30. Nico
30
NICO
NEVER LOOKING AT KITCHEN UTENSILS THE SAME
I clean up the workshop and dispose of the body, all the while, Marie observes me with unnerving stillness. She’s usually so easy to read, one of the things I love most about her. Yet, now in my element, where all my thoughts come to die with the souls I take, she doesn’t give me anything. It’s the first time I feel the need for reassurance, like an inferno blazing inside my mind. My fingers have started their incessant tapping again.
She removes her mask and from the corner of the room, her voice carrying with imposing calmness, she says, “You did so good, baby. Now, tell me what you need.”
The space is pristine and there’s no chance of getting any fluid other than paint on my skin when I go onto my final step of my process. I remove my own mask and start discarding the paint suit carefully, laying it to the side to be bleached later.
“I need you to tell me you don’t hate me.” I can’t look at her. I didn’t realise how raw I feel after a kill, the emotions and primal needs right under the surface. I usually shower and crash but right now, I need her hands on me, steadying me. “I need you to not be afraid of me,” I supply barely above a whisper.
When she’s discarded her own protective gear, her hand lifts to touch my cheek and bring my lips to hers in a soft touch of our mouths. “I could never, Nico. I’m not afraid of you and I certainly don’t hate you. Was it a lot? Yes.” She grimaces but it’s short-lived. “Despite what everyone thinks, despite how sheltered and protected I’ve been, I’m no stranger to violence and I find your justice kind of poetic. Does that make me a monster?”
”Of course not,” I reply vehemently.
“Then you’re not one either.” The finality of her judgment lifts the weight off my shoulders. “So, what’s the next step?”
I stand up straighter, my own hand hovering over her head. The strands of dark luscious hair beckon me in but I can’t touch her when death lingers so close. “Let’s shower.” I don’t tell her that I can smell the plastic on her and I hate it.
When we’ve cleaned ourselves up in the adjacent room and put on our clothes again, I drag two chairs from the side closet. They’re uncomfortable, white folding plastic chairs that were meant as a functional tool, but I don’t want her to keep standing. I sit Marie down, her perplexed expression lifting the corners of my lips.
Then I set up the easel, a blank canvas, and my assortment of black and white paints until I create a palette of greys that will capture every moment that happened tonight. I don’t talk as I start to sketch. Nor as I start to paint. The guilty is usually the centrepiece of my canvases but today, it’s an abstract feminine silhouette. All elements revolve around it. Black and grey mix with my harsh movements, always in a set of three. Soon, frenzy takes over and I barely control what I reveal on the painting. My arms burn with the effort of holding the brush and the palette after the strenuous task of killing Eli slowly, yet my mind has emptied of anything that isn’t this very moment.
Just like when Marie dominated me a few days ago, only peace and the present moment exist. The pain of my father’s death, the guilt and the need to repent has given way to this creative vortex I’m losing myself into. Sweat beads at my brow and I don't stop. I fill more of the canvas until no space has been left unattended. Until no space is left blank. She’s everywhere.
When I stop, I’m breathing hard. Two dainty hands snake around my middle from behind to settle on my stomach. They slither gently and I shiver, tension leaving my body as though it was never there.
Marie’s cheek presses against my back and this time, I grin freely as she tries to squeeze me to her body. “You’re so talented,” she breathes.
I look over my shoulder, and she raises her head to meet my gaze. Her eyes have darkened to a green so deep it’s almost black.
“I paint death. It’s morbid.” It’s not self-deprecating, but my honest truth. Every person that has the misfortune of ending in this room is painted after their death. My own fucked up version of a bedpost. Yet, she doesn’t recoil.
“I think it’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. You look so free while you paint.”
I turn to hug her to my frame. Her curves fit on the plane of my body like she was made just for me, carved by a merciful God who thought maybe I could be saved.
There’s one room I haven’t shown her yet.
Taking her hand in mine, we walk out of the work room and close the distance to a door facing my office. I open and switch on the light, letting her step inside in front of me.
Her intake of breath has me holding my own.
“I’ve painted the death of who you were ever since you stepped foot in my house weeks ago. I know that’s what you came here to do. To bury that version of yourself you were before we met.”
I’ve never been more prolific than in the past month. Inside the room, there’s about fifty portraits and abstracts of Marie. All in black and white. Most are sad and dark but lately, the white has been more prominent.
She stops in front of a larger piece. She sits naked, giving her back to the viewer and leaning on her right hand. Her face is fully covered by the sheets of dark hair and slanted to the side to reveal her neck.
