Chapter 45 The Poisoner
THE POISONER
The delightful sounds of morning chatter buzzed from outside my door. Every morning, we would all meet for breakfast. Today, everyone was up later than usual due to the raw weather and poor insulation in the building.
I left the serenity of the sheets and wandered into my main dwelling.
The overcast sky made the room seem duller.
The fireplace still had ash from the night before, as I was too lazy to clean it.
I would take care of that later. The tree still smelled lovely, proudly standing in the middle of the room with a few fruits left on it.
The last remaining orange was my breakfast.
Another aroma teased my senses as I peeled my fruit.
I couldn’t help a small smile. “How nostalgic. Reminds me of old times. Though typically your tell is the cigarette smoke.”
Silas stepped out from the kitchen area with a cup of freshly brewed espresso in his hand. “Is that your way of asking me for a light?”
“What are you doing in my flat?”
“I wanted to see you.”
“So you let yourself in?”
“What if I never left?” He sipped, pausing to decide how he felt about the taste. “Besides, if this were old times, I wouldn’t hesitate to watch you sleep.”
“Do not lie, you still watch.”
He smirked and lifted a shoulder.
I sat comfortably on the sofa, pulling my silk robe tighter to hide the thin nightgown.
He placed his cup on the coffee table as he sat next to me.
“Why are you here?”
“Is it so hard to believe that I wanted to say good morning?” He laughed and draped his arm along the back of the couch. His fingers lightly traced along my shoulder. It made me shrink.
“It is hard to swallow the idea of you being any sort of cordial or kind.”
“Is it really? I think your memory must be rotten if you cannot think of a single nice thing I’ve done for you.”
I shook my head and finished eating my orange, leaving the pile of peels on the table so I could use them later as fire starters.
Silas took my hands in his. He slipped the ring Phoebe gave me off my left hand and placed it onto the fourth finger on my right hand.
“What are you doing?”
“Making room.”
“For what?”
“Did you think that I wasn’t going to get you a ring after all that trouble?” He shook his head. “You really do think low of me.”
“I think the worst of you.”
“Likewise,” he replied, but something in his tone made it sound like a remark of endearment.
I rolled my eyes at him and stood. “I need to change; leave me.”
He rose as well, placing his hands on my hips from behind. “I could be of assistance.” He bunched the fabric as he slid it upward.
I gripped his hands on my waist, his chest pressing against my back as he refused to leave.
A terrible pain bloomed suddenly in my abdomen, nearly making me keel over. He must have noticed the change in my posture because he wrapped his arms around me.
“What is it?” he whispered against the back of my neck.
“Nothing.” I swallowed, waiting for the pinch to subside. I struggled against him, but then a trickle of blood ran down my leg.
His eyes narrowed at me, and I heard the clicking.
I swallowed thickly. “Silas,” I warned, “don’t.”
He tightened his grip around my waist. “Were you going to hide from me all week if I hadn’t found out just now?”
“Hiding doesn’t seem to work,” I said through a tense jaw.
“Don’t you want me to help?” He spoke against the nape of my neck, his fingers scraping up the back of my neck before forming a fist in my hair.
I bit my lip, focusing on the pain pricking my scalp.
“You do, don’t you?” He licked his lips, flashing that split tongue.
“What if I told you I did?”
He raised his brows in surprise.
“On one condition.”
“Which is?”
I wrestled his hands off me, peeling myself from his grip and spinning on my heel to face him. I stepped back, and I held my hand palm outward to signal him to stay.
His brow twitched, confused at what I was doing.
I retreated, one step at a time, toward the light of the conservatory.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The blood from between my legs left small droplets on the tile, following me until my back rested against the cold window.
Silas took a step.
“No!” I shouted.
He flinched, an air of annoyance in his glare.
“Well, aren’t you the one who enjoys savoring things? I am sure you can handle a bit of edging,” I teased. I reached down, lifting my nightgown to expose an ankle, then just above the knee, a slow line of red trailing down my inner thigh.
“Please.” He swallowed. “It’s unwise to keep me hungry for too long.” His voice was low in warning.
“I don’t think you want it bad enough.” I tilted my head. “You’re not even on your knees.”
His jaw ticked, clenching as he processed my request.
Slowly, he lowered himself to one knee, then the other, his neatly starched trousers and shiny dress shoes looking extra nice, scuffing the floor. He sat back on his heels, slowly rolling his shirtsleeves to his elbows, already anticipating my next request.
