Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
DARWIN
My eyes roll like one of those googly-eyed puppets from kindergarten. With each hard, deep thrust, my eyes feel like they wobble and shake like a toy.
Zephyr has my hands locked behind my back, one big hand wrapped around both of my wrists, holding them in place.
I’m bent over an old couch, my face smashed into the cushions.
Initially, I thought we were going to break this piece of furniture, but it was clearly made to withstand a cave-in back in the day.
I’m relatively the same height as Zephyr, but somehow, I’m barely on my toes. My jeans are down around my calves, keeping my legs together and my ass clenched. If it weren’t for my hands behind my back, my shirt would be suffocating me around my head.
There are times when Zephyr talks. When he says things equivalent to ‘who’s your daddy?’ but you know, sexier. Today isn’t one of those days. As soon as he bent me over and shoved that big cock inside me, he’s been nothing but sound.
His grunts and groans are hot. In some ways, they’re hotter than the words that come out of his mouth because I know he’s so into it that he can’t form sentences. At least, that’s how I interpret the moment.
I agree. Everything out of me is ripped from my throat with every harsh thrust. I’m so fucking close.
I feel like gravity is trying to pull me over the side.
If it weren’t for the way Zephyr’s legs keep mine in place, I’d probably end up ass over teakettle.
With the force with which Zephyr fucks me, I’d probably be thrown across the room.
Zephyr’s hand tightens. Fuck. I’m going to come down the back of this antique piece of furniture. Does cum stain? I whine, my body trying to contort into different positions as my orgasm begins to boil over.
As soon as my body tenses, Zephyr groans.
It’s loud, low—I can feel it vibrate through me.
It hums in the air, stroking my skin and giving my orgasm a boost. It feels as if it were leaking out, but with the low thrum of Zephyr’s groan, the gate flies open, and my orgasm spills all over the place.
I think I can feel it running down my legs.
My eyes roll. I try to take a breath, but with the way he keeps fucking me, my face pressed into the couch, and blood rushing to my head, I feel dizzy. Somehow, this just adds to the experience.
He doesn’t stop fucking me when my orgasm is over, which makes me twitch and whimper with every thrust. Thankfully, at least this time, he comes within a dozen more thrusts.
He buries himself deep for his first spurts, and I swear to fuck, I feel his dick throb.
It pulses. His grunts are so damn sexy. I can’t stop shaking as he finishes.
Then we’re still. Silent. The only sound is our panting. His cock remains inside me, his body leaning heavily against mine, keeping him lodged deeply.
Over the past several days, there hasn’t been a time of more than twelve hours when he hasn’t been inside me. My body fucking aches, but Jesus Fucksauce, I’ve never felt orgasms so intense in my entire life.
Minutes pass as we catch our breath. I think I’m just regaining consciousness when his hand grips my hair and drags me upright. I gasp, a spasm of pain and arousal dumps between my legs.
“Fuck,” I grunt, helpless to do anything but let him manhandle me upright.
His mouth at my ear is hot. He bites my lobe as he has so many times already.
I shudder. “You’re so fucking tight when you come,” he says.
Growls. Does he growl? I’ve always laughed when I get on the wrong side of ShareIt and end up in Smutlandia, and there are all these videos of girls—and some guys, not going to lie—fanning themselves over some lines in a book, and they all end with ‘he growls.’
Like, these people aren’t animals. We’re not even in paranormal or fantasy, and he growls? I would roll my eyes so hard that I could see my brain.
Yet, I’m pretty fucking sure this man is growling. His voice is deep, gruff, and rumbly. All the notes that make a growl.
And yeah, girls, it’s fucking hot. You’re right.
“Your ass strangles me in a way I can’t even explain,” he continues. I shiver.
My phone starts sounding the alarm. Not an alarm that someone has approached our docks, but an alarm that says if I don’t get the brownies out of the oven, they’re going to be burnt. We weren’t supposed to take a fuck break.
He chuckles, a deep, growly sound that resonates through my chest. His hand drags up my chest, and he tweaks my nipple hard. I grunt, my body jerking. I’m a fucking slut for this man. No denying that.
