Nothing is helping. I look around the room to see if there’s anything even remotely phallic shaped but don’t see anything.
I don’t know what’s causing this, but if it doesn’t stop soon, I’m gonna die.
Eventually, I find enough release to manage to doze off, but something tells me this isn’t the worst of it, and I can only imagine what the next day will bring.
***
*Rowan*
It’s the middle of the night. Hezzlie finally stopped calling out for me about an hour ago–thank the Goddess. I could hardly stand to listen to her whimpering, pleading cries for me to come in and fuck her.
I almost went, multiple times. I practically had to barricade myself inside of my bedroom to keep from giving her exactly what she was begging for.
And she was begging, too. I imagined her in there, lying on her bed in those tiny shorts and strappy shirt, her hardened nipples visible through the flimsy fabric, her legs spread wide for me, ready to rip her clothing off and devour her.
Fuck, is my dick hard now.
I’ve already relieved myself of that strain three times, but it’s getting a little old. I wish I could just go to sleep, but I know we’ll have to do all of this again tomorrow.
Perhaps I should leave the mansion until the full moon is over.
But no. The only phone King Solomon can easily reach me on is here. I wouldn’t give him a cell phone number. I need to be here to take the call if he says the trade is on. I can only pray that he’ll do just that before the full moon tomorrow night.
If I think it’s been difficult tonight, tomorrow night will be even worse, I’m certain. I’ll have to find a way to suffer through it because I absolutely cannot give in and take her.
Fucking her would be a colossal mistake. It would make it even more difficult to give her to her father.
I finally fall asleep but wake up early. The musky scent of her heat hangs in the air even thicker as I get up and go about my daily routine, pumping into my hand in the shower to keep from walking around with a massive hard on all day. I ponder the possibility of inviting some other woman into my chambers tonight, but I decide against it. I am the fucking king. I can handle this.
“It’s just another day,” I tell myself. After I dress, I go to my office where Wilma has set up my breakfast for me. I don’t go downstairs for breakfast most days because I’m just too damn busy. I eat while I work and try to concentrate on the daily affairs of the kingdom, but I’m unbelievably distracted.
I can smell her, despite the moon being tucked away for the time being. In a few hours, it’ll be nighttime, and then what will happen?
Soon enough, my questions are answered, and it’s not good. I can hear her cries from the night before echoing in my ears.
Constantly, I turn to the phone, begging it to ring, hoping her father will just come through with the trade already.
But as the sun begins to set, we are still in the same situation.
And I can hear her calling to me.
“Rowan, please?” Hezzlie whimpers. “Please? I need you so badly. God! Please, come fuck me! Hard and fast! Deep! Take me for hours. I’m begging you, Rowan. My mate. Please, fuck me senseless.”
I drop my head on the table. How in the world am I supposed to resist that?
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