#thread the needle

You always learn how drunk you are as soon as you shut a bathroom door behind you, and hot damn, you are drunk. While you don’t regret your decisions, as you look up at the disheveled, smudged forfeiture of the woman you were when you walked out of the house, two thoughts occupy your mind:

1) This mascara is your new favorite

2) It is not safe to be this drunk in public as a woman

You straighten your jewelry, clean up your makeup as best as you can manage, and square your shoulders. It's true, this isn't an area of town you want to be alone in, much less drunk, but you have been around these parts before and may be able to hold your own. You straighten your back and glide back into the small, dimly lit bar. The place might as well be a candlelit alleyway, and those vibes are not helping your anxiety. You hold your head up and focus on looking people in the eyes and walking straight. Most of the patrons are men old enough to be your dad nursing various brown drinks in short glasses, and holding on to the waists of their inappropriately young girlfriends- the kinds of guys you'd expect to find in a bar situated literally under the street.

You see a light at the end of the tunnel, the fluorescent glow of the streetlights above, and steadily trot up the stairs, holding the handrail and looking down at your feet to make sure they hit the steps. No sooner than you feel the cool autumn air kiss your face, do you almost collide into a 6-foot-tall lamppost wearing a black hoodie. You lose your footing and fall forward onto the pavement.

"OH my god, I'm so sorry."  The lampost's voice is deeper than you would have thought, and he reaches out to pull you up. Once you're on your feet, he quickly dusts off the knee of your jeans. It's a degree of touching that should earn him a knee to the face, but his chivalry catches you off guard. You cock your head and catch a glimpse of the light post's face. He's pale with an oval-shaped face, shaggy hair that's definitely longer than he usually wears it, and eyes that glow with an inexplicable kindness. He looks at you like he knows you from somewhere.  

"Are you OK?" He asks, putting one hand on your back and looking around like he's searching for your parents. "Your friends must be looking for you."

"That's not your problem," you say with a sassy wiggle.

He presses you closer to him as a group of people passes behind you, and the motion is enough to make you almost vomit. You steady yourself against him, and when you take a deep breath, you inhale the sultry smell of his cologne, fresh with lemon and bergamot but with a smoky amber musk beneath it. It takes all of your willpower not to bury your face in his hoodie and take a drag of him like a cigarette.

"I'm going to make it my problem." he says, putting his hands on your bare shoulders and looking you square in the face, the streetlight behind him lights him like a portrait of a saint. Heavenly ambiance or not, this stranger has no business touching you like he is, and you brush him off of you.

"I'm not anyone's problem tonight."

"Oh yeah? You're out alone? Yeah, right."

"What if I am?" you taunt

"No girl as pretty as you is drinking by herself in some seedy bar, now where are your friends?"

"At home"

"Right then, what's your boyfriend look like before he charges up here ready to beat my ass just for talking to you?"

"I don't have one." The words fall out of your mouth before you can think about them. This guy, whom you do not know, now knows that you're alone, and nobody is waiting up for you. He looks you up and down and holds his gaze on your lips for a moment too long. You turn to walk away, and before you can even take a step

"Wait! . . . Let me go with you."

This is a trap; the sober parts of your brain try to sound off alarm bells, yet a smile spreads across your lips regardless.

"OK then." Your voice is coy and sultry, and you giggle at the thought of showing this loser a good time. Who knows, maybe you'll run into your ex and he'll see that you've got options, plus this guy would probably have a panic attack if he saw a naked woman in the flesh– he seems harmless.

You take a step away and reach your hand behind you to guide him through the crowd. You have no idea where you're going, but dutifully, your lamppost trails behind you. The cold air feels good on your flushed face, but less good on your bare shoulders. You feel like you're walking straight, but a glance down at your feet proves otherwise. You need to be on a barstool immediately. Out of the corner of your eye, you see pink neon lights and dash across the street towards them. He grips your hand tightly as you cross the street, and for a moment, you think of him as a cute little boy, even though it was definitely so that he could pull you out of traffic. Before you know it, you're in the bar, the pink lights and disco ball make you feel a little less vulnerable than the smoky, low-lit whiskey alley you just left. You lean on the bar and hop up onto the stool. Your friendly lamppost stands behind you, and you tap the empty spot of the bar beside you. He fills in the space as you directed. The bartender makes her way over, and you hand over your ID and card to start a tab.

