Chapter 22
VICTORIA
He bites me.
My shoulder, my neck, my fucking jaw—every inch of skin he can reach, while still pinning me to the doorframe. I’m not supposed to moan or move my body closer to him, but I do both.
His hand slides between my thighs, fingers pushing the thin fabric aside and dragging through already wet folds without hesitation, without asking.
I would never admit it out loud, but the fact he doesn’t make it even better.
“You’re dripping,” he mutters against my ear. “All that attitude, while your cunt’s begging for me.”
I arch, trying to get more friction, but he pulls me back against him, biting my earlobe hard enough to sting.
“Say that again,” he growls. “Say that I should leave.”
I should say it right here, straight to his face. I should also push him off, claw back whatever pride I still have left, and continue my pity party alone.
But the proximity of his body and his hard cock pressed against my lower back throws that plan right out the window. Instead, I lean in, wracked breathing, legs shaking, wanting more.
“Beg,” I say it with more confidence than I feel.
I want him to show me I’m not the only crazy one here, not the only one who’s losing herself.
I expect him to laugh, to call off whatever game he’s playing this time. Except he doesn’t.
He lifts me, slamming my back against the counter seconds later as he carries me there. My sweater gets yanked over my head, and my panties are shredded. Literally. He is a hungry man, and spending time to remove them like a normal person would be too wasteful.
Taking a step back, Azrael lingers, admiring his prize. I’ve never felt this exposed, but something in his demeanor fills my chest with illogical pride. He likes what he sees.
“Please.”
Under normal circumstances, this means nothing. But coming from him it’s like winning a war.
That’s all it takes. Every part of me that wanted him to be dead—needed him to be dead—shatters in pieces. He surrenders. I’ve won.
“Now, open.” And his tone is a strange combination of threatening and despair.
I like the sound of him wanting something only I can give, and the pain behind the request. But he’s not the only one.
I know, for a fact, we are both about to jump off the deep end with no safety net beneath us.
I cannot find the strength in me to fight it, so I do it, legs opening in one ungraceful move.
He drops to his knees like he is about to pray—and maybe he is. Not to a God, but to the devil itself, with me as the altar.
My skin ignites under his touch, wrapping me in passion flames.
His fingers travel carelessly from my ankle up my leg, grazing my clit, then to the other leg, repeating the movement.
Once his hand covers every inch of my body, he drags gentle kisses along my inner thighs, advancing slowly to the center.
The delicate teasing is in antithesis with the fire burning in my veins and the raw lust to feel him inside me.
After what feels like an eternity of waiting in agony, his tongue finally reaches the point I’ve been mentally begging him to please, licking from the base of my slit all the way up, savoring my taste.
The first contact leaves me breathless. If this is how I get over my manic episodes, I’ll gladly do this once or twice. Don’t push it. True, but right now, having him between my legs is all I need. That, and to forget what he did to me and let him repay his debt in physical pleasure.
“Fucking delicious,” he says, licking his lips, and the blown breath that touches my skin sends shivers through my body.
“Azrael, fucking hell—.” I’m breathless, my body aching from the need to feel him again.
He chuckles, the sound vibrating against my skin. “You are many orgasms overdue, little ember,” he says, the words a promise and a threat at the same time. “And I plan on making you remember every single one of them.”
That is something I can see myself accepting if—
What the fuck? He just spit on me—fucking spit—and uses his tongue to smear it in, spreading my folds open with his fingers like he needs full access. Something inside me purrs at the filth, at being used like that, at being open like that. And worse—I like it.
The way he brutally demands, circling and pushing with his tongue, makes it feel like he’s invading me. In and out, increasing pressure only to release it a second later.
A violent gasp tears from my throat, the pleasure so absolute it feels like an assault. My thighs tremble, and I fight the instinct to close them, but he holds them captive anyway, fingers pressing into my skin until I can’t hide.
When he stops for just a second to catch his breath, he lifts his head and his eyes are looking straight into mine. Nothing in their depths offers tenderness; everything about him screams violence, roughness, and lust.
“Still not ruined,” he argues with a dangerous undertone, “Yet.”
