Malcolm wrestled between the Then and Now. Pain versus pleasure. Incoherence versus clarity. His chest heaved with each breath, both from his emotional turmoil and his loss of sensibility. Reality intruded as the beguiling goddess drove him upward, well past his previous experiences of sexual satisfaction. 

Untold pleasure both tempted his reason, and distracted the wolf from its rage. Malcolm dared to look out at the world as it was passing him by. The stark differences soothed his anxiety, lessening his panic.

He didn’t feel weak or sluggish. No silver burned into his flesh. Everything was in focus. He simply couldn’t move. His hips jerked as if to prove that deduction erroneous, and he corrected himself; he couldn’t move voluntarily.

Before his thoughts could wander down how she had accomplished such a technological feat, his train of thought was derailed by the continued worship of her mouth.

Lashes lowered with a groan. How astounding was it that she could elicit such blissful tactual sensation with her tongue? It didn’t seem acceptable for him to enjoy what was happening, much less revel in it.

A sound staggered from his throat, a pitiful thing dangerously close to a whimper. It shouldn’t lead to this - it was wholly undeserved. Another small sound as he tried to resist, to hold back a falling star. Pure bliss radiated with a scant jerk of his hips, the fingers of his left hand curling into the sheet as he toppled over the edge. Muscles rippled under the stillness in which he was locked, and he found himself panting as she continued to torture him. Sweat glistened, another reverberation of a groan as she lifted her head. The silk tresses of her hair tickled over his thighs, an unfair distraction from his building self-loathing, the sudden acceptance that he was taking pleasure from his plight. The repulsive emotion was just out of reach, behind a haze of ecstasy, and deep ire at the fact that he couldn’t move. 

Never had he endured such a sweet torment as this. The drive to do something, anything was unbearably strong, and being completely incapable of reciprocating was absolutely devastating. Her scent was intoxicating, making him feel light headed. The turmoil became a maelstrom as she moved up his chest, straddling his hips with a delectable wiggle. The plush softness of her sex pressed against the velvet underside of his cock, slick and hot. There was an honesty in her expression, a look of determination that peeked through her naked desire. It was riveting how she reacted to him. How she was using him…

It wasn’t about him at all.

She was using her power over him.

She needed something to control.

The fascination of the revelation was short-lived; his epiphany scattering as her silken walls slid over the tip of his throbbing shaft, slowly enveloping him. Another breathless moan as he closed his eyes, wanting to know nothing else in his reality except the sensation of that moment. A moment that brought about his confession, the sin he'd been denying since he'd seen her in his office.

He wanted her for himself.

Inches spread her sex wide, and the further she forced him, the more the tight walls clenched. His expression enticed her, and Soraya found fascination in his struggle. It took little time to realize he enjoyed a bit of tease around the bulbous head, and he also enjoyed when she rotated her hips forward and his cock slid deeper into the sweltering hole. 

She teased him, but only to see the way his eyebrows knit in the middle, to hear the guttural defeat at the back of his throat. The pace didn’t quicken, yet, the Latina’s hips rocking in a liquid roll. She’d love to feel him slam into her, the wet smack of their hips. This, however, wasn’t about him. Soraya slid a finger between her legs, seeking the swelled pearl peeking out in a plea for attention. The touch brought electricity; she gasped, her lashes fluttering as the pleasure stole her breath away. No dramatics followed. She masturbated herself on his thick cock and tantalized her clitoris. The slow pace did not last. She thrust down on him, a penetration she needed more than she knew. Growing bliss tightened her belly, inner thighs trembling, and hard nipples pressing through the thin fabric of his stolen shirt.

The fingers roaming her sex moved in fast circles. The closer toward release, faster, and faster until she bucked down on him, back arched in the throes of her ecstasy. Each thrust slammed their bodies together, her inner thighs pink from the impact. The harder she took him, the better it felt. A whimper escaped, and the pace slowed to a crawl. She continued to tease her clit, hips undulating on the cock buried deep within. 

It didn’t take long.

Soraya cried out, her cunt spasming around his girth. Her sex convulsed harder with each thrust, and she couldn’t help but scream. She refused to give him the satisfaction of using his name; his name didn’t matter. Only her pleasure mattered. 

Warmth spread through her core, the gush of the release wetting his upper thighs and pooling between his legs. She remained still, her free hand digging into his chest and the glory of the orgasm softening her features. A vulnerable moment passed, a moment in which Soraya seemed younger and untouched by tragedy or the harsh realities of the world. She wore an expression of innocence only time could eradicate. She hid the assumed vulnerability in a cheshire smile that did not reach her eyes. A quick pat to his cheek before she lifted herself from his lap and eased from the bed. 

Malcolm’s cock stood straight, covered in her cream and pulsing in need. The poor creature. Helpless. Needy. Desperate. She watched him, head tilted to the side and her lip drawn beneath her teeth. He truly impressed her, but for all the wrong reasons. Soraya wanted to know what roared through his arrogant mind, how he cursed her in a torment; downgraded to nothing more than her masturbatory tool. Less than a person, no matter how smart the man seemed to think he was. 

It seemed like she might lean forward and touch him, perhaps stroke his cheek or run a hand through his hair. Instead, Soraya’s laugh whispered through the intimate distance between them.

“Tiffany will see to your needs. I expect you gone by the time I return.”

Soraya took her time to dress with nary a glance to acknowledge the man sitting in a pool of her cum. Once appropriate, she took her leave, offering no explanation of when she planned to return or where he should go. The penthouse belonged to Malcolm; or did it? She took the remote with her, and once at the edge of the range, Soraya removed Stasis. It allowed him the freedom of motion once again. She expected his wrath, his attempts at evening the playing field. A game. It was all a sadistic game. 

Soraya watched the petite blond turn the corner with a sadistic glee. The poor girl’s eyes were fixed on the mobile phone in her hand. Its screen reflected off the aqua hue of her eyes, emphasizing the color. She looked nervous, her posture too stiff. Tiffany startled when she noticed she was not alone, and it entertained Soraya more than it should have. Sympathy never made it into her smile, but she tried to mimic the sentiment as she vanished around the corner. The mutant looked nervous on her way to her task.

Tiffany knew. 

The prey always knew. 

Beast mode engaged in a glaring red light at the side of Malcolm’s throat.

The healer’s screams echoed, a wrenching sound of forlorn betrayal.