"So what's your name?" You say over your shoulder

"What?" He cups a hand around his ear

You turn your back to him and lean back, he puts a hand around your waist, and leans his ear close to your mouth.

"What do I call you, hot-stuff?" You giggle

"You can call me whatever you want."  His voice is gravely in your ear, and his breath his hot against your chilled skin. The sensation of his skin so tantalizingly close to your neck sends a shiver down your spine that causes your hips to rock forward and your knees to part slightly. As you revel in the flirting, the bartender sets down your vodka cranberry and his whiskey sour. You pick up your drink and spin around on your stool to face him. Touching your tongue to your canine, you give him a flirty wink and take a big sip. This bartender pours heavy, and you don't regret settling in here for a while. You set your drink down without breaking eye contact with your little nameless plaything, keeping one hand on top of it. You motion for him to lean back into you, and he does so. "What do you want me to call you?" You try to make your voice smoky and sexy

"I don't know." His response is odd, but innocent and genuine. His face is tinged with sadness.

"Well, you have to have a name, or a nickname at least, I'm not gonna call you John Doe, what can I call you?"

"I answer to Vessel," he says, looking in your eyes, searching desperately for a reaction. The name has a strange submissive quality to it that feels like an intimate thing to call someone, especially in public and doubly especially when that someone is a stranger. He looks at you like he is trying not to scare away a baby bunny, like he knows that was an unnerving response and only a partial answer to your question. You get the sense that he chose his words incredibly deliberately. “I answer to Vessel”. Not "my name is Vessel", not "you can call me Vessel". You decide to ask for clarification.

"You want me to call you Vessel?"

You can see fireworks in his eyes as the name falls from your lips.

"I'd love that," he coos. When he says it, the whites of his eyes brighten and seem to almost glow. You can’t stop the smile from spreading across your lips. You raise your glass and he raises his in return. You tap them together, and while he takes a modest sip, you down the rest of your drink without coming up for air. 

“I wanna go dance,” you say, mostly to check if you’re slurring your words, which you’re not. Vessel nods, takes a step to the side to give you space, and offers his forearm for you to steady yourself as you hop off the barstool. 

As you dance to the next 3 or 4 songs, Vessel stands beside you, not touching you but offering a soft and comforting presence. His gaze makes you feel oddly … safe. He looks at you differently than other men do; he’s not undressing you with his eyes, but he’s marveling at you. The way he looks at you makes you feel like a Botticelli in a museum. He nurses his drink, and once he is finished, he gestures back towards the bar and raises an eyebrow. You put out your hand, and he takes it to guide you back to the barstool. It feels good to sit, and you’re starting to get dizzy again. He assumes his position again beside you at a slight distance, and you find yourself craving his closeness and touch again. 

“Vessel?”

“Yes?” 

“Could you come behind me?” 

“Of course.” He moves behind you and rests a hand on your shoulder, just to let you know he’s there. Without thinking, you lean your face into his hand, relishing in the warmth. The moment feels soft and heavenly, and for just a couple of breaths bathed in the heavenly pink glow, everything feels ok. 

That is, until your phone buzzes. Dammit. You look down at the texts 

-What the fuck are you up to

-Snuggling up to any rando who will pay attention to you? 

-Miss me that bad 

It’s your ex, and for a moment, you scan the bar to look for him, but when you don’t see him, you decide to settle back into your heavenly moment. You lean back on Vessel and move his hand from your shoulder to your waist. In turn, he sets his head on top of yours. Feeling desired again brings tears to your eyes. You try your best to hide it since you know you're being watched - but Vessel notices. 

“Something wrong?” His voice wraps around you, and the tightness in your chest loosens. This stranger, who won't even give you his actual name, has given you more comfort and made you feel more loved than the asshole in your phone managed to in a year and a half. You rest all of your weight into him, and he holds you. His breath washes over your skin, and you are floating in fascination. Though you only met him a little while ago, you trust him implicitly. Maybe you've just drunk enough to lose any instinct of self-preservation, or maybe the universe is finally throwing you a bone and putting you right where you're meant to be. So you step out on a limb, you open up. You tell this perfect stranger about your shitty ex and everything he did right before the breakup, and you show him the text. 

“He’s stalking you.” 

“I know, and if he had just put this kind of effort into our relationship, maybe it wouldn’t have turned out how it did. And the fucking nerve to text me and ruin my night like this UGH.”

