13. Chapter Thirteen
The flame of the candle flickered and wax dripped down the sides, melting away a beautiful black skull mold. I had made something beautiful only to allow the flame to ruin it. The smell called to me, a lavender and rosemary that reminded me of home.
My movements faltered as I realized what I’d said. Referring to Ireland as my home was a habit I was having trouble breaking. This was my home. Jericho, the gothic mansion, the green room. Rose. Even that godforsaken husband of hers was molding his way inside of my heart.
When had that happened?
Faint footsteps grew nearer and a throat cleared behind me, announcing their presence. I turned, offering the stranger a smile. My first instinct had been to shy away from the man I didn’t know. But I knew Jericho had security locked down. This man had been allowed through the gates, probably patted down and stripped of any sharp objects that could have been mistaken as a weapon.
“Where would you like these?” He asked as he stood at the doorway, more potted plants in his hand. Thick Alocasia Black Velvet leaves hung overtop of the grecian pot, tempting me with their fullness.
“They’re gorgeous,” I whispered, before pointing to a large raised bed of brand new dirt. The ideal place for my new little babies to grow. “Right over there.”
It was another delivery from Charlie’s Greenhouse. His garden was filled with so many rare and exotic things, and Jericho told me to pick anything I wanted. I admitted that I overindulged a great deal. I wanted so much life in this space. More life meant a fuller existence for all the souls under this roof.
The delivery man hummed as he headed in the direction I’d led him. He set the pot down and whistled while he stepped back. “You’re from Ireland?” he asked, turning toward me.
I nodded. “Aye.”
He settled a hand over his hip. “My grandmom is from Ireland. Never been myself. It’s on my bucket list though.”
“It’s beautiful. You’ll love it.”
My line of sight trailed ahead, remembering the beauty of Portstewart. Or what used to be. My motherland was a distant memory. I longed to return to Ireland during the worst years of my life, and used it as an escape. But this drafty mansion that needed a woman’s touch was my home now. This was where Jericho was. It was where I needed to be and it needed its own scent.
“Well, have a nice day,” the man said, cutting through my thoughts. He tossed a wave my way before seeing himself out, and once again I was alone.
Just as I had been a lot lately.
I fumbled through the fragrance oils, opening each dropper and taking in the different aromas. Nothing felt right. Each one drew up a memory. A hint of bergamot, which reminded me of the bookstore I spent so much time in with Ryan. A splash of lemon that brought me back to the days when my father was alive. He always smelled of the citrusy fruit as he held me in his lap and read me a story of mythical creatures.
I opened the lid of another, warmth instantly flooding over me. Fireside, hazelnut, vanilla. A sweet and pleasant scent that reminded me of just a few weeks ago when I burned a man to death. I dropped an ounce into the melted wax and stirred before pouring the mixture over the molds.
The urge to pour the wax over my hand as I stirred was overwhelming. Just as it had been before. When was the last time I felt pain? The night I had purged before the pyre, and fallen into my husband’s arms? And why was I craving it now? Was I so fucked up that Alastair had made me crave the feeling of pain?
Blood rushed to my cheeks, the urge growing stronger. I reached out, grabbing for the candle, giving into the need. I was numb, and this would make me feel again. If Jericho wouldn’t touch me, then I’d touch myself, I’d give myself something to feel.
A hand reached out, grabbing my wrist. His grip was firm, and the frustrated rumble that left his chest caused me to stiffen. I didn’t need to look up to know it was my husband standing over me. It was the intense anger radiating off him in waves, and his commanding tone that struck me to my core. “And just what do you think you’re doing?”
I forced away the shiver threatening to tickle my spine. Then, I cleared my throat. “There’s too much inside of me,” I said through a cracked whisper. “I’m letting it out.”
He took the candle from me and set it on the table, out of my reach. Then, he grabbed me by the hips and tugged me into his hard chest. “By hurting yourself?” he asked.
And I felt disappointed in his question. Heard the concern so deeply that my bones ached. “Yes.”