“You’re a bit far for a taste, Silas.” I pointed to the floor before me. “Come,” I demanded.
He inched toward me, leaning on one hand touching the ground, then the other, forced to ignore each drop of blood as he crawled forward, though his eyes didn’t leave mine as I watched his fill with inky blackness.
When he nearly reached me, I lifted my leg up, resting it on his shoulder. The stream of blood trickled down my calf. He watched it get closer. Before it could even grace his tongue, I pushed down on his shoulder, forcing his chest to the floor.
“If you are so desperate for a taste, you should accept it however it comes,” I hummed, letting the blood drip onto the floor next to his face.
At first, he didn’t move, just processing the position he was in.
“Will you waste it?” I prompted, pressing my heel harder into his shoulder. He shot me a look from the corner of his eye, then he slowly dragged his tongue over the tile, blood smearing in its wake. His eyes closed, accompanied by a groan . . . a whimper, if you will.
“Good boy,” I whispered, and that is when he grabbed my ankle. “Let go!”
“That’s enough. My turn,” he bit out, standing on his knees and throwing my leg over his shoulder. His hands smoothed up my thigh as he placed his chin on my pelvis and looked up at me. A wicked gleam lit his eyes. “Lift your gown for me, dear.”
With shaky hands, I gripped the gown, pulling it up and bunching it at my sternum.
He held my hip as he supported my leg, kissing over my pelvic bone before going lower, leaving a warm trail of his lips over my stomach, then a kiss on my thigh.
He placed my clitoris between his teeth and sucked gently, flicking his tongue over it as he savored me.
I moaned gently, slanting my hips forward, a plea for more.
His tongue flattened over the skin between my thighs. There was no doubt I was wet on my own without the help of his tongue.
Why was he pausing?
“You made quite a mess,” he said, as if scolding me, and glanced up at me through his lashes, “and you’ve made me quite impatient. We have to fix that.”
“What happened to—” I jolted when his tongue laved between my legs, small, wet sounds making my face unbearably hot.
One of his hands smoothed up my thigh, and his tongue pressed past the slick opening of my vagina, dipping in and out. The smudges of blood were just within reach now, his breath tickling as he exhaled. A clicking followed.
I leaned more of my weight on the window, the frost from outside countering how hot my body was. I tipped my head back, resting against the cold glass. I was hot despite the weather, but the cool air coming from the window helped the heat subside.
His nails dug into my hips as he licked and sucked at the fresh morning blood. I could feel his eyes on me, his hyper awareness of everything I did, every sound I made, every time my body twitched under his touch.
His tongue dipped in and out, taking time to give attention to my clit, the entire area becoming wet from blood and spit, his split tongue twisting and playing in the ways he remembered would get a reaction out of me.
I couldn’t make myself look. I clenched my eyes shut, my grip white-knuckled on my gown, but it did little to distract me from what he was doing.
“S-stop . . . stop it,” I breathed, but it only made his mouth press firmer against the warm source.
He slicked his tongue inside. The feeling made me jump, as I had forgotten he had a tongue like some snake. He used the two split ends of his tongue to press against the inner walls as he moved in and out, going deeper every time.
“Deeper,” I begged, throwing my head back, my hips pushing needily against his mouth.
He responded with a sort of growl, reaching deeper inside me and pushing his tongue up, then he would make it move in a gentle rhythm, faster and rougher as he worked up to it. His hand on my thigh slid up to my abdomen, pressing down, the pressure more intense than before.
“Ah—!” I yelped, blood rushing to my cheeks.
I wanted to say something, but I could not find the will or the words, and I settled on closing my eyes as I was absorbed in the quickly approaching tension, the slow throbbing becoming quicker and quicker until I had my release.
My abdomen tensed, and my insides throbbed like they were trying to spell something in Morse code.
Silas removed his tongue and flattened it along the outside, relishing in the afterglow. Little did he know, I was not finished yet.
My leg slipped off his shoulder, and I forced him back, lowering myself onto his lap and hastily grabbing at his trousers.
“I need it inside me, now,” I panted.
He did not argue, but my demand made him move quicker to open his pants.
I positioned myself above his cock, but I found myself hesitating in a terse moment of clarity. Then I realized, I didn’t want clarity. I didn’t want to be sharp or have my wits about me. I wanted to be drunk, I wanted to indulge, to do what felt good.