Zephyr slowly dislodges his cock from my ass. Thankfully, he doesn’t let me go right away, or I might fall on my face. He’s turned my bones to temporary mush. His teeth graze my ear, and he says, “Put yourself back together. I’ll get the brownies out of the oven.”
I nod. It feels like such a natural thing when he takes my hands and braces them on the back of the couch, knowing that I need the extra moment to regain my balance. It’s thoughtful. It’s knowing. It means he’s paid attention to me and my needs.
Then he slaps my ass hard, and I jerk, nearly shrieking, though I manage to keep the offending sound in. He laughs as he walks away, peeling the condom off and dropping it in a trash bin on the way out of the room.
My ass stings, and I glare after him. Just when I thought he was a nice guy.
I take a breath, ignoring the burning on my ass cheek, and concentrate on how the rest of my body sings with aches and pains. I can’t help myself; I grin. There’s nothing like being well-fucked. Nothing beats this feeling.
Eventually, I manage to meander my way across the hall to the nearest bathroom and clean myself up as best I can without taking a shower. I should take a shower. My ass is going to feel like lube for the next several hours otherwise.
On one hand, that means the next time he wants to fuck, I’m that much closer to being ready. Can’t complain, I suppose.
Once I’m relatively clean and only slightly uncomfortable, I pull my pants up and take a wet cloth to the back of the couch to clean my mess. Yep, there it is. Dripping down like sap on the side of a tree. I cringe. Ew.
Please don’t stain, I think as I clean it up the best I can. I’m going to have to look up how to get cum stains out of antique fabric, aren’t I? Sigh. If Zephyr is going to have me coming on random surfaces, he’s going to need to clean up, too. Or walk around with a towel to cover surfaces.
Somewhat irritated that I’m now going to be conscious of my cum on the couch, I step into the kitchen.
He’s dishing the soup that’s been simmering on the stove for the past couple hours into two bowls.
We’ll have enough for the next couple of days, which is why I always make big batches.
It’s perfect soup weather, and it uses any remaining fresh vegetables before they go bad.
He meets my eyes with a smirk. Asshat. Stupid head that makes my cock jump and my chest warm with excitement. Ugh. What’s wrong with me?
Sighing, I join him at the counter and study the brownies. They look perfect. He slides me a bowl of soup and a dinner roll, with that sexy smirk still in place.
My face does what it wants, and I find I’m smiling in return.
This is a far cry from how I found him days ago on the terrace, looking miserable.
It’s an improvement, even if at my own cost, I suppose.
What’s a bit of cum—spread all over the castle—between friends if it means he’s not feeling forgotten for a while?
Wow. I think I’ve turned soft.
We eat at the counter, neither of us sitting or talking as we inhale the soup until we’re wiping the sides of our bowls with the last of the dinner roll.
“You have a cute story about your father learning to make soup, too?” Zephyr asks as he takes my bowl from me just as I pull my bite of roll out.
He ignores the way I narrow my eyes at him.
“No. He taught me how to make anything into a soup, I guess. Some people make random ingredients into stir-fries or casseroles. My dad makes them into soup. The type of protein determines the base and whether it’s beef, chicken, or seafood broth, or tomato. ” I shrug.
“Huh,” he says as he washes the bowls. I suppose there isn’t a lot of need to put the bowls in the dishwasher. There are only two of us here. It’d take us two weeks to fill the dishwasher at this rate.
I watch him for a minute and then dig out a glass storage bowl to fill with soup. When I put the lid on, Zephyr is watching me with amusement.
“You’re going to need like eight of those to store the soup in,” he notes.
“This is for Matty,” I tell him. “Cut the brownies and stop judging me.”
His amusement increases, but he does as I say. I wrap a roll in a paper towel, put the cover over the pot of soup, and move it away from the warm burner. “You coming with me?” I ask.
Zephyr shrugs. “I guess.”
“You don’t like Matty?”