“You want to hurt someone?” He brushed the hair from my face. “You hurt me.”
I reared back. “W-what?”
He tugged at the buttons of his dress shirt, and pointed at the spot on his chest I had stabbed months ago. The spot was healed now. Still, his hand rested over the place. “You don’t fucking hurt yourself. Ever. You need to let go of that rage in you? Take it out on me. Here.”
I sucked in a shaky breath, my bottom lip trembling. Then, I pressed my hand over his and shook my head. I could never. I still hated that I’d tried to on our first night together. “No.”
“Yes,” he growled. “Fucking do it, Evie. Or I swear to god, I will never let you out of my sight again. You will not ever be left alone to cause self harm again.”
“Why? Why would you want me to do that?” I shrieked. Though the words didn’t hold the conviction they should have. The more he said it, the more I questioned my own sanity. I shouldn’t want to hurt him, yet something inside of me stirred to life at the prospect.
Hurting myself had been a fleeting thought that I debated giving into. And maybe in small ways, I had done it, when I trickled my fingers too long over a flame.
I didn’t think I would have actually poured the wax over me, as much as the thought of what it would feel like called to me. But hurting him? My core clenched in anticipation, and the heat in my cheeks grew hotter. I groaned, hating how horrible I was for wanting to do it.
“It’s normal,” Jericho cut through my thoughts. “And I’m allowing it, so don’t feel bad about it.”
“Nothing about this is normal.”
He pressed a tender kiss to my nose. “Everything about this is normal,” he encouraged. “You’ve been through a lot of trauma, and you’re still healing. You need an outlet for your emotions and I am giving it to you.”
Slowly, I nodded, understanding starting to click. Jericho reached for the candle and handed it back to me. I squared my shoulders, the confidence I’d lost long ago, on the eve of my first wedding, coming forward. “Lie down,” I demanded with a voice I didn’t recognize.
I pointed to the couch, and he obeyed. The Pakhan, the ruler of the underworld, was bending the knee to me. The man everyone feared. He was my husband, mine to command. He rested his head on the edge of the sofa, then kicked his feet over the other edge.
He was so tall that half of his body hung over, but I forced myself to make eye contact with him as he finished unbuttoning the crisp white shirt he was wearing. Anticipation swirled in my gut, while thick sexual tension flung through the air.
I’d fantasized all the ways I could hurt my first husband despite not being able to act on them. And here Jericho was, willing to let me do something about it. He never broke eye contact with me as I straddled his waist, the candle in my hand. Didn’t flinch as I dragged the nails of my free hand down his chest.
There wasn’t even a slight tick of his jaw as I hovered the candle over the mark I’d left on his chest. The scar that would now be a permanent mark of the first time I’d hurt him. It was only fitting that’s where I dripped the melted liquid now.
“Fuck, Eve,” he said through gritted teeth.
Black droplets fell over the scar, down his chest until it stopped when the hot liquid cooled and hardened to his skin. I moved the candle, placing it directly over his nipple this time, and pouring again.
His entire body tensed, writhing beneath me as I continued. I wanted to hear him plea, beg me to stop. I wanted him to squirm. The only thing that would have made this better was if I’d restrained his hands, rendering him unable to touch me while he offered me a slice of his strength and I took it, embodying it as my own.
I’d once thought the greatest gift Jericho had given me was watching the Queen of the Night bloom, but he continued to surprise me. I set the candle down, my heart pounding in my chest. As much as I loved watching him squirm, I needed his mouth against me and then I needed to taste his salty release.
I dipped my head as I hovered over him, our lips inches apart, and cupped his face as he peered up at me with awe. “How does it feel?”
His tongue darted out, wetting his drying lips. My thumb stroked along his Adam’s apple as it bobbed with anticipation. “It stung at first. It’s fine now.”
I knew that to be true, just from the few times I’d accidentally spilled a burning candle. Still, I shivered with anticipation. My cheeks burned as dirty thoughts flooded my mind. “I want to tie you up,” I admitted as I pushed away any embarrassment that would have normally come with that admission.
