I let out a long breath. “Why?”
“Because the rising hostility is a problem that Arlon has refused to eventouch,” she says. “You, though, you’re facing it head on. And having a Grandmaster who isn’t afraid to confront difficult things bodes well for you, I think.”
I breathe deep, force myself to really hear her words. “Thanks, Bri.”
Bridgette leans down and presses a chaste kiss to my temple. “Can I try something else on you?”
“Please,” I say, not ready to lose her gentle touch.
Glass clanks, and I turn my head to see that she’s set out a collection of jars. They’re spherical, with wide mouths and thick, flat bottoms. She dips a cloth in the alcohol before swirling it inside of one jar, lightly coating the interior. Once she’s done, she grabs the match again.
“Ready?” she asks.
I raise a curious eyebrow. “Ready.”
Bridgette brings the match to the jar, and the flame eats the alcohol in a ravenous display. But before it can be fully consumed, she tips the cup and presses it firmly to the skin of my back. I yelp, feeling warmth before the skin of my shoulder is sucked into the mouth of the jar. Even once the heat disappears, the cup is suctioned tightly to my skin, drawing up flesh and muscle.
“That,” Bridgette says smugly, “will get you an explosion.”
I let out a small laugh as I sink back against the bed. It hurts in a distinctly good way, though it takes me a second to relax into the strange sensation. “Feels like the knots are being sucked straight out of my skin.”
“With how many you’ve collected this week, this is the only way I can think to get rid of them,” Bridgette mutters before she picks up another jar. She repeats the process, swirling a bit of alcohol inside before she lights it. This one suctions to my other shoulder, and my skin is drawn up into the slightly smaller cup. It’s a sharper feeling, more concentrated. Then Bridgette grabs the end of one jar and moves it, sliding it across my oiled shoulder.
It feels like it’s tugging my muscles loose before the airtight seal finally breaks. It wrings a throaty groan from me as I melt against the bed. It’s the type of pleasure that aches, a deeper massage than fingers can give.
“Do you want me to keep going?” Bridgette asks.
“Please,” I groan, burying my face against the sheets. This is exactly the type of pain I need. Focused, directed, helping me pinpoint each area I’m holding tension. I’m no evoker like Olbric, but the pain is grounding in a way I didn’t know I needed. It’s easy to lose myself in the feeling.
Bridgette wipes my back clean before she suctions another cup to my shoulder, then another just below. She affixes no less than six to me, three to each side of my back. It’s an intense feeling, pulling at every overly tight muscle, but I breathe through it as I fall into a pleasant fog.
I don’t know how long she leaves the cups on, but I do feel when she moves them, inching them over to draw up yet another section of tight muscle. It’s both a relief and a disappointment when the seals finally break to let her pull the cups off me.
“Roll onto your back.” Her quiet whisper makes my sensitized skin shiver.
I do as told, and there are spots of warmth on my back where the cups have left their marks. Sinking against the bed is bliss, and I let out a quiet moan before Bridgette gently takes my hands. The softest rope I’ve ever felt circles my wrists before she binds them to the headboard in a simple double column tie. Then, she slides a few fresh focuses down my fingers.
I shiver as I watch her pour oil into the palm of her hand. Her smile turns mischievous as she hikes up her skirts to straddle my thighs, pinning me gently as she starts to massage my chest and breasts. Her fingers tickle across my stomach before moving further down. It’s a slow sort of worship, one that makes every nerve come alight as her fingers massage more oil into my skin.
“Now that you know what to expect with the cups, can I put them other places?” Bridgette asks before her oil-slick fingers grab my nipples.
I bite my lip as I arch. “Trying to make some explosions?”
“I’m trying to make you cum until you’re too tired to think about tomorrow,” Bridgette says with a smirk.
I can’t help but laugh, but it quickly turns to a moan as Bridgette suctions a small cup over my nipple. She does the same to my other side until the points are swollen and throbbing under the glass.
Another cup suctions to my sides, and I squirm at the painful tickle. It makes the cups on my breasts sway, tugging at my skin. Bridgette shifts, moving to kneel between my legs before she spreads them with her knees. I gasp as she suctions two more cups to my inner thighs.
It’s a tender area, and my squirming makes the cup on my side pop off. Underneath, a bruise like an ink stain makes a perfect circle on my skin. I writhe gently on the bed, tugging lightly at the ropes around my wrists, though I have no desire to escape. It’s fiery and sensual, and painful and pleasurable, and when Bridgette pulls the cup from one nipple, I arch with a gasp.
My skinthrobs, but Bridgette is quick to soothe it with the cloth before she closes her mouth over the tender point. My hands wrap around the soft ropes, even as I wish I was grabbing Bridgette’s silver hair. The glass cups on my side clank together before the seal on one breaks with a wet sound. It wrings a breathy giggle from me, but it’s chased by a moan as Bridgette’s hand trails between my legs. She avoids the cups on my thighs and instead finds my heated cunt.
My head swims, and I spread my legs wider in invitation. She doesn’t accept. Yet. Instead, she teases me, just barely stroking my cunt as she breaks the seal on a cup on my thigh. The pain and release washes through me, making me squirm down just as her finger sinks into me.
I forget how many cups are still on me, my focus drawn entirely to the soft curl of her finger. A second joins the first before she spreads them, mapping every inch of me as she strokes softly. My body feels as hot as the matches she’s struck, and I smolder under her hand, squirming as she targets my sweet spot. The last cup on my inner thigh releases with a wet pop, and I bite back a moan as the fresh bruise throbs.
“Are you alright?” Bridgette’s voice seems to reach me from very far away.
