If you are allergic to "ZukoxKatara or Zutaran" type stories [Steamy/waterxfire] or steamy hot dream scenes then I suggest you leave now. Because this first chapter has the last bit. The whole story has a sort of "Zutaran" theme but not really. Because its mine. And its more fun.
So. You have been fair warned. If you read and are offended, that is your own fault for reading it. That said, I appreciate any comments on what I can do to improve this piece. Critiques are very much welcomed! Read on please! ^^
So. You have been fair warned. If you read and are offended, that is your own fault for reading it. That said, I appreciate any comments on what I can do to improve this piece. Critiques are very much welcomed! Read on please! ^^
--
•Chapter One • Heat•
Heat.
Desire.
It washes over me like a tidal wave and I am engulfed in an inferno of wanting. Writhing in the throes of ecstasy, I am burning; burning with need, with want. Burning with desire.
Cold.
Reality.
It hits me like a sledgehammer to the head and I jerk awake, shivering and pushing sweat soaked bedclothes off my burning and unfulfilled body. Jumping out of bed, I rush to the bathroom and quickly fill the sink with cold water. Trembling, I attempt to bend the water to my will, moving shaky hands over it and muttering curses when nothing happens.
"Calm down, Tish,” I growl, gripping the porcelain bowl of the sink as I try to steady my heavy breathing. “It was just a dream. Just a dream, nothing more. Now calm down.”
As I run myself through this little pep talk, I start to feel the water responding to my movements. Smiling weakly, I watch the water move with my hand and let my mind wander; secure in the knowledge that it was just a dream. Nothing more.
When I have finally calmed down to the point where I am no longer shaking, I let the water subside and drain the sink. No use in keeping the water in the sink and letting it get stale and warm, I think as I watch it swirl and disappear down the drain. Walking back to my bed, I frown, feeling that there is something about this dream that doesn’t seem right.
“Relax,” I tell myself, trying to calm the rising hysteria; “It’s just a dream. And there is nothing so unusual about a healthy young woman like myself having these kinds of dreams.” Except for one thing, I think, biting my lower lip and sitting down on the bed, It’s the same dream. Every night. And the same guy, every dream.
“Oh now stop it!” I grab my head and growl, squeezing my eyes shut tight.
In the dream, he is always speaking to me in low, soft, passionate tones and holding me close to his burning heat. The fire dances around us and I am melting in his embrace, moaning encouragement to his every caress and sweet kiss. His caresses make me burn, if his heat hadn’t already done that, and his kisses make me want more.
“More,” I whisper, clinging to his broad shoulders and pressing my burning body against his until I feel something poking my inner thigh. I gasp and glance down, suddenly aware of his arousal and our stark nakedness. But strangely, it doesn’t seem to bother me, and I only push against him again, seeking that elusive something that will relieve my wanting. My lust. And do away with the burning.
“Yes,” he whispers, his low voice gravelly and yet full, like the thunder during a summer storm. His hot lips touch my throat in a tender caress and I moan, arching my neck against that caress and encouraging him to use a little more force. I feel him smile as he obliges and scrapes his teeth against my flesh, distracting me while one of his hands drops lower and touches that forbidden place.
I gasp anew and surge against him, shocked yet still wanting, hungering for more. Always more. I groan as he slowly –barely! - slips a finger in and then withdraws it. He does this over and over again; teasing me and making me burn hotter, brighter.
“Please,” I beg, rocking my hips against his fingers, moaning my pleasure, “Give me more. Please.”
He chuckles and pushes his fingers in just a little deeper, making me gasp and surge against him again. I should scold him, push him away, I think, moaning as he pumps his fingers in and out of me, making me burn hotter and bringing me closer to the elusive sweetness I can taste just on the tip of my tongue, But I can’t. He is too intoxicating and he is the only that can make the burning go away.
“Yes,” I purr and arch against him when his lips travel down from my neck and to my breasts. “Yes, yes.” I murmur encouragement as he starts to thrust his fingers into my body harder and faster, making the pressure build that much more and that much faster.