Jericho nodded, his eyes sparkling with approval and arousal. “So do it. Restrain me. Hurt me. Fuck me. I’m yours to use however you need, sweet Evie.”
I sat up straighter and rolled my hips against his hardening erection. The friction caused him to jerk, and a moan escaped his lips. I was just as desperate for him, didn’t want to climb off him, but I knew I needed to.
“Don’t move,” I said, trying my best to hone that commanding tone that my Pakahn used with his men.
I must have been convincing enough because he obeyed, his eyes never leaving me even as I approached my work bench and grabbed the twine. It wouldn’t hold him truly. He could easily break the weak fabric made to be used as decoration on my crafts.
Still, the illusion would be enough for me. I also grabbed the blade I used to cut it and headed back to him. The view of him stretched along the too small couch, the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he peered up at me, waiting for instruction made my blood hum with arousal.
“First thing,” I said, my chin held high as I grabbed his hands and worked to knot them together. I lifted his hands above his head. Then, I straddled my king. “Sweet Evie is too …” I pressed a finger to my chin as I thought. “Pure for the things I have planned.”
“Yes, mistress.”
I halted my movements, trying out the name for size. I hadn’t been sure what I wanted from him, I just knew that there was nothing sweet about me. “Mistress” coming from his deep voice, with a hint of submission in it made me even slicker. He was giving me control, giving me everything that he thought I needed. And I loved him for that.
I dragged the blade in my hand down his chest. The pressure was light enough that it didn’t break skin, but firm enough it left a red, angry line down the center of his torso until I reached the fabric of his trousers. I tugged at the waistband, and allowed my urges to take over.
I was holding a knife against his most prized body part and he wasn’t stopping me. The blade tore at the fabric, and I let out a firm tsk. His cock sprung free, proud and ready for me.
“Jericho, you naughty boy. Where are your briefs?” I dropped the blade and took his length in both my hands.
He didn’t answer as his head fell against the arm of the couch, eyes closing while I stroked the warm velvet of his shaft. A bead of liquid fell from his slit, and I massaged it into the crown.
“Do you remember how you tied me up?” I asked. “Made me beg for you to touch me. Stuffed me with that toy? I was full, but I still felt so empty.”
“Fuck, yes.”
“It’s your turn, tyrant.” The threat in my voice stuck, coming out just as cruel as I intended. “You’ll be a fucking mess for me by the end of this. You’ll ask me for permission to come, do you understand?”
“Yes, my queen.”
God, I think I liked that better than mistress. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could take not having him inside of me.
I moved to take him inside of my mouth, and the guttural sound that rumbled from his chest caused more arousal to pool from me, coating my already wet thighs as I pleasured my man. His hips moved in rhythm with my mouth and the groans leaving him turned into whimpers. Feverous whimpers that fueled the fire in my belly.
He was coming undone for me. I was making the most powerful man I knew whimper for me.
“Oh, fuck, Evie. Don’t fucking stop. I’m so close.”
A gasp escaped him as I popped off and moved to bite his hip. “Who?” There was a hint of disdain to the question.
“Mistress, I need to come. Please.”
“God you’re so desperate,” I laughed. “You may come.”
I grinned up at him before I took him back in my mouth. It didn’t take long for the salty tang of his release to coat the back of my throat. And when it did, I didn’t stop sucking him. I drank every last drop, swallowing him. A curse left him as I continued to play with his now sensitive member, my tongue running along a nerve as I squeezed his balls.
He twitched, trying to get away from me. “Christ, Evie. I came. Fucking hell. That’s too much.”
I smirked, continuing my torment. That was the point. I pulled off of him, wiping at the excess of his spend from the corner of my lips before I began to stroke him again. “I’m not finished with you, tyrant. You’re going to get this thick cock hard for your mistress so she can be fucked properly.”
His hands jerked at the restraints, and before I could protest he’d snapped the rope in one easy tug. My heart leapt in my throat.