 Instead of downtrodden and mopey, you are in a rush of anger. Vessel being able to understand what a dick your ex was and listening to you effortlessly only stokes those fires. If this recluse can treat you better than a man who knew you so much better, why did you waste all of that time with someone who was never going to work out, and now you just want to forget him- to have him off your back and be washed clean of him. You have an idea to show him that you’re better off without him. 

“Would you be down to help me with something?” just starting to ask fills you with anticipation, and you take a large swig of your drink to calm your nerves. 

“Of course,” his voice is a gentle guitar strum in your ear that sends a surge through your spine. 

“Can I send him a picture of us kissing?”

“You want to kiss me?” The embers glow in his throat, and his fingers press firmer into your waist. Instead of answering, you turn in your chair, move your legs to put one on either side of him, and take in the specimen before you. He's not bad looking at all. You walk your fingers up his torso and pull him by the collar of his hoodie into a deep kiss. With your off hand, you reach to the back of his head and massage his scalp, and slip your tongue into his resulting moan. You’d expect his hands to be manic, but instead of groping you feverishly, he simply grips your waist, keeping them right where you put them- where you permitted him to have them. When you pull back, he looks at you in pure bliss, lips slightly parted as if you are a glowing angel in front of him. 

“You didn't take the picture.”

“Oh, I couldn’t make our first kiss an act of spite, plus- I'm a little out of practice” 

“Didn’t seem like it,” he leans in and steadies himself on the bar behind you. You lean into him and wrap a leg around him. He kisses you again, and you relax from the tension you didn’t even realize you were holding. Your head rolls back, and you are smiling ear to ear. Vessel takes a hand off your waist and slides it around to the nape of your neck, and slips his fingers into your hair. A deep breath passes your lips 

“Do you like this?” he asks as if it isn't obvious. 

“Yes,” you giggle

You start to wiggle your hips, desperate for even a little bit of friction. 

“Pose me for your picture, baby,” he hums. Oh, yeah, you had completely forgotten that this didn't start as an excuse to make out with a stranger. 

You pull his hand from your waist and rest it gently on your throat. He uses his thumb and forefinger to tilt your chin up. In his gaze is the most beautiful thing that you have ever felt. You reach back and grab your phone off the bar to see that your little plan is already working.

-YOU FUCKING BITCH

-COULDN'T EVEN WAIT A WEEK

-DONT MAKE ME COME DOWN THERE I WILL DRAG YOU OUT OF THAT FUCKIN BAR YOU LITTLE WHORE. 

Oh, he's mad-mad. But he's also not downtown; he's just got a fly on the wall. Sending him this picture is a bad idea, but so was drinking alone, and sticking with Vessel and that seems to be working out fantastically. You wiggle your shoulders at Vessel, and he kisses you again. You snap the photo and send it. 

You watch as the status changes from sending, to delivered, to read. Just like that, your phone is buzzing like a hornet’s nest. 

Vessel traces his finger along your jawline, his touch gentle, timid. He looks at you like you’re about to jump off the barstool and run away, and he doesn't want to scare you. There's a sadness in his eyes, as if he thinks that now that he has served his purpose to you, you're going to discard him and go on about your life. As if these could be his last moments with you, he basks in your presence.  You reach back and set your phone on the bar top. Taking Vessel's head in both of your hands, you kiss him feverishly, desperately. You notice he’s only putting his hands in places they have already been, not daring to explore your skin, refusing  to take more than you have already given. He seems terrified of overstepping a line, and remembering how uncomfortably touchy your ex would get- especially after a drink or two- the restraint is charming. 

You don’t want to sound desperate, but you are dying for his touch for more than one reason. Not only are you so horny you could bite a chunk out of his flesh just to taste more of him, but you are freezing. When you break for air, you all but collapse against his chest and shiver. Goosebumps blossom down your back and arms. Vessel moves his hand to your bicep and grips it softly, brushing his thumb up and down.

