Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“Yes,” he rasps, pumping into his fist. “Stick your tongue out. I’m going to come on your tongue. Let it drip down and rub it in. God… fuck yourself for me.”
I shove two fingers deep, riding my hand.
I’m so close, I need to come. I want to come. But whatever I’m doing isn’t enough. “Professor…”
His eyes snap back to mine as if he needed to hear me use his authoritative title, reminding him of the first time we came together in the library, he grunts, “Stop!”
I drop my hand and the first rope of his thick, white salty load coats my tongue, my cheek, and my chin, dripping down to my chest and tummy.
It’s so much! I swallow what got inside my mouth, unwilling to waste it.
I take my hands, and do as I was told, rubbing his seed into my damp skin as he watches, fascinated, and his eyes fill with desire.
“I will never tire of seeing you be such a filthy little angel on your knees for me.” He smirks, helping me rise to my feet only to help me wash my hair, and cleanse my body, soft kisses land on my clavicle when he shuts the water off.
It’s not much longer before we’re both dried off, he’s moisturizing me with actual lotion this time, and then we’re in bed with my new book of poems. I’m wearing his large Henley that fits me just right and the leg warmers Elena gifted me.
I’m lying with my back on his bare chest, his hands on my hips.
“Damon?” I ask.
His chest rumbles. “He’s finishing up end-of-the-semester evaluations he did for certain students who are trying to transfer out for their parents. He should be done soon.”
I shift a bit to get a little more comfortable, his hands never moving from where they’ve found purchase on my hips, simply moving with me.
I open up my new book, turn to the table of contents, and begin to read out loud, letting his favorite poem, the one etched across his body, become my favorite poem.
Though I’m at peace, here, with all of my men under the same roof, and I should feel safe, I can’t shake this wiggling feeling in the back of my brain where soft alarms are still blaring. It’s an inkling I can’t get rid of.
Who was that guy Axel was talking to at the holiday party? Why did he look so familiar? Why did the music in my head begin when I saw him?
“Where did you go, Angel?” Maverick asks, the pad of his thumb warm rubbing circles on my hip.
“Hmm?”
“Just now. You were reading so clearly but your words began spacing out. Where did you go?”
I close the book of poems, and turn to him, trying to get on my knees but he refuses letting me go, so I twist to fit my body, molding it to his.
I place my hands on the strong parts of his shoulders leading to his neck, loving the warmth against my palms, the way the ink on them stops where the collar of his shirts begin.
“It’s… not over.” I manage out, even though my voice is tired and my jaw is exhausted from reading out loud.
He eyes me curiously. “What makes you say that?”
And so I tell him. Using both my words and my hands, telling him everything from the party that I can remember.
“Did you ever find out who A is?”
I shake my head.
“Could this be him?”
I lift one shoulder and let it fall.
His lips twist from one side to the other, scrunching his nose.
I lift a hand to push his glasses up by the frame and then run my thumb over his stubbled jaw, dying to feel the growth between my thighs.
It suits him well. I love it. I place a kiss to his cheek and lean back again to look into his peridot eyes, waiting for permission to slip onto his lap.
He gives me one curt nod, but I take it, opening my thighs to straddle him, putting my weight on him so I can snuggle into my beast, and love him the way he deserves .
But who out of the two of us is the real beast?
Where he’s had to kill in order to keep himself alive, or to get rid of real evil.
I’ve killed because I’m a spiteful, angry, rage-driven woman.
Fuck, I’m a psycho killer that hears music while she kills.
How deranged can I be? If I ever told Damon this…
ugh… he’d put me in a psych ward and then become the lead doctor on my team, probably.
Does Maverick still think of me as a monster?
“You think this goes all the way to the top, don’t you?” Maverick finally asks, breaking the silence and the way my thoughts are beginning to run rampant. “There’s still one last initial you need to… take care of in order for you to feel done? To be able to move on?”
I close my eyes, nodding into the crook of his neck.
Because yes, that’s exactly what I’m feeling and now that he’s said it out loud, I feel like that’s what I’ve been too afraid to think of.
