19. Sharkie
Date: 5-14-2024
Time: 1730
“You know, I hate the color red?”
He changes the subject like I wasn’t just on the verge of a panic attack but then again, I can feel my breathing slow. This dumb ass knows sorcery or something because each run of his hand through my hair nearly has me melting in his arms. I should pull away, suffocate him with a pillow–anything–but I can’t when all my thoughts are muddled with how everything feels wrong.
I am right. Right? His father raged against war once. It makes sense for him to follow his steps and do it again. I don’t care what false information they were talking about. They’re manipulative and well knowledgeable. Dutton wouldn’t put me through my training just so I could do what he wanted. He did it so I was prepared to avenge my parents. I was conditioned to keep fighting because this is a war and each side will do whatever it takes to get the upper hand on the other.
No matter how hard I try to convince myself we’re in the right, something nags at the back of my head but I can’t pinpoint it. I can’t trust anyone anymore. I can’t even trust myself.
“I used to love it, but when my father was in my arms and all I could see was that damn color I held a grudge.” he lets out a heavy sigh, taking my opportunity I look up at him finding him already staring back down. My breathing shallows.
Does he know?
“Stupid right? To be upset with something so mundane that had no choice in what body it painted. I’ve never really told anyone my reason behind it. Everyone just knows to keep it away.”
The soft glow from the TV highlights his sharp jawline giving him a stern expression, but the deep green depths I’ve come to know are a shade lighter. I hope one of those gruesome scenes from the show doesn’t happen because, despite everything, I just want to stay in this moment where my mind isn’t constantly spinning. It slows when he speaks. I hate everything he stands for, but I can’t imagine him seeing me the same way.
Not yet.
I trail my hand up his bare chest until the pads of my fingers are brushing against the scar on his neck. My scar. My brows pull together. There’s nothing I can say. It’s my fault.
I’m still royally pissed at how idiotic he is and very confused about everything that has happened over the years, but I can’t help but at least try to understand his side. What if he’s right? His hands cup my cheeks, rubbing his thumbs against the wet streaks I didn’t realize trailed down.
“You understand, though, don’t you? I’m your monster, the villain in your story. So you know how it feels.” Leaning in, he tilts my head back to brush his mouth against the hollow of my throat, making me gasp from the sensation. Is he my monster? Or has there been one hiding under my bed this whole time?
“Only me.” He doesn’t give me time to make a witty remark, silencing me with his mouth. Firm and dominating, forcing my lips to submit. His hands glide under the hem of my oversized shirt, making me hyper-aware of the very few layers between us. Each calloused digit drags against my waist, pushing the fabric up with it until he tosses it to the floor. I wrap my arms around my waist. I don't like the visual reminders of the machine I have been made into.
He moves in again, gripping at my wrists, pulling them from my body, and pushing my hands to his chest. I tilt my head away relishing in the stern, confused look that flashed over his features.
“You’re sick.” I purr. I can’t help myself. He brings out a side that I never even knew I had. It’s like I want to take away the hurt I’ve caused, just as he does for me. I don’t know if I can trust him, but that doesn’t mean I want to see the pain I caused anymore. I really fucking hate feelings.
A low growl vibrates his chest sending tingles through my palms. I swear I’ve never pegged myself as a ‘growling is sexy’ type of girl but there is something so primal and raw about it that has my heart beating hard enough I can hear it in my ears. With a giddy yelp, my back collides with the bed, caging me in between his body and the silk sheets, his hands wrapped around my thighs, spreading my legs to give him enough room to fit between.
“Wait, my snacks!” I yelp, feeling the crinkling under my back. He lifts me by the back of my neck just enough to swipe his arm under my body and throws every bag and wrapper to the floor.
“You're insufferable.” He chuckles into my skin, trailing a line of fervent kisses down my neck and chest until he is at the top of my breast. His lips hover over my heart, his eyes locked on mine with bated breath. I want to speak and process what the small voice in my head is screaming but I don’t want it to scare me out of this moment. When I stay silent, a wicked grin pulls at his lips. He yanks my bra hard enough the clasps snap apart, making my breast spill from the long-lost containment.
“Tide.” I whimper, curling my hands into his hair as he takes my nipple into his mouth, making my back arch off the bed. Karma was right. I needed to get laid. Another one of those concerningly sexy growls vibrates from his mouth through my nipple straight to my core, making my thighs clench around him.
“None of that bullshit love. If I’m gonna have you soaking my sheets, then you’re going to be moaning my name.” Each word he grinds out etches into my skin following his lips. I’ve accepted the fact he’s sick. I can only hope he can accept that I’m twisted and I don’t know if anything can change that. His fingers hook into my underwear, pulling them down as he shifts lower on the bed. My hands drop to the soft sheets.
If I could make a remark I would, but he has full control. I know that as much as him and I’m not fighting the fact. It's a heady sensation letting your mind go blank and allowing someone to do all the thinking. I can feel every feather-light touch of his mouth against my sternum. It's enough to feel something but not enough at the same time.