“Do you want to finish these drinks and get out of here?” He purrs. You are enveloped in the sweet, fresh smell of his cologne, and if you weren't in public, you would be moaning. You feel whole. You can't bear to break away from his chest and can only muster a soft nod in response. He presses a gentle kiss on the top of your head. He puts his hands on your shoulders and turns you around. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, and without thinking, you bury your nose into the crook of his elbow. Looking at your drink, you see that he had at some point set a napkin and his wallet on top of your half-finished vodka cranberry. He moves his makeshift lid and raises your drink to inspect it. He looks at it, sniffs it, and tastes it himself before spinning the glass over and offering you the other side of the rim as if you didn't have your tongue shoved in his mouth only a moment ago. 

“If you’d rather, I can get you a fresh one.” Before he can finish his sentence, you have set your mind on draining this drink. The sooner you're done, the sooner you can kiss him again. The drink is still cold enough to make you shudder before the vodka can warm your chest. As he finishes his you marvel at his jawline and the room behind him starts to spin. Everything starts to spin. You feel your head rock back. He catches your head before it hits the wooden bar counter. 

“Are you okay?”

“I need to go home.” 

“Can you sit up?” You nod and do your best. He grabs his hoodie by the back of the collar and pulls it over his head, exposing the bottom of his torso for just a moment. You drool at the sight of even another inch of his flesh. Under the hoodie, he is wearing a similarly non-descript black waffle knit thermal undershirt. 

“Put this on, can't have you freezing.”  You do as he asks, and he picks you up off the seat, puts a hand over your shoulder, and weaves you through the crowd. You tuck your nose into his jacket- partly because it has gone numb, and partly to drink in any essence of your sweet, sweet lamppost. When you’re out on the street, Vessel walks at your speed, keeping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him to dodge passers-by. After a moment, you close your eyes and trust him to guide the way. The citrus smell in his perfume calms your nausea, and you are in bliss, shuddering and softly moaning into the soft inner lining of his hoodie. 

When the sidewalk is more bare, he puts your back against the nearest wall and you reach your face out of its soft knit sanctuary, your lips searching for his. He kisses you gently and pulls away, brushes a lock of hair from your face. 

“You said you took the bus to this side of town, but they are not going to let you on the bus this drunk.” 

“It's ok, I can go home with you.” Excuse you? Are you trying to get yourself killed? You can’t be that stupid. Vessel laughs. 

“I don’t have much of a home to take you back to.” You had already made terms with the fact that he lives in a basement, and at this moment, it didn't matter. You yearned for navy blue bed sheets and a mattress on the floor as long as it was with him. 

“I’ll go anywhere with you.” You say, giving him the softest doe eyes that you can muster. You are talking like you don’t spend your evenings watching Dateline, like you aren't aware of the bad- very bad- things that can happen to women in your position. The sky is dark grey without a single star, as if it is threatening to rain- an omen in itself. 

Vessel smiles down at you, his canines looking especially sharp- all you can imagine is having his mouth on you again. 

“What do I look like, dragging a drunk, stumbling little mess back into my apartment?” he teases. 

“Please?” you beg.

“When was the last time you ate?” he says, tucking your hair behind your ears. 

“Huh?” 

“Did. You. Eat. A. Meal. Before. Coming. Out. To. Drink?” He enunciates each word, and you are entranced watching his mouth move. Your mouth is hanging slightly open, and you can feel your drool beginning to collect, threatening to pour out. Vessel puts one hand on the wall over your head and takes your chin in the other.

He moves your head up and down, “Yeeeees” 

He moves your head side to side, “Nooooo” 

You giggle and bite your lip, “I'll take that as a no.” his voice is teasing. 

“No, I didn’t,” you confess. 

“Well, how 'bout you eat a little something, sober up a bit, and then we can see if you want to get an Uber or if you want to come back to my place?” You throw your hands over his neck and pull him in for another kiss, which he takes as an answer in the affirmative. Once you have had your fill for a moment, he puts his arm around your shoulder and grabs a handful of the fabric so that you can't slip away. You tuck your nose back in and you return to your trek down the street. 

You get to a small taco truck and stand in line for a moment. Vessel orders for you, and you sit on a nearby picnic table and eat. Vessel keeps an arm around you, and you lean against his ribs. 

“Ya know, I've never had a girl in my place before.” Vessel admits between bites. 

“That's not surprising.” 

“What? Is it that obvious?” 

“I mean, you just don’t look like you get out that much. Nothing bad about it, I don't either. I'm usually more of a homebody too. ” 

“Well, what possessed you to go out by yourself tonight?” He asks sincerely. 

“Honestly, I was hoping that I would see him out with another girl.”