He shrugs again as we make our way down the hall. “I don’t really know Matty. We weren’t friends before he lost his shit, and now…”
Now Matty is forgotten in the bowels of the island. I kind of resent Liam for that. It’s his fault that Matty is stuck here. He should not be leaving Matty alone while he goes on living his life and visiting when he can spare the time. It’s bullshit. If I were Matty, I’d hate him.
We don’t take the most direct route since we’d need to leave the castle to reach that tunnel. Instead, we slip behind one of the cupboards in the pantry and begin our trek through the walls until we’re dumped into one of the tunnels.
Our footsteps echo on the stone floor, a quiet tap-tap-tap as we move through the dimly lit corridors.
I’ve always nerded out a little about these tunnels.
They’re amazing. Not just lined with stone, but there are symbols and faces and designs carved into the stone every so often.
They’re intricate, just like the carvings in the wood, stone, and plaster throughout the castle.
I’ve always wondered if the same builder also built the tunnels. It’s a seamless design.
The tunnel dumps into a wide room, and at the far end is the section that was built out into a bedroom for Matty. More like a studio apartment. There’s a small galley kitchen, a couch, a small four-person table, and his bed. A bathroom is attached too.
He’s sitting on the floor, back against the end of his bed, and watching us as we approach. Expecting us. This is why I know there are ghosts. They told him he had company.
His expression is neutral. At least he’s not freaking out today. Those moments always make me uneasy. I don’t know how to deal with someone losing their shit and talking about dead bodies. What do I even do with that?
“Hey, Matty,” I greet. “I brought you some soup.”
His blank expression shifts, and a smile touches his lips.
I bring the soup to the table as Zephyr stops in front of him to offer his hand.
Matty stares at it for a second, his head tilting to the side as if someone is saying something in his ear.
Then he accepts the help, and Zephyr pulls him to his feet effortlessly before setting the food container he has in Matty’s hands.
Matty holds it up, trying to see through the milky plastic. “What’s this?”
“Brownies,” Zephyr answers, and Matty grins. A true, big smile.
“My favorite.”
“I know,” I say, smiling. “Come eat.”
Matty joins me at his little table and opens both containers. I head to the little kitchen to retrieve some silverware and find it clean. No dirty dishes. No clean dishes. I peek into the dishwasher and find it empty.
With a spoon in hand and a couple extra napkins, I return to the table and offer it all to Matty. He smiles. As he takes his first bites of soup, I study him. He’s looking a little gaunt. He’s lost some weight. I’m sure of it.
“You haven’t been eating,” I observe.
He looks at me without comment as he takes another bite of soup. I glance at Zephyr, and he shrugs. What’s he supposed to do about it?
“When’s Liam coming back?” I ask.
Matty turns away and shrugs. “Dunno. He has to work.”
Irritation floods me again. Liam works remotely. There’s zero reason that he can’t work here with Matty.
“Want to play a game?” Zephyr asks and reaches for one of the decks of cards.
Matty nods but pushes the cards away. “They cheat. Can’t be anything you need to keep your hand hidden for.”
“Who cheats?” I ask.
Matty gives me an amused look. “The dead.”
I look around, as does Zephyr. Matty regards us with humor as he continues to eat his soup.
“How many are here?” Zephyr asks.
Matty looks around, and I can see him counting. “In my room, fourteen. There are many more throughout the castle and on the island.”
“How many in total do you think?”
He shrugs. “Dunno. Lots of people have died here. Lots have been killed here. Lots return here because they loved it in life and love it in death. Some are just lost.” His gaze wanders into a corner where it lingers.
“Do they all come to visit you?” I ask.
Matty nods, shrugging. “Visit. Harass. Say mean things to.” He rolls his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
He looks at me and gives me another amused smile. This time, it’s a half smile, and it’s adorable with his curls and pretty eyes. “Thanks, but it’s not your fault.”
“It’s because you tried to kill someone?” Zephyr says. “That’s why you can see them now?”
Matty’s amusement disappears, and there’s a sudden shift in his mood. His eyes dart around the room before meeting Zephyr’s eyes. “I guess so. But you’ve killed a lot more people, and you don’t see them. Why am I cursed and not you?”
Zephyr meets my eyes and… yeah. Good question.