🔥 The Captain's Slave part 26

Previously…

"That's fine. I don't need promises. I need those books."

I set my hand over Malik's heart, feeling it beating strongly.

"I'm here. I'm not going anywhere," I tell him.

And I swear I feel his heart rate spike. He can sense me. Even this slumber can't keep us apart.

PRESENTLY…

GRACE

Time stops making sense as I dedicate myself to reading every piece of material I find about the numbing pill. I read anything from its chemistry to its history, leaving no stone unturned.

Malik has been moved to our tent, and I am practically glued at his side.

I miss him so much, but I become increasingly angry at him for putting himself in this situation. For leaving me in the middle of this conflict.

General War has been handling the situation as best as he can. With Kitto defecting and joining the camp, the angry mob of landowners can no longer use her false alibi. They can't claim that she was kidnapped or saw the murder of her master.

The men were furious, but they backed off for now because War threatened to get the royal palace involved in the situation–an option I know he doesn't favor.

Malik figured that the situation was stable enough for him to leave me.

The healer told me that he arrogantly claimed that he would return within days after being warned that there was no telling how long he'd be unconscious. The arrogant male. How dare he think that he can simply will himself out of unconsciousness? Meanwhile, it has been days, and he's still gone.

Joan comes to visit every morning and evening, bringing food for me and Malik. I can't find the words to thank her for her support.

Malik's meals are drips of medicine and broth from a spoon to his mouth. I painstakingly drip into his mouth every day, the process taking hours, but I will never abandon him.

I roll my head back, my neck and shoulders stiff as I hunch over on my chair and read the latest scroll. Refusing to leave Malik's side in case he makes the slightest movements. I will be here to witness any change.

The ink on the scroll is faded. It was brought from the library of a nearby school. The records there are tarnished from poor storage. The humidity and insects have had their way.

I've read piles of scrolls and books–annotating words and terms I don't recognize and asking the healer for help. No word has gone unread, but I've found nothing useful after two weeks.

The only mentioned treatment for this state is stimulation. Some unconscious masters were given powerful drugs and successfully awakened–but most of them returned with derangement. I can't give Malik more drugs and risk putting him in a worse mental state.

Another way to interpret "stimulation" is with severe pain. Masters have been stabbed in the abdomen, and the pain brought them screaming back to consciousness. Although the healers in the camp are trained for trauma injuries and are very capable of treating stab wounds, I can't risk that, either.

"Malik," I call for him, grabbing his limp hand. "Please give me a sign that you can hear me."

These weeks have felt like decades. And they feel even longer when I beg him, and he doesn't respond.

"Please," I try again, kissing the back of his hand, which still smells like the soapy rag I used to clean him a few hours ago.

"Ancestors, I'm so mad at you," I tell him, stroking his cheek. "I might just stab you, after all. You fool."

He'd come screaming back to the world, his hands blindly reaching out to strangle me, but at least he'd be back.

I shake my head, disappointed that I've found no new leads besides the useless 'stimulation' treatment.

Unless…

I scan Malik from head to toe. I've kept him nude to keep him cool and allow me to bathe him daily without needing someone to help me shift his clothes off his bulky body. His groin is covered by a blanket.

Stimulation.

"Malik?" I call for him, reaching to peck his lips.

There's no response, as usual. He doesn't kiss me back.

It had never crossed my mind to touch him this way as he lay practically dead. But I'm desperate to wake him.

With a rising suspicion, I trail my lips across his cheekbones and the back of his ear.

I set my hands on his pectorals as I kiss his face, whispering his name with despair. Begging him to come back to me.

I nip at his bottom lip with his teeth, trailing my lips lower to kiss his neck.

"Wake up," I whisper, gently scraping my teeth across the nape of his neck. Leaving a gentle indentation.

"Take the lead."

My lips trail down his bicep and forearm, roped with veins and muscle, and I kiss his fingertips.

I don't dare to reach under his blanket and caress his cocks. It would feel wrong. He's too vulnerable in this state. So, I stick to my loving kisses.

I painstakingly mark every inch of his hand, breathing hot air across his skin as I welcome him to grab me by the throat and haul me onto the bed to have his way with me.

To my amazement, he stirs beneath the blanket, and his nipples harden. He senses my touch, and his body is reacting.

For an hour, I kiss him, my hands stroking his bare chest and caressing his hard muscles.