“Why would you want that?” 

“So I would know he never really loved me.” The confession burns as it leaves your lips. 

“You wanted to hurt yourself.” Vessel pulls you into him and rubs your shoulder. 

“Yeah, I guess I did.” You choke back tears and take another bite of your food. “Why did you go out tonight?” you ask, trying to change the subject. 

“I was sent. Looking for something.”

“Did you find it?” 

“I think so.” He offers you a kiss on the top of your head. 

“Vessel?”

“Yes, darling.” The word sends a rush of heat between your legs. 

“What is your actual name?” 

“It’s a long story.” 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don't remember.”

“That wasn’t very long.”

“Heh, I guess not. I’ve only been called Vessel for some time now. If you called me my actual name, I might not recognize it. I wanted to make sure that you could get my attention, so I gave you the only name I know to answer to. I love hearing it in your voice.” He rubs your arm and finishes the last bite of his food. You catch up, and Vessel stands and offers you help to do the same.  

“Do you want to go back to my place? Because if you don’t, I will get you home, I promise.” He puts his hands on your shoulders and speaks with a serious tone. 

“Vessel, please don't take me back to my apartment. He knows where I live. I'm sure he is going to be waiting outside, and I don't want to see him. I want to go home with you. I need to go home with you.” Your words are a plea you could repeat for hours. Thankfully, you won't have to. Vessel looks down at you with kindness in his eyes. He can see your pain. He sees your need for release, for sanctuary, for peace.    

“Well off to the chateau we go.”

You spend the walk to his apartment inhaling his scent from his hoodie and stifling your moans. You are not too enraptured to notice that the street lights are becoming fewer and further between. The air seems to grow colder even despite Vessel’s comforting warmth. You are on the outskirts of downtown, and you stop at an old cathedral. The building is no longer used for worship; instead, the bottom of the building, where they once held sermons, now functions as a coffee shop, and what was once the dormitory that housed the nuns has been renovated into a series of studio apartments. When the coffee shop is closed, the apartments are accessible from a staircase around the back. Again, you have found yourself in a dark, creepy alleyway. Vessel leads you up the stairs to his apartment and opens the door to an inky black void. 

Oh dear God. You are going to be murdered.

“Oh, shit, ummm… You wait out here.” Vessel disappears into his suitably creepy apartment, leaving the door open.

You can no longer see him, but after a few moments you hear a few distinct flicks of a lighter. 

As you stand out in the cold, you contemplate what it is that you’ve gotten yourself into. Despite his gentlemanly behavior, and how good it feels to be wanted and kissed, he is still a stranger whose name you do not know, cornering you in his apartment in the dead of night. Every amount of good sense and instinct tells you that you need to find a way out of this situation, but that isn’t what you want. At this point, you have accepted the consequences of your actions, the alcohol drowning out the alarm bells in your mind. 

Vessel darts around the single room inside, lighting a series of candles throughout, revealing a modest dwelling with bare walls. In the center of the room sits a queen sized bed, and beside it a low, wide matching chest of drawers.

Ultimately as far as strangers' apartments go, it suits him well. It’s dark… a little spooky, but comforting in a way. The same way he is.

Vessel emerges a moment later and any remaining reservations that you had are washed away. 

“Sorry ‘bout that. There's no light for the main room so it gets a little dark in here." He gestures for you to come inside, and you do, shutting the door behind you and sealing your fate to whatever he might have in store. You lean against the door and take in your surroundings further. A dark green quilt lies atop his well-made bed. On top of the chest of drawers, he has a metal dish, in it a series of candlesticks. It acts as a sort of makeshift candelabra that is helping to light the room. Aside from the small taper candles, he also lit 3 larger pillar-type candles around the room- one on a shelf, one on the kitchen counter, and one on the side table on the other side of the bed. Your eyes adjust to the low light, and you observe that around each of the candles is a small dripped stream of wax, and the larger pillars are sitting atop their own small hills of dripped wax. This man must go through a lot of candles. In addition to the small stained glass arch window above the bed, there is one more openable window above the sink, overlooking the alleyway. You make your way to the bed and throw yourself backwards onto the mattress. You look at your phone. 27 new messages and 5 missed calls, all from your ex. You laugh and set it on the dresser without reading a single one. 

“Vessel?” you call into the darkness.

“Yes, Darling?” That word sounds so decadent in his voice.