When I had gone back to the Monroe Library on the RMU campus and checked out the alumni yearbook for the year I was assaulted, there were two hundred A names – seventy-two of them were women, and knowing Ashleigh had been one of them, that eliminated seventy-one of those names, and I eliminated her .
I hate feeling lost. I hate feeling like I don’t know where to begin.
But I also love being underestimated. I’ve loved playing the dumb mute in the corner of the room these last few months, gaining intel.
I’ve loved being the exotic dancer in moth wings learning secrets no one else is privy to.
Being underestimated makes my kills that much more satisfactory.
“Is she asleep?” I hear Damon’s voice from the doorway.
“No. Just cuddling.” Maverick replies, gripping my tatted thigh, rubbing it up and down from the tip of my vine that meets my hip down to the outskirts of my knee.
I know what he’s doing when he touches me like this, it’s the same thing I do with his – commemorating it to memory as though it was his own.
“When we get back to Kingston, we should probably stay a night at your place.” I hear his voice so much closer, along with articles of clothing falling to the ground.
I turn my head to watch Damon undress. He’d already showered while Jonas and I were finishing our goodbyes with Elena, giving us privacy.
I think he knows how much she’s come to mean to me in just these few short weeks.
“If you think that best,” Mav says, now squeezing where my hip and thigh meet. “You like what you see?” he whispers in my ear.
“ Yes .” I rasp, seeing my very dirty doctor stripping to his thermal pajama bottoms. God he’s hot. Who knew all those muscles were under all those scrubs he wore at Lorne Wood? I face him in Maverick’s lap and make the sign with my hand. “Beautiful.”
Damon smirks, the small divot in his chin deepening and when he climbs into bed, I practically drool at the way he prowls toward me.
The defined muscles in his chest and arms so pronounced, even the veins in his arms look extra juicy.
A loose curl of his hair falls forward. When he reaches me, the kiss he delivers is chaste, but it doesn’t mean less.
After our ‘talk’ in his office before Spain, I’m doing better to let myself be handled like I’m treasure. His treasure. It’s hard. I just sometimes don’t know how to handle kindness. But I’m getting better at accepting the way he loves me.
“What do you want, Amourette?” he says, the soft of his lips still on mine. I can almost taste the mint of his toothpaste, and I want him to devour me.
“Please, j-just… kiss me.” I breathe anxiously. Is it a stupid thing to ask for?
His stare softens, still hazy with lust and desire but in this moment, I can see how much he just…
loves me. He takes me from Maverick, putting me on my back, the mattress dipping under our weight, but he keeps one hand on the curve of my spine, the other on the nape of my neck.
I moan when he settles his entire weight on me, draping my legs over his strong thighs, my arms over his shoulders, my fingers into his black and silver waves, loving how he feels - so big, so strong, so very, very mine.
The thought alone gets me wet. That this man, so incredibly sm art and kind and loving, loves me as deeply and darkly as I love him.
“Damon…” I moan, closing my eyes and he takes advantage of my lips being parted to nip my bottom lip, licking alongside of it, and then dipping his tongue into my mouth.
God yes, the man kisses like he’s starved.
“Every inch of you is so delicious. Inside and out. Every time it’s like I’m tasting nirvana.
” He breathes and attacks my lips again, plunging his tongue deeper, his fingers clutching where he’s holding me.
I arch my back to pull him deeper, too. We’re nothing but tangled limbs and flesh meshed together and when he hardens against my sex, I moan for that too, wanting to be filled in every way possible by this beautiful man.
“Please, Damon,” I groan, trying to find friction between my naked sex and the layer of thermals. “Need you.”
He pulls away only to take off the shirt I was wearing, resuming his position except the hand that was behind my back snakes between us and when he finds me soaked, he smirks against my lips, nipping my bottom lips, sucking it into his mouth and his kiss turns from sweet to frantic. “From a simple kiss?”
“Because it’s you.” I reply, moving my hips so his fingers can play with the pinkest part of me because that wasn’t a simple kiss and he knows it.
He moves to pull away, but I grip him tighter. “No.”