His fingers follow his tongue, moving agonizingly slow at first, dragging over my soaked cunt. He acts like he has all the time in the world to tease me, while I’m moments away from slipping into oblivion. And when he finally shoves one in, he smiles, like he is doing me a fucking favor.
He moves it slowly, coating it in all the natural lube my body has created just for him. The movement is almost delicate.
The next finger slides in roughly, forcing me wider.
He curls them inside me as he keeps sucking and licking.
I’m pretty sure, after all the sessions we’ve had together, he has an extensive map of my brain by now.
But considering the way he’s touching me in all the right spots, he could easily pretend he knows the way my body works as well.
I try to push away, to allow my brain a moment to come back to its senses, but before I can move, his free hand drags me closer to his mouth and slams down over my abdomen, pinning me to the counter, daring me to move again.
“Stay still, little ember.” His mouth is wet with me.
Well, I’m trying, dear Professor. But the way you fuck me with your mouth doesn’t help.
“I need—”
“Do it, I want to taste you.”
I grip his hair, pulling it with so much force, like it is the only thing holding me together. My head falls back, mouth open in a silent scream, choking on the noise that rips from my throat, as the orgasm takes me to the high.
In the midst of it, I feel it—his finger slowly pressing against my asshole without any buildup.
My mind scrambles for a reason to stop him—to say this is too much, that he’s taking it too far—but none come to mind. Only the intoxicating thrill of being utterly fingerfucked in places no one else has touched. I tense at the sensation, then relax, eager for more.
He continues to move all three fingers, pushing in and out, fucking me while his mouth stays locked on my clit. The rhythm is obscene, and I can’t keep quiet anymore. My orgasm turns frantic, each movement pushing me closer to the edge.
Then—he pulls the finger out of my ass.
The gasp that escapes me sounds practically disappointed. Fuck, did he hear that?
“Addicted to my fingers already?”
I guess he did.
He stands up, and I almost beg him to get back between my legs.
I’m not done, I need more than his fingers, and if this is how I’ll lose my fucking mind, then it had better be worth it.
But he doesn’t leave. He just reaches to my side, grabbing the knife from the counter.
The same one I’d used earlier when I was trying to delete him from existence. Look where that got me.
The cold handle touches the curve of my ass and I flinch. Right when I’m about to question his sanity, he pushes it into my asshole.
A wave of pain and pleasure runs through me. Only Azrael could find a way to bring pleasure by using something so utterly deadly.
“This is how you use this around me. Now don’t move, or you’ll finally get what you want and stab me.”
Taking back his position, he shoves three fingers into my cunt, stretching me over my limit. It’s painful, and I feel too full, with the knife captured by my muscles, and his fingers fucking me wide open.
While his tongue returns to my pussy, his thumb moves close to his tongue, covering the part his tongue is not actively working on.
A sound tears out of my mouth, and it sounds exactly how I feel: desperate. Half sob, half moan. Almost inhuman.
My legs twitch and my body twists desperately, but his mouth stays on my clit, licking and biting ruthlessly. What if I have a heart attack from too much pleasure?
“Azrael—shit—” I try to say, but my voice is too weak.
“Two.”
I shatter. The second orgasm hits like a car crash.
My body collapses into itself, muscles twitching, all while trying to keep the fucking blade from killing him.
And for one goddamn second, in silence, I just exist. Like the universe is finally letting me rest—in his mouth, at this moment, in this sin, my body screams through it.
He continues licking, collecting every last drop, until it is over and the shaking of my body stops. After he is done, he pulls the knife out and sets it down on the counter.
I stare at it, incapable of understanding what just happened.
I move my eyes to him, and something in my rib cage warms up.
A sensation I’ve never felt before around other humans, rarely even during my jobs.
I think I’ve heard about it, I’ve seen others display it, and now that I’ve experienced it, I understand the hype. Azrael makes me happy, somehow.
Still between my legs, he leans over the counter—crowding me, braced on either side of me, face inches from mine. His chin is still wet with the mess he made, and he looks like he likes it that way.
Dragging his thumb up the side of his face, he scoops up the taste of me and slides it into my mouth.
“Here,” His lips are close enough to kiss mine. “This is what you’re supposed to feel.”