Deities of Deceit

Chapter Fifty-eight

Yarima Abubakar | Fifty-eight
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EVIL IS MADE NOT BORN
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The air, soft and kind, melted on my skin in fiery drizzles when I tasted the sweet salt of Hareti on Nimah's thin middle finger. It was first a meek kiss at the back of his palm before it was a slow lick, and then my senses were bursting with vivid colors of desire.

Around us, the scent of Hareti prevailed, as if to submerge and torture my willing body in aches of need. Perhaps I should have considered this before accepting Nimah's innocent offer and deciding to taste her. There was to be no end in the tunnel of lust I decided to thread, for there was no hope of an orgasm or even the slightest touch to aid relief.

Nimah's innocent offer was guaranteed madness for days without an end to my season of denial, but in that moment, as my tongue mastered the curves of his fingers, my heart danced in sheer delight. His fingers, thin and long were easy to suck on two to three at a time, and his skin was soft and sweet in itself.

Greed for him crept in, and without any thought given to it, my palm slipped under his silk emerald gown, wanting to touch him in ways I never had before.

Like plush velvet, or pure Egyptian silk, woven on finely polished wood by delicate aged hands, Nimah's thighs filled my palm and I squeezed. By all things precious and divine, he was soft and tender there, and to my surprise more plum than I could have ever imagined. The thinness of his waist created this illusion that he could not be squishy, too. But he was and it felt miraculous.

There was a shudder from him, quiet heavy breathing entering and escaping his lungs and gradually, the smell of him engulfed me. Cinnamon and a hint of lavender made the scent of Hareti more pleasing to my nostrils.

There was no more of Hareti to taste on his fingers. I had consumed it all and was hungry for more. More to lick, squeeze, and suckle on. I craved more of everything I had been denied for months, so there was not much thought given to Nimah's boundaries when I continued to slide his gown up his thighs as I kissed wet fingers, already covered in my saliva.

His body adjusted, leaning back and I moved forward, hovering over him until his back met the cushion. There was no demand from me before he was lifting his ass up to allow his gown pass further upward, and soon enough, Nimah was half exposed under me. Only then did my eyes flicker open as my lips departed his fingers and I gawked at the pale body below me covered in the soft haze of moonlight and dim golden lamps, with pink nipples pebbled and inviting.

I trailed my eyes between his legs where his bulge remained covered by an undergarment the same hue as his gown, emerald green. Flashing through my mind was the first time I saw him naked, how full his pubic hair was, and how well the gold color of it welcomed the creaminess of his cum after he masturbated.

My ache worsened—threading that path while in denial was a tedious affair. I had no control over the movement of my cock. It leaked and pulsed of its own accord.

His breathing was heavy. I watched his chest rise and fall from the nerves, his lips tightly pressed together as unblinking gray eyes stared at me with a million questions swirling in them, desire not yet understood burning. He was nervous, and so was I. For him, but also for me. There was much I wanted, and much he couldn't give me, yet I desired them all at once.

In times like this, Hareti's words reigned supreme. There was no need to think and choose if Reti drew the lines. I needed her to tell me how far I could go, what I was allowed to take and not take from Nimah's body, but I didn't want to wake her. Her eyes were closed, her breathing soft. Nimah had described her perfectly, she looked peaceful and safe, right there beside him, with her hands tucked under her cheeks in rest, so I let her be, and turned to Nimah for direction.