Chapter 6
six
-Serena-
My wrists hurt, my arms hurt, even my damn tits hurt.
I think I've been here for hours, and I can see it's almost dawn outside. I haven't closed an eye; I just kept them pointed at the door, scared he’d return, but desperate for it too, because I can't take this anymore.
I don't know what I fear more—the agonizing pain in my muscles as my feet dig into the mattress—or what he’ll do to me when he gets back.
I keep shifting my feet, pressing my toes into the mattress to ease some of the tension, but minute by minute, it wears me down.
I’m on the brink of exhaustion, my strength fading with every breath I take.
I peek outside the window. The first rays of the sun try to make their way through the darkness, and fiery orange light makes a crown behind the hill. It's breathtaking, and I stare at it, trying to memorize every ray, fearing it will be the last sunrise I’ll ever see.
I'm so tired from the mere effort of standing, and my feet just can't keep pushing into the mattress to relieve some of the cutting tension in my arms. That's not even what hurts most. It's the muscles under my breasts and it feels like someone's pulling at them until they’ll rip.
Just as I'm about to let tears dampen the ivory sheets beneath my feet, the door creaks open, and light from the hall outlines a large, dark silhouette. I’d recognize him anywhere.
Set’s back. And right now, that doesn’t even scare me anymore.
I don't even care what he does to me, the pain is just too much.
"It hurts," I whimper, hoping to get his mercy and he’d let me down from here.
"My arms, my breasts..." I'm fighting to say another word when I hear his voice for the first time after over three months.
"What you fucking did to me hurt too," he snarls more than talks, like a wounded animal.
A fucking dangerously pissed-off wounded animal.
And I know he's right. I wasn't sure if he had any feelings I could break to begin with, but hearing him confess something so intimate, so raw, only adds to my belief I screwed up by leaving Vegas.
I can’t see his face, no matter how hard I try. It's just too dark in the room, and the hallway light’s too bright to make out anything. All I can see is that he's holding something in his hand, and judging by the small shape of the object, I'm starting to think it's his knife.
I quiver as I see him walking toward me—slow steps that only drag out my agony as he approaches me.
The faint light from the window catches his face.
He's covered in blood, his shirt too, so drenched you can barely tell it was white to begin with.
I only know this because I saw what he was wearing last night, but now, he just looks as if he bathed in blood.
Like he walked through the center of a massacre—or caused one.
I suddenly want him to stay away; I'm starting to think I can deal with the pain. It's not so bad after all. But it's too late for him to keep his distance.
With one step, he climbs onto the bed, right in front of me, something so scary in his posture that I fear he’ll rip me apart.
His next move brings his hands to wrap around my neck again, tighter this time, lifting me off the mattress and gluing the back of my head against the wall until my feet dangle in the air.
Scared to death, I see nothing in his blood-red eyes, except the predatory need to kill.
Even the tattoos on his skin seemed to have shifted into something gruesome, like claws and thorns performing a wicked dance, as if warning me of the evil coming from within.
Maybe it’s because of the light or he just got the old tattoos covered, but these new ones are even more terrifying than the ones on that day when he brought me and my team in after the heist.
And I can see nothing but death lying within him.
The tip of his blade traces my cheek without cutting through the skin—yet—but leaving a stinging trail of what's coming. "Is it better now?" he asks, knowing that the pain in my arms shifts to my neck, which is a breath away from snapping.
I fear Set isn't here. Like something malefic took his place. And I can't buy my way out of this, not with a kiss like I did last time. "Please," I barely manage to get the word out, feeling like I'm going to lose consciousness soon.
A large grin spreads across his face, like nothing I could say would get him to change his mind.
He likes to play with me anyway. "Please, what, Serena? Please have mercy? Please don't kill you?" The words leaving his mouth, one by one, punctuating the irony in his voice.
But my tongue has always been a double-edged blade, especially when I’m running on survival mode. "No," I choke out the word, hoping I’d still be alive to finish my sentence. "P...please." The edges of my vision start to go black. "Please, fuck me."
