Rosalind
ROSALIND
T wo weeks—a lifetime measured in sleepless nights, each nightmare whispering my sins. Daddy's face haunted every corner of my mind, his last gasp, a sound that never quieted.
I woke entangled in sweat-soaked sheets, the ghost of Marco's touch lingering on my flesh. His rough hands had traced paths of oblivion across my body; his dick brought sweet release.
The ache for normalcy had been a raw wound, but this morning, it scabbed over. I felt it—the shift inside. Power trickled back into my veins like the first drops of rain after drought. What passed between Marco and me wasn't love; it was war by other means. I fucked him with the fury of the damned, purging my soul of its weeping, the memory of my father's life extinguishing under my steady hands. I fucked it out with all the fury I held inside, and now… there was a hollow I couldn’t wait to fill with Hunter’s anger. His possession.
The floorboards creaked underfoot as I grabbed a shirt and pulled it on. Fuck underwear. I moved through the halls, the scent of last night's whiskey and lust heavy in the air. A shiver of anticipation curled in my belly. I had tasted blood, both metaphorically and literally, and it had awakened something feral within. I needed more. Craved more. More power, more dominance, more agonizing relief.
He didn't see me at first, his attention fixed on the dark liquid swirling in his mug. But I wanted those coal-dark eyes on me, burning into me with their intensity. I moved with purpose, driven by a need that clawed at my insides, demanding freedom.
" Morning ," I murmured, voice low and husky.
Hunter filled the kitchen, a beast cloaked in the guise of a man. His presence filled the space, darkness dripping from his pores. I approached, no words exchanged, his gaze tracking my every move before resting on my bandaged arm before he tore his eyes to mine. There was a thrill in the danger, a perverse comfort in throwing myself into the lion's den. Would he spank me? Would he punish me for marring his property? I couldn’t wait to find out.
His shirt came off with a snarl of fabric, revealing the mess of ink and scars that adorned his skin. The branded emblem of the Cinder Crew seared across his chest—a mark of power and pain. I touched him, the coarse stubble on his chin prickling against my palm, the stubble of a man who knew no gentleness, only command.
Pulling off my own shirt, my breasts brushed against his tattooed chest, a silent challenge issued with each deliberate caress. His breath hitched, a sound so primal it resonated in the spaces of my own longing.
I kissed him with everything that churned within me—the darkness, the lust, the power. Our mouths clashed with ferocity. His taste, bitter coffee mixed with something deadly, filled me, a heady concoction that left me dizzy with want.
His arms encircled me, steel bands that promised destruction as much as they offered protection. I welcomed both, craving the edge, the precipice where I could teeter between the woman I was and the queen I was becoming.
My tongue tangled with his, a silent battle for dominance that we both knew was only a prelude. Hunter's grip tightened, and I reveled in the pressure, the assertion of his claim. This was not gentle, not tender—it was the raw, primal truth of our marriage.
My fingers trailed down the rugged landscape of his chest, the friction of my touch against the raw branding of the Cinder Crew emblem sending sparks of power zigzagging through my veins. My nails grazed over the raised skin, a ragged breath slipping from between my lips—part admiration, part challenge.
I claimed the counter like a throne, and the cool marble beneath me stung my skin as I sat, eyes hooded, breathing rapidly. My legs parted an explicit invitation, baring my pussy to him, a long stroke from my fingers drawing moans from my chest. Hunter's groan vibrated through the room, a low, guttural sound that had me dripping.
" Marco , get the fuck out," Hunter growled, the order slicing through the charged atmosphere. Marco's departure was silent, obedience without question. I hadn’t even noticed he was there.
Hunter devoured me with the hunger of a man starved, his tongue a skillful weapon wielded with precision. Waves of pleasure crashed over me, each crest higher than the last, until I shattered. His face soaked with the remnants of my pleasure. I hadn’t known him to be particularly giving, so this was intense and quick.
We collided, two forces of nature locked in a dance of dominance and submission. His hand at my throat, squeezing, a claim as potent as any vow spoken before God or man. The roughness of his touch—it spoke of ownership, of a possession deeper than skin. I was irrevocably his.
" Damn ," I breathed, voice laced with lust and something feral. Hunger coiled within me, tight and insistent. I needed to taste him, to mark him as mine just as much as I was branded his.
My hands roamed over his chest, fingertips brushing the dusting of hair that led lower to the cock I knew was hard as a rock.
Pressing myself against him, I rubbed my breasts over the iron planes of his pecs. My nipples, already tight points of arousal, ached for more. The coarse stubble along his jaw scraped against my cheek, and I tilted my head to catch his gaze—dark, nearly black, filled with a lust that mirrored my own.
" Like that?" I challenged with a smirk, pushing my hips against his, feeling the hard evidence of his desire pressing against my thigh.
Hunter's hands found my waist, thumbs digging into my flesh with possessive intent. " More than you fucking know," he growled, the sound vibrating through me, stoking the fire that raged beneath my skin .
I arched back, offering myself to the raw energy between us, to the man who was both my captor and husband. Desperation clawed at my insides, urging me to lose myself in the carnal promise of his touch.