“Please come kiss me.” you plead.

He emerges from the kitchen with 2 glasses of water, sets them on the dresser, and sits beside you on the bed. You sit up and crawl towards him, press a hand into his chest, and grab a fistful of his shirt. He puts a hand to your lips. 

“Are you sure you’re ok? I know we have been drinking a lot, and you’re probably not in the best place right now. If you don’t one hundred percent want to do anything with me, I would be happy to get you comfortable in bed.”

“Vessel, if I do not feel your touch, I might explode.” 

He needs no further reassurance. He kisses you passionately, moaning into your mouth. His hands are finally curious, and he runs them up and down your back outside of his hoodie. You break for a moment, only to take the hoodie off, and instead of tossing it across the room, you set it on the bed behind you. He, in turn, removes his shirt and flicks it to the side. You trail kisses down his neck and across his chest. Your hands are desperate to know every inch of his form and trace around him in random patterns. You are in a frenzy, and his restraint is torturously teasing. You push him back onto the bed and straddle him, making out feverishly. When you rest on his lap, you can feel the tightness in his jeans. His skin is covered in goosebumps. When you start to grind against him, he shudders out a moan. 

“Thank you.” he praises, grabbing the back of your head and bucking his hips into you softly. “Can I kiss your neck?” 

“Please, dear god, kiss my neck.” You growl. He begins his own trail of kisses, moaning between each one. He puts his hands on your waist and presses you harder into his bulge. 

“Bite me.” you whimper.

“What?”

“Take a bite.” Your whimper morphs into a groan, and Vessel obliges, pressing his sharp teeth into the soft flesh where your neck meets your shoulder. Your breath hitches, and Vessel moves a hand under your shirt, but keeps it gently resting on your low back. When he lets go, you can feel a bruise blossoming in the spot. With each rock of your hips, he gets harder. You can feel yourself soaking thrown your boyshorts, and part of you hopes that he can feel your heat through your jeans. You kiss down his chest again and further down past his stomach. When you reach the waistband of his jeans, you look up at him for permission. 

“Please,” he whimpers. “Please touch me, darling.” 

When you unzip his jeans, his breath hitches. You wrap your hand around his thick cock just under the head. He has already started to leak. You drool for him as you stroke him up and down, his dick melting any of the remaining cold out of your fingertips. You look up at him, expecting to see his head fallen back in pleasure, but instead he is looking down at you. He reaches down and cups your cheek with his hand. You take him into your mouth, and he immediately melts into a puddle. 

“Yes..please..oh, you feel so good.” He rests his hand on top of your head as you bob up and down- not pushing your head but just feeling you. His face is absolutely marred with pleasure as he grips the quilt with his free hand. Desperate to impress him, you try to take the whole thing and gag. 

“Careful baby, no need for all of that. I know you want to be good.” He coos.

He grabs a fistful of your hair to have better control of your head and focuses you on the swollen head of his cock, softly using your mouth. He is gentle, never pushing you deep or too fast. Your eyes roll back in your head as you savor the taste of him. 

“You are so good, darling.” He praises. “There you go. You could do this all night, couldn't you?” 

You manage an “uh-huh” as the drool flows out of our mouth and down his shaft. 

He lifts your head back off of his delectable thickness. He shoves his tongue into your mouth, and your hands search for his cock again. It twitches as you grip it. 

“I want to make you come.” he declares. 

In the candle light he is even more entrancing, the soft dip in the center of his chest, the curve of his bicep. 

“Oh Vessy you don't have to-”

“Please let me, I need to.” 

His words are intense and his hands are no different as he rocks you back onto the bed. When your head hits the mattress you find his hoodie and grab it. Pressing your nose into it and inhaling the sweet aroma once again as Vessel spreads your legs and takes off your boots, throwing them towards the door. 

“I need to hear your symphony.” His voice is soft and warm wrapping around you like a vine. He makes quick work of your jeans and you flex up into a bridge, consenting to their removal. He hooks a thumb under your tank top and pulls it up over your head. You rest your legs on his shoulders and lift up your arms for him to finish undressing you. 

“If I do anything that you don’t enjoy, you’ll tell me immediately. Promise?”

“Promise.” You reply. 

