Chapter 29
AZRAEL
The hotel room door barely closes behind us before her back is slammed against the wall.
After days of waiting, I can finally touch my little ember. Her soft skin is burning under my fingers ,and her lips are begging to be tasted. Fuck, having her in my arms is all I need in this lifetime. There is nothing more crucial than devouring every inch of her right now.
The last time she was dressed in her “work uniform” was at the warehouse, and I made sure to destroy every part of her I could touch. This time, I want to do exactly that, but in a way that will make her scream for more.
Removing her jacket, I scrape the skin at her collarbone with my teeth. Her skin is salty, a result of everything she did in the forest, but it still bears the scent of lavender that follows her everywhere. This is all I want to taste, this and—
Moving my hand under the waistband of her pants, I move the tiny piece of fabric aside.
Her panties are already soaking wet, and it takes precisely three seconds to remove them and all the other unnecessary items of clothing.
Everything is removed until the only sight left is the image of her naked body.
I take a step back, admiring maybe for the last time the beauty and strength of her body. She has become my addiction, the one thing I cannot live without, but that is a problem for tomorrow. Right now, I watch as her eyes catch sight of what I’ve prepared for her.
“Azrael, what the fuck is—”
Did she really think her running this time would come with no repercussions? Just because she answered a couple of calls—or because she gave me the blowjob of the century— doesn’t mean that the fire inside me has been put out.
“This is how you punish a bad girl. And you, my little ember,” I say, stepping behind her and bending down until my lips can touch the crown of her head, “have been the worst.”
She turns her head to look at me, and there are thousands of emotions running at ninety miles per hour on her face: confusion, excitement and maybe a little bit of fear?
The bondage device we used at her house is the vanilla version of everything that is happening in front of her.
The chains attached to the bedframe are clearly not for decor.
The black candles on the nightstand are already lit and the small pile of “torture devices” I brought from her place rests on the corner of the bed.
She steps toward the bed, uncertain, and this image—with her walking right in the middle of what could very easily hurt her—is pure beauty.
“Is this all for me?” she asks, gesturing to the chains.
“Only for you.”
The exasperated sound that leaves her mouth is just another delicious song I could play on repeat over and over again “So we’re back to torture? Look, Azrael—”
“On your hands and knees. Ass to the headboard.”
If she thinks this is the time for negotiations, she has no idea what she’s gotten herself into.
She left a psychopath starving for her body, waiting three thousand miles away, and she thinks we have time for chitchat?
This time, there will be no limits, nothing she can control.
I’ll strip the last piece of resistance out of her body.
And after tomorrow, she’ll be forever mine.
Hesitantly, she jumps on the bed and places herself exactly the way she’s been told, in the middle of it.
I follow behind her, chaining her limbs and locking them.
The gag comes next before she can protest, followed by the posture collar to keep her from looking anywhere but straight ahead.
With every new item added, her body trembles with surprise.
All the restraints are on, but she shows no sign of resisting.
Once everything is set in place, I walk around the bed until my eyes are looking straight into the deep, icy blue of hers.
“I told you not to leave, but you didn’t listen.”
Victoria tries to shake her head, but the collar restricts her movement. It’s not like she can protest; she did exactly that and now she’s about to face the punishment.
I pick up one candle from the nightstand and tilt it over her back, letting some of the melted wax meet her skin. The shock from the sensation makes her body shake, the chains protesting against the movement.
“Didn’t you promise not to run again?”
Next, I drip it over her ass. At the contact with her skin, her back arches and a muffled moan escapes her. Her breath is quickening, and the dim room light reflects in the wetness that pools at her pussy. My little ember has a pain kink.
“Seems like you like it. Let’s fix it, shall we?”
Grabbing the vibrator from the pile of things I brought with me from Seattle, I set it to the lowest intensity possible, turning it on the intermittent mode.
This one is not meant for offering pleasure, but for agonizingly promising the orgasm, only to stop for a second every so often and then start again.
I coat it in the lube—although she is wet enough to take it on her own—and start pushing it into her cunt, stimulating her clit with my other hand at the same time. She tries resisting at first, pulling herself away from the toy, but my fingers working her are enough to lessen that protest.
Once fully inside, the vibrations take over and her hips start rolling, but exasperated noises escape through the gag a second later when the vibrations lose intensity, only for it to start again.
When I move back in front of her, the look in her eyes is enough to kill me. She’s not having it.
