Chapter 27 Cord
EVERYTHING IN THE world boils down to one singular, salient fact.
Asher’s thick cock is buried in my ass.
I can’t think past that. Past the feel of his rigid length sliding in and out of me. Past the slow burn of lust that consumes me.
I shouldn’t want him like this. I should have stayed away. I know what being near him will do, and yet I keep coming back.
He’s like an addiction.
An obsession.
One I’ve tried to get over. Hell, for ten fucking years I tried. And then one look from his damned green eyes.
One word from his smooth, southern drawl.
One whiff of his woodsy musk, and I’m hopeless.
A lost cause.
Wrecked.
My cock throbs with the need to come, but I want to make it last. To draw this moment out until I’m drowning in need. Until I lose all sense of self and become one with this craving desire that burns inside me whenever he’s near.
“You feel so good, baby,” he breathes in my ear, and I grow even harder at his voice. Surely my cock will explode, right? The skin around it is so tight it hurts. The feel of his body rubbing against it as he rails my ass is torture.
How does he do this to me? Maybe if I knew I could fight it. But do I even want that?
I know I say I do, but when we’re together, when we’re joined like this, it’s the best feeling in the world.
The only place I want to be.
His rhythm slows, pulling all the way out then slamming back in, his balls slapping against my taint as I clench my ass tight, trapping him. I wrap my legs around him to pull him closer and he chuckles softly, his lips finding mine, his tongue exploring my mouth.
Hungry.
Demanding.
His blood teeth nick my lip, then his mouth drifts lower, down my chin to my neck.
Marking me.
Again.
I feel my body tense for the moment his teeth enter me. I ache for it.
For the pain.
For the euphoria of his feeding.
He licks the skin of my neck and I struggle against the rope, wanting to free myself. To run my fingers through his silky hair. To squeeze the plump cheeks of his ass.
To sink my own teeth into his flesh.
His dick finds that sweet spot inside me as he bites down and starts to milk the wound, and I lose complete control.
“Fuck me, I’m coming.”
Asher pumps two more times then his body goes rigid as his hot cum fills my ass. The combination of coming and his feeding overwhelms me.
I have to remember to breathe.
I don’t know when his mouth leaves my neck and closes over mine, sucking my tongue in deep, swirling his around mine.
Desperate.
I taste my own blood as the kiss becomes frantic.
Demanding.
Raw.
Like he’s trying to consume me.
He groans in my mouth as his hands close around either side of my face to trap me against him. I will myself to relax and his lips move against mine, becoming more passionate.
Transcendent.
Like we’ve moved past mere lust.
He pulls away and raises himself up on his elbows, his cock sliding free of my ass with a sigh of loss. I drop my legs and take a deep breath to clear my head.
“I think we can lose the rope,” he says, reaching over me to untie my wrists.
I rub the soreness out and meet his eyes as he rolls over and lies facing me. Traces of crimson are smeared on his pale chest, the scent of blood and cum mingling in the air. A heady combination.
This is the way it’s always been with us.
This is the way it should be.
I ignore the voice and focus on the moment.
We don’t say anything for several minutes as my heart returns to its normal rhythm, my spent cock still throbbing but sated.
“Can I ask you something?” I venture finally.
“Anything.”
“Why do you still have rope in your nightstand?”
It’s something I wondered as soon as he pulled it out. Not that it’s technically any of my business. We were apart for ten years. What he got up to during that time has nothing to do with me.
So why do I care? Why do I feel my heart clench at the thought that he’s tied up other lovers. That was our kink.
The fact that he’s moved at least once since we were together tells me this isn’t some leftover remnant of our relationship. Surely if that was the case he would have had time to get rid of it.
Right?
He reaches out to brush a stray hair back from my face. “Are you jealous?”
“Me? No. Of course not.”
He grins. “It’s okay if you are. I’m jealous of everyone who looks at you.”
“Just answer the fucking question.”
“Okay. If you must know, it’s wishful thinking.”
“What do you mean?”
He sighs. “In the ten years we were apart, I went to bed every night hoping you’d come back. That I would somehow wake up and you would be beside me and we could pick up our lives where we left off. That’s why I still have the rope. I guess I never stopped wishing.”
It takes me a minute to digest his words. “Ash, I–”
He places a finger against my lips and shakes his head. “Shh. Don’t say anything. Let me have my fantasy.”