“When you see your scars… I want you to think of me, not of what caused them.”
He’s teasing me, taunting me with a promise of more while holding me at the edge.
“You’ll think of how my lips traced them.” He pauses. Grasping my chin in his hand, forcing me to watch as he demonstrates the action.
“You’ll think of how they feel when under my tongue.” My eyelids droop with a sharp intake of air when he drags the muscle over a particularly long one running from my ribs to my navel.
“The only marks you’ll ever bear again will be from me. Understand?” He speaks into inches of scarred tissue like he can erase the damage it inflicted mentally and physically as he lifts my legs onto his shoulder. My lip's part to reply but quickly close, opting for a small nod instead. His fingers dig into my thighs hard enough that I jump in response, making his lips quirk to one side.
“Caspian.” He punctuates his name with a harsh bite into my thigh, smoothing his tongue over the sting, making my toes curl and my core weep. He takes a nip above the last mark. If only he knew just how much the pain drives me. I lift my hips, feeling his breath fanning against my sensitive bud, sending every nerve ending in my body firing from the tips of my toes up to my nose.
“ Caspian .” I drawl out his name. His nostrils flare, once emerald eyes blown into black making my heart jump right into my throat.
“I can get used to you saying my name, little siren.”
I could get used to it too. No, stop thinking like that. His tongue traces a languid stripe through my folds, so slowly I’m sure it can be compared to torture. I can do this, orgasms in exchange for his life. Right?
He groans, pulling my clit between his lips; the sound vibrating straight through me. My head falls back into the pillow, the ceiling blurring. He laps at my cunt like I’m the last drop of water left in the world, alternating flicking my sensitive bundle of nerves to dragging them through his teeth hard enough my skin feels like it’s on fire but not hard enough to inflict actual pain. No experience comes close to his hands digging into my flesh and his tongue ravishing like a starved animal.
I'm completely and utterly fucked.
A sharp sting vibrates through my leg, making my head jolt up from the sensation, my eyes darting between his and the very prominent hand mark left on my skin. Each breath he takes chills the heat between my thighs, making my knuckles turn white against the olive sheets.
“Don’t look away. I want you to see the monster you make out of me.”
The pad of his finger teases at my entrance, rubbing the mixture of his saliva and my arousal around the throbbing hole. How did I go from hating the man between my legs to wishing he could stay there forever? He plunges in, making me cry out.
With every stroke, curl of his finger, and circle of his tongue, my eyelids grow heavy. My head bobs, struggling to remain upright, and my legs tremble with the need to clamp shut around his head while I feel my walls pulse and suck him back in as he adds another finger.
"Please don’t stop.”
I don’t even recognize my voice from how broken it sounds. Each syllable jumbles together, making an incoherent sentence. I've never been one to beg but I’m so close. The tight turning in my stomach twists to the point I know at any second I’ll burst. I squirm below him, rubbing my nails through his hair, pulling at the unnaturally soft strands.
“That’s it, love. Hurt me all you want. Give me your pain.” He groans against my skin, making my back arch. His hand wraps around my thighs, squeezing to the point I don’t know if I should be more focused on how my muscles tremble in protest or the way his groan vibrates around my clit. Breaking eye contact is the last thing I care about as climax crashes into me like a tidal wave, barely registering the curses falling from his mouth. Black spots erupt at the back of my lids. It’s a miracle my legs stay spread, his tongue darts into my entrance back to my clit pushing me through the shocks that send my nerve endings firing.
He’s absolutely ruined me. My moral compass spins in circles, unsure of which way it needs to land. How am I supposed to change direction after everything that’s been planted in my head refuses to be pulled out? Being with him is unnatural, but it feels so right.
The waves subside, allowing me to feel his fingers tracing my hips up to my waist. I’m too sensitive. Everything tingles and burns, making me wriggle.
“I’m not done with you yet, siren. You have one more left in you. Don’t you?”
Do I? Hell no, I don’t. My limbs are numb, my skin is slick with sweat and my brain is so jumbled I can’t tell where his body ends or where mine begins. His hand curls at the nape of my neck, pulling my very uneven eyesight onto his blown pupils, making me hyper-aware of the very hard cock nuzzled against my soaked cunt.
I nod my head despite my body screaming for me to pass out in my post-orgasm state. Yet, I can't help this insatiable need that has coiled its way into making me want to bring him just as much pleasure. Maybe it feeds off the way we want to cause each other pain, hell I don't know but I do know I don’t want the feeling to disappear. His lips press to my head in a gentle caress, distracting me from the quick flip he makes of my body.
I can hear the rustling of fabric, ordering me to look back over my shoulder. His hand slowly strokes his cock, dragging his thumb along the tip and smearing his pre-come before sliding back down again. I'm able to make out the way his fingers barely touch each other around veins that bulge the length into a perfectly swollen mushroom tip. My throat feels so dry it hurts to swallow. That was not what I was expecting. The thing is almost as big as his ego.