I start to shake and tremble as I get closer to my release, arching against him, clinging to his strong body, and rocking against his thrusting fingers. “Yes... yes… yes…” I moan and purr, wrapping my slender legs around his waist and giving myself entirely to him. But just as I am about to reach that point I am so desperately wanting, he stops and pulls his fingers out and watches me come crashing back down.
“Why?” I groan, feeling the coldness soak in and the fire starting to recede as reality draws closer. But he says nothing as the dream starts to fade. He only stands there, a lonely figure in the deep darkness of sleep, watching me go.
Cold.
Reality.
Again.
Groaning, I sit up and rub my temples, cursing the man in the dream and my subconscious mind. If not for that man, I would have been sleeping quite peacefully. Instead of sweating and writhing in my sleep and then waking to find the area between my thighs damp with want, with need.
“Stupid,” I mutter as I get ready for the day, secure that I am actually awake now and I won’t go back to sleep anytime soon.
Muttering about strange men and delightful yet disturbing recurring dreams, I grabbed my bag and stepped out my door to face the day. Lifting a hand to shade my eyes against the sun’s brightness, I looked around and smiled at the simplicity of my village. Everyone in the village was addressed by their first name and we were all close friends. Some of us were even related! And everyone was friendly to each other, and especially to those in need.
That’s the best thing about my village. If someone is in need, we help them. No matter who they are or where they’re from, we help them as best we can. It is a trait that has earned us favor with the gods. Because of how well we have treated everyone else, certain people in my village are given certain gifts. Given to them by the gods. Like me for example; bending the water to my will.
Walking slowly, I think about my ability. Yes, it very well may be a gift from the gods, but there is always that question, nagging at the back of my mind. What if it isn’t? What if it is just something unique to my village? My tribe? My people? To me even?
So engrossed am I in my thoughts, that I don’t even notice the slave traders and their current victim and so I run smack into a solid chest. Gasping, I swing my arms, trying to regain my balance and not fall, but to no avail. Tumbling backwards, I end up on my butt, my bag thrown open and my purchases strewn all over the ground.
“Oh god,” I yelp, quickly getting on my hands and knees and scurrying to gather my scattered stuff. “I am so sorry! I should have been pa-“ My apology is cut short when I look up to see who I had bumped into and my heart jerks when my eyes meet the golden gaze of the man standing over me. “Oh my god,” I whisper, shocked beyond words and at a loss for what to say as my body is suddenly flooded with an undeniable heat.
“Huh? Miss, did this no good scrap of junk say or do anything to you?” Our staring contest is cut short by the slave trader himself, a short, disgusting man in his forties.
“Hm? Oh no. I’m just clumsy and I…” My words trail off again as I lose myself in those compelling golden eyes. Eyes that burn with a fire so hot I can feel it burning me inside and out. I wonder if he knows who I am? If he has the same, hot, steamy dreams I do? I am brought out of my thoughts by the slave trader’s voice.
“You there,” he was saying, “Loosen Zain’s wrist irons so he can help this woman pick up her belongings. And Zain, show some manners and apologize!”
“My apologies, madam.” It was definitely him. His voice wasn’t as gravelly, but deeper, fuller. Like thunder and lightning, or a powerful lion, growling a warning to an invading male. He sounded like a man resigned to his fate, and yet still wanting to hurt the one that had done this horrible thing to him.
Right there, as he was picking up my belongings for me, I made my decision and acted on it before I could change my mind.
“Sir,” I said, addressing the slave trader and using the sweetest voice I could muster.
“Yes sweetheart?” He asked me, grinning and waggling thick, bushy eyebrows at me. “See something you like?”
Ugh, I thought, How disgusting. Trying to cover up the fact that he made me want to puke, I smiled sweetly and reached into my bag. “Yes,” I purred, “I would like to buy that man.” I pointed at Zain with my free hand while I pulled out my money with the hand that was in my bag.
At my words, everyone dropped what they were doing, even Zain. My village gawked at me in surprise and the creepy slave trader man gawked with them. Oh god, what am I doing? I wondered, wanting to go back on my words but knowing I couldn’t.
“What?!”