He freezes in my arms, continuing to ravage my entire mouth, a few more movements, and I feel the hot velvet of the tip of his thick dick on my clit, slowly dipping lower to find my slick entrance and when he pushes in, I moan into his mouth, spreading my thighs as much as I can to accommodate his large, looming stature above me, my knees closer to my chest as he finally, finally plunges all the way to the hilt, and places his hand underneath my head to join the other – cradling me.
My eyes cross behind my lids, the feel of my pussy stretching to fit him in always a slow, intense burn. “So big.”
He chuckles, sliding back, and my nails scratch across his broad back, causing him to thrust all the way in.
“Yes! ”
“Little Bird-“
“D-don’t stop, need more, p-please, Damon.”
And he doesn’t.
After being edged all fucking day I’m so fucking close.
I’ve been so turned on all day with the different ways my men have found to fuck me.
Against the wall after breakfast in the pantry, (Maverick) bent over the kitchen island, (Jonas) on the couch while Elena was packing up her things, (Damon) it’s been non-fucking stop and I’m at my wits end.
So I’m not afraid to beg. I’m not afraid to say, “Please, Daddy … let me come.”
The growl that leaves Damon’s throat is one I’ll never forget.
Each thrust comes in brutal, agonizing, almost painful stabs and when I try to let up, he keeps me in place by my head.
My throbbing clit is tickled by the soft thatch of hair above his dick and God help me, I just need more. And that’s exactly what I ask for.
“Is this how you want Daddy to fuck you, love?”
“God yes, don’t ss-stop!” I cry out, bucking my hips in time with his.
“Look at you, fucking me back like a good little slut. Is that what we’ve turned you into? Just a needy fucking thing for cum?”
“Yes!” Why deny it?
“And you want to come on Daddy’s cock?”
I almost begin to convulse at the tone of his voice. It’s so fucking condescending and almost tortured, but I fucking love it. “All I want.”
“Then come, Little Bird. Grip my cock like a fucking vice and milk my dick. I want to feel when you break for me.”
I reach high, high, high, my stomach tightening, hot liquid pooling from me.
When his lips crash back to mine, they tear me apart from the inside out, seeking my soul and I fucking shatter, clenching around him, every fucking wave takes me under and I sob in gratitude, shaking through the ripples and aftermath.
He stills, pulling out of me so quickly, sitting back on his heels, I barely see through blurred vision when he comes all over my stomach, thick, white ropes of cum and he grunts with each one. Breathing heavily he stares down at me like an artist evaluating his masterpiece.
He takes his hand and begins to rub it in delicately like it’s my personal brand of lotion and I love that he’s marking me like this.
Because when he’s all done, he doesn’t find a t-shirt for me to wear, he only slips me underneath the comforter between him and Maverick, and they both cuddle close to me, letting me sob until I’m just a hiccupping mess, one soothing away my hair and kissing my temple, the other rubbing on my trembling body.
“How was it?”
“I think I blacked out.” Damon says with a shiver and a chuckle.
“Think you’d be okay with only orgasming once a day if it’s that intense?” Maverick asks in my ear.
“Some… t-times.” I reply honestly, still trying to regain whatever consciousness resides in me, swimming through the fog of lingering emotions I can’t place.
“That’s okay, Siren. You did so good today. You were the perfect cocksleeve, taking our cum all day. It’ll get easier. You’ll be the best free-use bride ever.”
His words send goosebumps to every single hair follicle in my body.
He’s staying.
I haven’t scared him away.
And that means everything to me.
“Why the fuck is she crying?” I hear a growl from the door. “I was gone for thirty minutes.”
“She’s okay, Jonas. She just needs rest.”
“You let her come without me?”
“And it was glorious.” Maverick chuckles.
“I’m never talking to my family again.” I feel him move up on the bed and the comforter comes down to my shoulders. “Is that right baby? You came so hard?”
I nod.
“Too much?”
I shake my head and wipe a tear. “Just… a lot. ”
He purses his lips like he’s thinking it over. “Okay. We’ll let you sleep.” He says, kissing my shoulder, then rolling over to Maverick’s side.
But it’s a lie.
In the middle of the night, I wake up to Damon needing to be inside of me and Maverick joining him, stretching me to my limits. When my moans wake up Jonas, we shift positions so I can take him in my mouth.
It’s been a very merry Christmas, indeed.