I start to assure him–of what I don’t know–when my phone rings.
“You better get that,” he says.
I stand up and grab my pants off the floor, fishing my phone out. When I check the screen, I see it’s Dante. I’m surprised he waited this long to call.
“What’s up?” I answer, shifting gears in my head.
“Were you planning on coming back tonight?”
I glance over at Asher. “Yeah. Did you get a location?”
“We did, but that’s not why I’m calling. I sent some guys over to watch the place, though I don’t see what good it’s going to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a fucking bar.”
“A bar?”
“Yeah, the one that guy who left the warehouse went to.”
“O’Hara’s?”
Asher’s brow quirks up at the mention of the bar. Could it be the Python is using the same place Asher and I met at last week? We could’ve been that close to this asshole and weren’t even aware of it.
I know that area of town falls under the rule of the Italian mafia on the human side.
We have an uneasy truce with them. They know about us and give us a wide berth to handle our business, but I doubt they’d want vamps moving in on their turf, so this Python character is either flying under their radar or has somehow stolen territory.
Neither option sounds like good news for us.
“That’s the one,” Dante says. “There’s also an abandoned parts store next door to it, so who knows, maybe they’re in there. According to Russell, there were two doors in the tunnel.”
“There were. So what do you need from me?”
“You heard about the trouble we had at one of our dens last night?”
“Gio might have mentioned it.”
“We caught the guys, but I haven’t had a chance to question them yet. I got everyone tied up watching out for this Python asshole.”
“You want me to talk to them?”
“I want you to do what you do. I think that would be the best use of your time right now.”
I’m all for anything that gets me out of stakeout duty. “I’ll be there in twenty.”
I hang up and start pulling on my clothes.
“What was that about O’Hara’s?” Asher asks.
“Apparently the door we found in the tunnel is under the bar.” I finish dressing and look over at him. “A couple of the Python’s men shot up one of Dante’s dens last night, so he wants me to get some information out of them.”
“I see,” he says, not pushing for details. Instead, he slides off the bed and steps up to me, closing his hands around my wrists. “I’ll have Elaine broaden the search to include O’Hara’s.”
I hadn’t considered that. “Okay. That would be good.”
I turn to leave and Asher calls after me. “Cord. Be careful.”
“Always am,” I answer automatically.
? ? ?
There are three guys chained to the wall in Dante’s basement. Two of them are conscious, and they don’t look like the same brand of gullible as the last ones I tortured. In fact, they act like this is all part of the plan, which immediately puts me on guard.
I’m guessing threatening them with starvation won’t have the same effect, so I take my time laying out my tools while I get myself in the right headspace to devise a way to make them talk. Hard to do when I just spent the last hour tied up with Asher’s cock buried in my ass.
I’m not normally a sadistic guy, but I do have a dark streak that’s been with me since birth, and I don’t mind tapping into it when the situation warrants.
That’s why Dante calls on me for stuff like this.
When needed, I can turn off the human side of my brain, which is what’s required for any successful form of torture.
Part of me even enjoys it, though I don’t think too much about that.
Maybe it says more about my childhood than anything else.
It was not full of sunshine and flowers.
Torturing vampires requires a bit of creativity because we’re notoriously immune to most wounds. That’s what happens when you can heal almost anything.
But healing doesn’t include replacement. We’re vamps, not salamanders. And some wounds can bleed more than others, meaning if you withhold the fuel to heal them, it can cause extreme suffering. Lucky for me, people–even vampires–will say and do remarkable things to alleviate suffering.
I strip off my jacket and toss it on the chair in the corner before picking up a large pair of bolt cutters and approaching the biggest captive.
Deep breath. Blow it out slowly to clear my head.
I love this moment, when the possibility of impending violence hangs in the air. The vamp’s breathing stutters, waiting, and I let the moment drag, my eyes holding his, my smile cold and flat.
There’s something to be said for the element of surprise. The vamp watches me, his defiance slowly turning to apprehension. Too bad he doesn’t comprehend the truth of his fate yet.
But he will.
I reach up with both hands and snatch his bound wrist between the jaws of the bolt cutters and, using all my force, snap them shut.
The crunching of bone echoes through the cell like a gunshot.
It’s not a clean wound. The blowback splatters in a wide arc, covering him and the wall behind him and landing on me, its meaty scent saturating the room. The hand is still dangling by some tissue and crushed bone, but it gives me the effect I was going for.