His grip loosens instantly, and he stares at me in disbelief, like I just summoned the demon's demon. I'm starting to think he's in shock, as if he doesn't even understand what’s happening to him, while the rage in his eyes turns into some kind of insatiable lust.
This is a request he can't refuse. I can tell from the way his body locks up, his veins pulsing with need and anticipation—just like mine.
I keep telling myself I only said it so he won't kill me. But deep down, I know better. I want him the same way he wants me—with a maddening pain that right now seems insatiable.
Without warning, his legs push mine apart, lifting me onto his waist as the knife vanishes somewhere along the way.
I moan at the feel of his hard cock pressing against my nightdress. My core is so damn eager to have him there again that I need him inside of me like I need my next breath. And it's only now that I realize how much I really missed him.
His eyes slowly go from red to pitch black, and I can’t tell if it's a good sign or a bad one because the real Set isn't here yet. But I can clearly see it now—his lust to kill me has turned into a lust to have me.
His hands dig into my ass, trailing a long, painful line down to the backs of my knees, like he's trying to decide where to start with me. And I want him to take his time because I don't think I like it when he makes rushed decisions. A rushed decision right now could get me killed.
I'm suspended in the air only by his crotch. My every breath becomes a painful teasing of my senses, as I feel one of his large palms slipping between my thighs, reminding me just how tiny I am compared to him.
I moan at the feel of him cupping me, and even though I want to believe it's only an act for him—it's not. I'm already dripping, and I can see in his gaze how much he enjoys it the moment he rips my panties away.
Maybe my mouth can lie, but my body never does. I'm so damn wet for him that I'm starting to think I might come without him even being inside me.
His thumb grinds on my clit, the sensation of him spreading through my body like lightning.
My head slowly falls back, propping on the pillar behind me because I already know I won't be able to last long against him.
But still I need him to do something—anything—to stop the agonizing throb inside my core.
And he seems to know exactly where I need him to be.
Two of his long digits bury inside me, all the way to the knuckle.
I want to cry out from the invasion. So painful, and at the same time so amazing, so welcome.
As if just to spite me, it doesn't take long before he removes them, leaving me so hollow without him. Then he thrusts them back in, deeper, more forcefully. And then he does it again and again until I’m internally begging for his next move.
Which doesn't come. He just keeps me waiting, raising his two fingers up in front of him and holding them there to watch my juices drip down his palm.
It feels as if he's trying to convince himself I’m not playing a game this time.
Like he wants to taste the proof of that, he slips them into his mouth, licking the tips.
Damn, that was so hot. Yet I still need more—more than his cruel teasing.
His fingers slam back into me with the same brutal force as before, and I want him to do it again and again.
As if listening in on my thoughts, they fill me completely, my pussy already clenching around them.
But he pulls them out again, repeating the same torture of depriving me of him and keeping me empty.
This isn't just taunting. This is a lesson.
He wants me to understand how badly I've really missed him. How I don’t make sense anymore without him.
That's why he brings his fingers to my lips, pressing against them, waiting for me to open my mouth.
I can’t say no to him. My lips part and he brings his digits to my tongue, filling my mouth with the taste of my own arousal, so I know exactly what he's doing to me—what he is to me.
It’s harder and harder for him to control himself, I can see it in his movements, and even before I realize it, the clatter of his belt buckle hitting the floor echoes through the room.
I don't even know when he stripped, but I feel the tip of his cock pressing against my folds. Eager. Slick. Hot.
He thrusts into me with the same sheer force as his fingers. Only this time, he stretches me deeper, that Magic Cross piercing rubbing on my walls all the way in as it finds its rightful place.
God, did I miss him…
He starts thrusting immediately, trying to keep it mechanical, just a physical release. No emotions. No feelings. His goal is only to satisfy his body without letting any other thought get in the way. And I'm eager to receive whatever he gives me for now.