“This one is from the night at Absolution,” I tell her and wait for her reaction.
Her focus is fully on the canvas, her hands covering her mouth.
“When did you have the time to paint this? You’re always with me.”
That’s not what I expected her to ask but I answer honestly. “I barely sleep at night so I come here and paint you.”
When she turns to me, her eyes are filled with tears, brimming with an emotion I can’t recognise, let alone have a name for. I just know I can feel it too. Energy crackles between us, drawing us together, sizzling with promise. We’re on the verge of falling. I had the same sensation when I watched the azure sea on the Hills of Sant Armellu, back when I first met her and contemplated falling over the edge of the cliff in her garden. The emptiness on the other side of what we’ll do is terrifying and exhilarating, because I know she’ll be right there with me. As much as I’ve never felt alone with Andrea and my mother, it’s different with her. She’s different.
She’s everything. And I want to give it all to her.
“Can I take you home, Miss Marie?” I ask bending over her to graze my lips against hers. “You already own my soul, I need you to own my body.”
The dark pools of her irises widen, her gaze turning sultry. I get hard on her confidence as she grabs me by the throat and crashes her lips to mine. She consumes me with every nip and lick, dominating me already with only a kiss. I melt for her before I scoop her into my arms, and march back to the house.
“Let me down and kneel by the bed. Wait for me there,” Marie orders. Her voice has dropped so low the dog inside me wants to bark. I dart inside our bedroom and kneel dutifully by the bed, eyes cast down. She rummages in the kitchen and anticipation has me hard and barely holding a groan already.
Her feet appear in the corner of my eyes when she steps inside and closes the door. The click is loud and I shiver, making Marie chuckle darkly. Fuck, I’ve never felt so needy. My cock twitches inside my jeans, painfully pressing against the zipper.
Her fingers glide under my chin and she raises my face to meet her lustful gaze. She’s still fully clothed in a comfortable wool dark dress and thick tights that I want to rip them with my teeth. My eyes dart to see she’s placed glasses of water on the bedside table and a metal spatula on the bed. The unknown of the situation has a cold sweat rising on my skin but she gives me a sharp slap. It doesn’t hurt but it’s savage enough to bring my attention immediately back to her.
“Do you trust me, baby?”
I nod.
She clicks her tongue. “Words.”
“Yes, Miss Marie. I trust you.”
“Your safety is my priority. Use your safe word if you need everything to stop and give me colours throughout the scene. Otherwise, keep your eyes on me, baby. You’ve been such a good boy for me, wiping the world of the undeserving. You deserve a reward, don’t you, sweet boy?”
I nod, before remembering what she likes. For me to admit how pathetically gone for her I am, and whatever she has to give me. “Yes, Miss Marie. I’ve been so good for you.”
She caresses my cheek. “Get up, lose the clothes and bend over the bed, baby.”
I obey, eager to please, dropping my jeans and boxers to my ankles but not stepping out of them and position myself as she requested. I’m fully exposed. It isn’t much different than when we were at my club, yet the air has thickened between us.
There’s an intimacy in giving myself over to her in my home that sends zings of electric need straight to my cock. My head floats with anticipation. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m wiggling and trying to get friction on my aching cock.
“So fucking pathetic, baby,” Marie coos as the back of her hand trails along my spine until it reaches my ass cheeks. A whine escapes and I chant yes , hoping she’ll continue. Hoping she’ll touch me and make me feel . I’m so tired of being in my head all the time. With Marie, I can finally be in my body. “You need me to touch you, don’t you?”
It’s phrased as a question, but we both know it’s a consent check. After I tell her how much I want her to do whatever she wants with me and we repeat our safe words to each other, both her hands spread my butt cheeks. She spits in between, working the moisture with her fingers. I buck against her deft fingers and moan when she slides her wet fingers against me.
“Give me a colour, baby,” she asks.
“Orange.”
She hums before withdrawing her fingers and kneading my ass instead, caressing the back of my thighs. She spits again, one of her fingers sliding in slightly. “Green, so fucking green,” I yell, my voice muffled by the comforter underneath me. The sensation is so new and overwhelming, the perspective of exploring it sends a shiver up my spine and jolts of pure electricity to my cock.
She withdraws and I mourn the loss of her inside me. I wouldn’t let anyone near my ass. Damian asked in the past and it was always a hard limit but now that Marie has awakened this new side of me, I can’t wait for her to own it fully. I lift my head to see what she’s doing and her soft hand lands on my neck, pressing me into the mattress. Even with all her weight, I could overpower her easily but letting her dominate me is a promise of sweet pleasure and surrender. “Don’t fucking move until I tell you to.”