I breathe hot air against his abdomen, planting a kiss on every line and square, and whisper filthy things against his ear.

"Return and fuck me."

A large wet spot has gathered on the blanket covering his waist. Pre-cum. I'm sure I'd find his lap sticky if I peeled back the blanket.

My mouth dries for a taste, but I deny myself.

"Malik," I moan his name, feeling my own body become feverishly hot. Hungry. But being unable to do anything about it.

"Ma–"

His hand stirs, and my heart jolts. I don't feel joy seeing him respond. I feel fear–as I've been caught red-handed.

"If you don't…" comes his slurred, deep voice that sounds heaven-sent. Ancestors, I haven't heard that raspy voice in so long!

"If you don't suck my cocks in the next thirty seconds, female, there's going to be a problem."

"Malik!" I cry out, tears stroking down my cheek.

It worked. It fucking worked. He's awake!

My lips are dry from whispering and kissing him for the past hour. I lick them as I look over my shoulder, determined to shout for the healer.

"Grace," he rasps my name.

"Yes!" I reply, clutching his hand. Having long forgotten his demand.

"I want your throat. Now," he says, eyes hooded.

"Are you crazy?! We need to call the healer! Hey! Over her–"

The man springs to action. Shocking me as he grabs me around the waist and hauls me onto the bed. After crying over him for the past two weeks and watching him drop a few pounds, I deemed him weak and sickly. I'd forgotten his strength, but Malik is hellbent on reminding me as he pins my wrists atop my head and straddles me. His twin cocks press against my abdomen as if pointing and demanding my womb.

I look at him with wide eyes, wondering how I could have mistakenly regarded this man as helpless. Even weeks of sleep didn't make his muscles atrophy. They're flexed around me as he straddles me, pumped with blood and ready to claim me. To remind me of his dominance. Flip the tide and fuck me until I'm the one that's unconscious from exhaustion.

With my eyes wide, I stare at his fierce expression. He's not having it. He wants to fuck, and he wants it now.

If the healer were to enter this tent right now, I'd be concerned for his safety. Malik might just kill the old man.

Heat rolls down my body as my sex senses the proximity of his unleashed cocks, and it dampens in response. Ready to take him.

I want him so badly.

I glance at my cock-covered stomach, and I groan. Why do they look fatter than ever? Girthy and monstrous, just like my insides like them.

"Grace," Malik grits my name.

Slowly, I part my lips. Giving him permission. Giving him my throat.

The master growls as he climbs my body, walking on his knees to straddle my chest. Hot, hard cocks dripping pre-cum all over me.

My cheeks expand as he slides his bottom cock into my hot, awaiting mouth. The elasticity of the seams of my lips pushed to its limits as Malik feeds me inch after inch.

My vision becomes impaired by his top cock, but I can hear Malik and feel him pulse in my mouth. Telling me all I need to know.

I lock my lips around him and suck, and he slowly thrusts his hips. Fucking my mouth at a slow, loving pace. Relishing in my mouth like it's been an eternity since he last buried a cock in it.

I swipe my tongue around him, applying pressure to hear him groan louder.

He slides his cock deeper, gently fucking my mouth until he slides down my throat.

His small, jerking thrusts into my throat have his thighs trembling. I palm his thighs, squeezing them. Enjoying their power as they drive his hips to and from my face.

I fight my gag reflex to let him feed me, thirsty for his tangy cum that I haven't tasted in a while.

His top cock is dragged up and down my face dripping cum into my hair.

Malik keeps his slow pace, sliding into my throat carefully while trembling and groaning, his balls tight and heavy as they rest on my chest. Loaded and ready.

"Fuck," he groans, shuddering, as he dips his hips forward, clogging my throat full of cock. I smile–as best as I can with a mouthful of cock–and Malik rewards me by spilling his seed in my mouth. Flooding my cheeks and retreating to allow me to swallow.

He pulls out of my mouth to watch me gulp him down like a deranged woman.

"Turn around," he growls. "Face down. Ass up. Those holes better be wet and ready."

I am more than eager to comply and present to him the holes that are certainly dripping for him.

He moves off me, and I spin around. A streak of cum drools out of my mouth and I desperately try to lick it off the blankets, refusing to let it go to waste.

"Fuck, Grace," he moans as he watches me. "You hungry slut."

He pulls at my clothes, and I eagerly help him strip me down. I already know this is going to be the best sex we've ever had. Malik has risen from the dead with a vengeance.