When he pulls the shirt up your arms he stops at your wrists and ties the shirt into a knot around them before pushing you back onto the bed and burying his face between your legs. He moans against your inner thigh leaving a trail of kisses before resting his face against your panties. He kisses you through your underwear and it sends a shockwave up your spine. You pull your bound hands into your chest and Vessel looks up at you, proud. 

“Oh look at how delicate you are. . . How sensitive” He growls. 

“I… haven't had this kind of thing in a while.” You confess shyly. 

“What a tragedy.” 

“I don’t know if I can even come from this its been so long”

“Well I love a challenge.” He teases, pulling your panties to the side with his sharp teeth. He kisses you between your legs sending another surge up your spine that erupts into an uncontrollably loud groan. 

“Oh love, I’ll be softer if that's what you need.” He coos. 

His breath washes over your hypersensitive pussy and you can only manage a  whimper in response. You reach your hands between your legs partially for coverage and partially to touch your aching clit. All of a sudden it's as if your hands are yanked back over your head and into the quilt. You take inventory of Vessel’s hands- his left forearm is under your thigh, with his hand on your ribs; his right is gripping your thigh. He wouldn't have been able to reach above your head from down there. You don't have time to question it for long as Vessel has started to make a feast of your wet pussy. Sliding his tongue up and down makes your pulse quicken and your mind goes quiet. 

He dines on you and moans into your dripping wetness, never pulling his face more than an inch away so that even his words dance across your sensitive clit. 

“Fuck….tastes so good….more….thank you…..whole again……for just a moment…..thank you….bless me….my love.” 

You want to reach between your legs and hold his head down but when you try to move your arms you are met with a soft resistance that keeps them in their place. You feel the tension build. Climbing the high, your moans grow louder and more intense, morphing into growls. 

“Vessel thank you.” You manage only a few words as your brow furrows and your face contorts into a scowl. You’re so close it hurts.

“So sweet…so good…do you want more, baby?” Before you have a chance to answer him he backs up and tears your panties down your legs, not needing you to lift your hips, and he tosses them across the room. “Do you like this darling?” 

“Yes Vessel.” 

“Do you want to go further?” 

“Vessel please.” You respond. 

He runs a finger up your slit to wet it before slipping it into your aching pussy. You release a chorus of rough moans, pleas, and praise. 

“Thank you Ves-Oh GOD, thank you, right there.” 

He keeps pace like a metronome and you build again, your abs tightening, your legs shaking, your breath quickening, your vision blurring … until… fuck- 

You can't get yourself over the edge and all of the tension in your abdomen drops away leaving you ravenous. 

“I'm sorry Vessel.” you cry out. 

“No…No sorry…Can I keep going darling.” He reassures between passionate strokes of his tongue.

 He is unphased, not discouraged. You look between your legs to find his eyes rolled back in his head. He is in heaven, drunk off of you. 

“You can keep going.” You praise.  

He does just so. He pleases you methodically, calmly. He's not rushing to make you finish. He is worshipping at an altar. 

“If it pleases you… I can go all night… Only if you let me… Only for you… Need you… So good… Feels so good... It tastes so good ... So glad I found you.. Thank you…” He builds you up a third time and as you reach your apex you silently beg for release before collapsing into a mind numbing, body quaking orgasm. Vessel doesn’t change his rhythm or tempo. “Good job baby… You come so pretty for me…an offering…so beautiful ... I love eating this pussy… Do you want another?.... I can give you what you want.” His words are only fuel to the fire that seeks to melt you into a puddle on this man's bed. 

“Vessel…so sensitive..please…mercy” You manage between muscle spasms. Vessel slows to a halt and slides his finger out of you. You snap your legs shut and roll over onto your side. Whatever is holding your hands above your head has not given you back that agency. You glance up at Vessel, and his gaze is devouring you. He is up on his knees, towering over you in the ominous candlelight.  

He slips a hand between your legs and lifts the top one. 

“Do you want my cock love?” You nod and turn your head to look up at him. 

“I need you.” 

“Not so delicate now, are we?” he taunts. “Show me how you need me darling.” You squirm and struggle to grind against his leg, and he chuckles in response. He rolls you again onto your back, and you bask in awe at him. In this light, he is imposing, ominous, and so, so sexy. In this light, you are his. He presses your legs together and rubs his erection between your thighs, brushing against your throbbing clit. You could sculpt every curve and vein of his cock, and you would do anything to have it inside of you. 