Does she even realise how hot she sounds when she commands me like I’m her pet?
“I know you need the pain, baby. And I’ll always take care of you, and give you exactly what you need,” she says as she reaches for something above my head.
The first slap of the metal against my buttocks is a sharp awakening of the senses and I gasp, half shocked, half turned on. I will never look at this kitchen tool the same way ever again. I already don’t cook much, but I won’t ever, now. She’ll rewire my brain into thinking any meal could lead to this.
The second slap hits the exact same way and I revel in the heat blossoming under my skin. The material heats too and after a while, the oscillation between heat and coolness gives way to pure fire. I burn everywhere, not only where I know she’s turning my skin red and molten but the rest of my body where she hasn’t touched me yet. My cock must leak on the comforter and I have this dark thought that then it will smell like me when she puts it over us to sleep. I crave to cover her in cum so I can mark her up just a fraction of how much she’s marked me and my wretched soul.
Marie checks in regularly during our session and it’s always green. The pain transmutes into euphoria, my ass and thighs will be fucking blue by the time she is done and I want her to take a picture to immortalise it.
I’m a mess of sweat, whimpering weakly as she palms my ass then soothes the ache away with a gentle caress. Yet even that much skin to skin has me keening. I love every second of it.
“You did so good, baby.” Her cool lips land on my nape, a shock to my overheated senses. “Settle back on your knees,” she asks softly. I hiss when I move to stand, legs wobbly from the pleasure-pain, and she drops a pillow to make me more comfortable. My heart does a little somersault and I must have heart eyes like in cartoons as I look up.
She’s fully naked, resting on her hands, her glorious curves on display as she sits where I just was. Long silky dark hair covers her nipples and I hold a growl at the offence. I take my time devouring the vision in front of me. Her cheeks and neck are rosy with the exertion of spanking me for what felt like hours, heavy breasts that deserve to be held and worshipped calling my name. I admire her soft stomach and the dips of her luscious hips until my eyes finally land on the dark curls on her mound between thick milky thighs. My mouth waters and I lift my eyes up again, pleading without words, clenching my fists with the desire to be her good boy and not listen to my basic urge to delve straight in.
Marie’s worrying her bottom lip, a cheeky grin spreading on her face as she spreads her legs and I’m rewarded with the best view of her glistening cunt. I exhale heavily.
“ Please. ”
A single word like a prayer between us.
So taken with her, I didn’t notice the belt she holds in her right hand. “May I?”
My breathing picks up, my cock getting incredibly harder. I nod, throat bobbing as I wait for her next move. “Yes.”
She loops the belt around my neck, holding it like a leash. There’s nothing but dark lust in the usually green irises of the woman I love. And she’s never looked more beautiful.
My owner. My God. My creed.
“Please, Miss Marie. Let me please you. Let me taste you again.”
She nods, and somehow, despite the power dynamic, it’s shy. Her heels land on the mattress as she reclines on the bed and this time, I don’t hold the groan coming deep from my chest. I launch myself at her wet pussy without preamble, fucking her with my tongue, sucking her clit ravenously into my mouth. The belt tightens slightly around my neck and feeds my hunger for her.
“Fuck me with your fingers, baby.” Marie’s voice is twisted with desire and lands inside my brain. Like a good pet, I obey, inserting one finger, then two when I feel how wet she is. Her walls flutter around my digits and I add my tongue in, loving the way her back bows off the bed. I’m barely two knuckles deep, pressing upward at the same time that my other hand presses on her stomach.
All the reading I did since our first time together is paying off. Marie’s cries of pleasure get louder and louder until she clasps my head down, framing it with her thighs and clenching erratically around my fingers. She comes on a deep moan that has me grasping my cock so I don’t come all over myself. I want to settle back on my haunches but the belt keeps me exactly where I am and I lick her folds and entrance languorously until she’s fully come down.
“Come here,” Marie asks, nothing like the dominant woman who owned me a few seconds ago. It’s a needy two words, barely a pull of the belt and I settle over her, framing her head with my elbows.
“It’s my first time, Nico. Go slow.”
“You want me to take you raw?” I ask, awe blossoming inside me.
“Yes. I don’t want any barrier between us.”
I can’t believe it. The thought has me ready to burst, to flood her with my cum, filling her until she’s round with my baby. I notch the head of my cock at her entrance. The contact already fills me with that familiar warmth I associate with Marie. Slowly, I sink inside her.
And I fall harder than I ever thought possible.