" Show me," I whispered, a taunt and an invitation. His grip tightened, and I knew I'd crossed the line into the realm where only the strong survived and the weak were consumed. And in that moment, I realized I wasn't just surviving; I was thriving in the darkness.
I moved backward, further onto the counter, the surface biting against my bare skin. My legs splayed like the curtains to a forbidden show, my core on display—a shameless offering to the dark deity before me.
" Fuck ," I thought, relishing the crude power of my own exposure, feeling every inch the queen. I knew what I wanted, and I was going to take it.
Hunter's groan rumbled through the silence. The air grew thick, charged with the promise of sin and sweat.
" Touch yourself," he commanded. It wasn't a request. Hunter never requested—he took. And God help me, I wanted to be taken, seized by the darkness that promised such wickedness.
" Come get it yourself," I smirked, a silent dare as the raw energy crackled between us. I was his to claim, but I was no passive prize. I was born of the mafia, and I would bloom in the bed of chaos I had made.
Hunter's hands, rough and strong, gripped my thighs, holding them apart with a possessive urgency that sent shivers racing down my spine. He pulled off his jeans and stepped between them. My fingers tangled in his short-cropped hair, pulling him deeper and guiding him to the core of my need. He growled against me, a feral sound that vibrated through my body. I tried to wiggle him instead, but he held me firm, instead pushing two fingers inside and curling them. Sucking on my neck as he finger fucked me, my fingers clawed down his back. Pleasure shattered me, white-hot and blinding, my cries echoing off the walls as I convulsed around the hand of my undoing.
Before the tremors could fade, Hunter leaned back, his nearly black eyes glazed with a dark promise. " Mine ," he rasped. I nodded, unable to speak, leaning back so my elbows rested on the space behind me, pushing my pussy forward, ready to be ravaged.
He took me then, hard and without pretense, our bodies colliding with violence that nearly split me in two. His movements were punishing; each thrust unforgiving as he slapped into me, gripping my hips like they were the only thing holding him to earth .
" Harder ," I demanded, despite not knowing if that was even possible. He obliged, pulling my hand until I was, once again, flush to his chest. He yanked on my hair, pulling my head back before he dipped down and licked a line down my neck. His lips were soft as they sucked on my skin before his teeth bit down, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough that I yelped.
Hunter moved with ruthless efficiency, every muscle in his tattooed body straining toward the inevitable conclusion. And when he brought me to the precipice once more, I leaped willingly into the void, the world dissolving into nothingness save for the taste of coffee and adrenaline on my lips.
As we found release together, the line between love and hate, captor and consort, blurred into oblivion. His forehead fell forward to touch mine. Our breaths mingled, heavy and laden with the scent of sex and sin, a fitting perfume for the queen I was becoming—the queen of chaos, forged in the fires of a love that was anything but gentle.
Panting , his come clung to my skin like the blood I once spilled—sticky and warm. A smirk curled on my lips as I peeled my body off the counter. Water called to me; it was time to shower .
“ Gunna shower. I’ll be back.” I said as I hopped off and stood on my tip-toes, giving him a kiss and leaving him bewildered with a half-stiffy in the middle of the kitchen. I couldn’t resist flicking it with my finger before grabbing my shirt and making sure I swung my hips hard enough to hear an intelligible moan come from his lips.
My reflection sneered back at me from the fogged-up mirror. Fingers traced the darkened skin where his hands had been, each spot a trophy. From being used like a fuck puppet to enjoying the way he made my body sing, we’d come a long way in a couple of months. Between him and Marco , I felt complete, like I could last through this life and into the next.
The water scalded at first, almost a punishment, but I tilted my head back and let it cascade down, savoring the pain. It was a counterpoint to the savage satisfaction inside of me, the relentless drumbeat of power that pulsed through my veins. This new hunger didn’t scare me—not anymore. I craved it, fed on it like the most addictive drug.
Stepping out, the cool air raised every hair on my body, but the chill couldn’t touch the heat that Hunter had ignited deep within me. Droplets marched down my curves, a teasing caress compared to the demanding grip of his hands and the ruthless pressure of his mouth. I wanted more. More of him, more of Marco , more guns, more power, more, more, more. I’d become an insatiable little heathen. Who knew that all it took was a date at the beach and the cock of a gentle giant to warm me up to being devoured by Satan himself?
Toweling off, I caught a glimpse of the bed, disheveled and wrecked. The sheets were twisted, telling tales of lust and depression. Splatters of my blood, now dried, made me smile. Looking down at my bandage, I ripped it off, tracing the fine lines. Replacing it with some ointment underneath, I pulled on a black turtleneck. Sure , it’s not sexy, but it’ll hide the large bruise forming from Hunter’s bite. And my wrist. Black leggings, complete with a bright red hair tie, pull my hair away from my face. There . Now I felt whole.
“ Rosie ?” Marco’s voice from just outside my door startled me. “ We were thinking of taking you shopping… for some new clothes and stuff.”
He sounded nervous; it was kind of cute.
“ Coming !” I yelled as I looked at myself one more time. Yes . This is exactly who I was meant to be.
A queen.