“That’s not going to–”
“Yes, it will love. Your body was made for me.”
He slides his hand between my shoulder blades, forcing my chest into the mattress, arching my back enough I can feel the cool air hit my weeping core.
“Relax for me.” There’s a clear strain in his voice as he nudges against me.
“Do you remember all those times you’ve tried to kill me?”
What type of fucking question —my body jerks forward as a harsh slap vibrates against my skin. I bury my face into the pillow with a cry of his name. His palm smooths over the sting, pushing his dick in I stretch around the length, distracting my thoughts from the sudden surprise.
“All the times you’ve had a cheeky mouth?”
Another smack makes my ass ripple. Instead of being surprised, I feel the way he pushes in further, mixing the pleasure with the pain. He rocks back enough for me to feel just how easily my body is accepting him, then drives back in again to the hilt, matching it with another smack. The sound he releases has my legs quacking, my body begging to have more fall from his lips.
“ Fuck , Cordelia.” The way he breathes my name has me rolling back into him, testing the feeling of being so full, only to lose the sensation and take it back again. Calloused palms wrap around my waist pulling me back to match his thrust hard enough for the bed frame to rock with our bodies, creating a steady pounding into the wall. If I thought my head was empty before, it doesn't compare to now. I clench, feeling his grip tighten into my flesh. He sucks in a hiss, unwilling to loosen his hold.
"I told you...” he pauses, wrapping his hand in my hair, pulling hard enough that my scalp stings and my eyes water until my back arches into his chest “You were made for me.” He punctuates the words with a deep thrust, hitting a spot I didn’t even know existed. My cries and whimpers bounce off the walls ringing back into my ears as I try to match his pace.
His mouth is on me everywhere, my neck, my shoulders, my back, twisting and turning my body to his liking. Digging in his teeth and sucking on every spot he can find. He palms at my breast, pulling my nipple between his fingers hard enough it has me whining then smooths his thumb in a tight circle over it.
It’s animalistic in a way that should bring me shame, but how can I feel embarrassed when each inch of my skin feels worshiped? He shifts his hand from my breast to my clit, circling it like he’s known my body longer than I have.
“You’re right, I’m obsessed with you.”
The words are harsh against my skin, but I can’t focus on a single one as my head spins and stars cloud my vision. Releasing my hair, he wraps his hand around my throat, feeling my rapid pulse kiss his thumb. I go light headed. It already felt nearly impossible to breathe but now with the added pressure I’m sure I might pass out.
“So obsessed, I stared at the same photo every day memorizing each freckle that painted your cheeks until it didn’t feed my fix, so I had to carve you into the knife you almost took my life with.”
He drags my sensitive bundle of nerves between his fingers, making the twisting in my abdomen become borderline unbearable.
“You’ve made me so sick that I had to ink you into my skin as if your mark on my neck wasn’t enough.”
My lips part in a silent scream, feeling the world around me still while my body shatters around him. Releasing my throat, he lets me fall forward, pounding me through my climax.
“I’m so twisted, now that I have you—” he groans through a shuddering breath. “I won’t let you go.”
My core heats, slicking my thighs to a point where I know it’s not just my release that is coating them. I whine from the loss of his body, collapsing into a puddle against the sheets. I’m dazed in a zone of complete uncertainty and a very odd amount of admiration, so lost in the chaotic scenario that has become my life.
The mission was simple. Kill him. But now…
I tense, feeling something warm slide between my legs in a touch so soft I hardly know it’s there. He shushes me, tracing his lips over my shoulders, brushing my hair off my neck to lie on the pillow.
“You did so well.” he groans as he runs his tongue over a spot that feels like broken skin. The bed raises as he climbs off leaving me a ragged breathing mess.
There’s a quiet click. I’d love to move; to roll off my stomach and onto my back so I can see the product of what should’ve never happened, but I’m too sore and exhausted. That’s a lie, I’m afraid. Not the type I feel when I get too close to water or high in the sky, but the type that is wrapping around my chest threatening to make it concave.
“Are you okay?”
No. I’m so unnaturally fucked it’s pathetic. I nod anyway, unwilling to get into another argument tonight after the best climax I’ve ever experienced in my life. He doesn’t reply, giving me the comfortable silence I always crave and drapes the cover over my waist.
We built our world in between chaos and bloodshed. Whether I want to or not, I trust him. Just like I want to believe he trusts me, even though I’m still unsure if he should. He could’ve killed and tortured me in worse ways, but he calms me, claims me, brings me to his room, and tries to heal what others have broken.
Typically, I’d be terrified of what my parents would think, but right now, with his body weight dipping into the bed beside me and his arm wrapping tight around my body, I can’t. I don’t want to hear their voices.