“What’s that little ember? You don’t like this?”
The unnatural growl that leaves her mouth is probably a confirmation.
I move to the chair facing the bed. Just like the last time she saw me masturbating at the sight of her body, I pull out my cock and begin stroking.
This time though, I don’t need to pretend I can control myself.
I can’t, I never could. Seeing Victoria, being able to touch her body, is enough to drive me crazy in seconds.
With each stroke, her body moves, mirroring the uncontrollable desire I feel.
The sound of her, the chains creaking with tension, fills the room.
I keep on touching my dick until the sight and the sensation makes everything unbearable, and I am barely keeping it together.
On the other hand, she is suffering in agony.
I’ve counted about six of seven attempts to finish, by now, but each time, the vibrations stop, leaving her helpless.
I can’t help but smile. Suffering looks good on her. Just like my cum does when it is leaking out of her pussy. Before I can change my mind, I jump behind her, removing the toy, not sure if she is grateful for it or if I should count my moments.
I don’t ask when I shove my cock inside her folds, but by the way she’s pushing her ass into me, she must be desperate for a release.
“Fuck, little ember. I missed your tight pussy so much.”
Her hair gets wrapped around my fist, and I start pounding into her like this is the last time I’ll get a taste of her.
The rhythm is obscene, and the sound that fills the room—a combination of chains banging and skin slapping against skin—gives me the same sensation as The Place.
Only this time, the slut in front of me is my woman, and the torture gives her just as much pleasure as it gives me.
When her body starts jerking this time, I come as well, joining her in her orgasm, and when it is done, we stay like this for a moment until our breathing returns to normal. The room stays still around us, and the universe has stopped moving for a second. Everything is about her and me.
Once the moment fades, I undo all the locks and let her body fall numbly next to mine in bed.
“I missed you,” she says with a sleepy voice.
Today has been too much, even for her; first her job, then the chasing. Not to mention everything that happened after. My little ember needs rest if she wants to survive tomorrow.
I remove my pants and my shirt, leaving me in just my boxers. The plastic wrapped around my arm, covering my newest tattoo, catches her attention.
“What did you—”
“You said you marked me, didn’t you?”
The tattoo in question is the mark that she left on my arm, now tattooed for eternity; I’m not a sentimental person, but as soon as the traces of her knife play started to fade away, I wanted them back.
I wanted her name back on my skin just like I wanted her on my body.
She marked my body, my brain, and my soul.
I’m nobody without her, and this is just another story that needed to be added to my skin.
“But that’s my name…” she voices, almost confused.
“And I am yours.”
Last night wrecked me in all the right ways. I spent hours after she fell asleep in my arms, questioning what I am about to do today.
I don’t know what time it is. Morning, maybe? Might as well be noon. The light leaking in through the hotel curtains looks too soft to be early, but honestly, I am just trying to buy time. It may be the last time I get to hold her.
Because she’s still here. Sleeping. Her spine curls in and one leg drapes over the sheets, while I sit at the edge of the bed, letting a cigarette burn down between my fingers.
I should be used to this feeling—wanting something I might destroy.
But when she turns over and reaches for my side of the bed like she’s done it a thousand times before, something inside me shatters.
She’s looking for me, even asleep, all while I’m about to destroy her.
My little ember, my Victoria, the most important person alive.
But the plan is already in motion, I should receive the signal any minute now, and there is nothing I could do, even if I wanted to.
She’ll hate me, but she needs to do so. Otherwise, she’ll never be able to love.
The chances of someone accepting the deal with the devil I’m about to propose are low, even for my little ember, and she’ll probably run away.
Fuck, she should run away if even a tiny bit of normalcy runs through her veins, but judging by how twisted her brain is, she might actually follow through.
She’ll get her final task, Step 3, and she might actually finish the experiment. But instead of becoming my useless pawn, she’ll get me and my absolute devotion for life.
I put the cigarette out and climb back into bed. Not to fuck her this time—though my body is already screaming for it—but to just lie there with her. Skin to skin. Heartbeat to heartbeat. One last moment of silence before hell is summoned to earth.
“Azrael?” she whispers half asleep.
“I’m here.” For now.
“I thought you left.”
I kiss her shoulder. “Never.”
What she doesn’t know is that never is just moments away.
When the first message lights up my phone, I silently leave the room. There is no turning back from this. For the first time in my life, I’m afraid I might fail.