“So soft… you're so wet for me…such a good girl.” 

You can’t even take enough air to beg for it, so you settle for desperately rocking your hips into it. You angle your hips, and the head of his dick kisses your entrance. Vessel’s mouth falls agape, and he lets out a guttural shudder.  

“So impatient.” he chides. 

“Vessel, please fuck me, I can’t take this.” 

“Not used to having to wait, I see.” He reangles his hips so as not to enter you too early. “Tired of taking things slow?” 

You push out a needy whimper and nod, but that's not enough to convince Vessel to fill your emptiness. He continues to fuck your thighs, and your brain is entirely mush. You are putty in his hands. 

“Come on, baby, breathe for me… Give me three deep breaths and I’ll give you what you need.” You obey his commands, taking the deepest breath you can muster. 

“One.” He praises, and you breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth as his pace remains steady between your legs. 

“Two.” He challenges. You fill your lungs again, but something keeps you from expelling your breath, as if a force were pressing on your throat and keeping the air in your lungs. 

“Aww, baby, can’t give me a third.” Vessel mocks, and your eyes cock back into your skull, your head pressing into the mattress. “That's okay, baby, here you go.” He slides into you and buries himself to the hilt in your warmth. Vessel drops your legs, and they rest on his shoulders. Whatever keeps you from breathing releases its grasp, and you cry out in pleasure. 

“There you go, baby, give it to me.” Vessel's tone is encouraging, and he begins to buck his hips softly. 

“FUCK! Vessel!” You cry out in a release that is both physical and emotional, bordering on spiritual. 

“Good job, baby, show me where the delicate stops.” He praises as you rock your hips into him. He leans down to kiss you, and you struggle against your invisible restraint, yearning to wrap your arms around him. He tries to break from your lips, and you reach out to hold him with your teeth. You feel yourself building again. Another orgasm right now would be enough to render you unconscious, but you welcome any second of pleasure that Vessel is willing to give you. 

“Fuck, darling, are you close?” he pants against your lips

“Yes Vessel.” you plead in response. 

“I'm going to make you come, darling. Are you ready?” His eyes are intense, burning. 

You nod and bite your lip. Your face scrunches into a glare, and you rock your hips into him as he counts you down. 

“Five…four…” the room feels brighter, and it's as if you can see him clearer. 

“Three…two” Vessel stares through you, his face engulfed in pleasure. 

“One.” In an instant, the room goes completely dark and fills with the smell of smoke. Vessel backs out of you, and before you can wince at the empty feeling, you feel his thick cum pour out onto your thigh. He brings a hand down and rubs your clit in small, tight circles as he coaxes you over the edge in the inky blackness. You feel the grip on your wrist loosen as Vessel rests his weight on you. 

“Are you okay, baby?” he trails his hand up to your cheek, and you can smell your musk on his fingers. Your eyes begin to adjust to the darkness, if only a little, and you finally hold Vessel in your arms. You press your fingers into him, clutching him like he may run away. 

“I’m okay, please don’t leave” tears begin to well up in your eyes. Your orgasm was so intense and you feel like you can’t get enough air, can’t get enough of Vessel. You wouldn’t want to come again, though you don’t doubt that Vessel could make you. You're not just crying because it feels so good. You've never felt this good- this desired, this beautiful. No moment has ever felt this perfect. You’re crying because he has breathed new life into you, you are whole again, it's as if your missing pieces were all put back together and you are right where you were meant to be. You never want to leave this bed, leave his arms. There is a small amount of light coming in from the small stained glass window. Just enough for you to see Vessel, resting his head against your shoulder, his breaths heaving up and down in ecstasy. You share the moment in silence before he breaks it. His mouth up against your ear, he whispers softly. 

“Can I check on something, love?” 

“Yeah” as long as it didn’t mean that you had to move. Vessel gets up, grabs his phone and uses the flashlight to inspect the candles. Somehow they all burnt out at the same time, and the wax was pouring out over the sides, completely liquid as if something caused them to burn absurdly hot. 

“So thats…new” Vessel says to himself in the corner. He grabs more candles from a nearby basket and lights one on the side of the bed. He gives you a second to adjust and offers you your water from earlier. You oblige and take a large sip. 

“Good girl” he purrs. He crawls into bed with you and throws the quilt over you both, pulling you into his chest where you indulge in another deep inhale of his scent.