4. Malachi
MALACHI
Cain says he doesn’t want to go back to the party, and I agree. It fucking sucked, and we were only there so Roman could get back the cross the Vipers had stolen from him.
I hate people getting wasted and college parties—the sort of stuff that most guys my age love.
I don’t mind the occasional beer in the college bar, but mostly I prefer my own company, or that of the other Preachers.
Most people my age are idiots. Look at Kirill and the way he was dancing and preening.
Or Saint with his flashy clothes. It’s all about what’s on the outside.
I’m way more interested in what’s on the inside.
If I wasn’t destined for a life of crime, literally not figuratively, I’d have loved to study psychology. What makes people tick endlessly fascinates me. Mostly because what makes them tick is dumb as fuck.
“Maybe Roman can make an incantation to try to open your friend’s heart into talking to you,” I suggest to Cain.
Cain shrugs off the suggestion. “I’m too fucking tired to do anything right now. I need to think. I’ll see you guys tomorrow, yeah?”
He walks off toward the building, and I frown at his retreating back. I hope he’s okay. Not much affects Cain, and I’ve never seen him react to another person the way he has to that girl.
Then again, the girl was drop-dead beautiful. I might have not seen her for long, but she was gorgeous. Ethereal, delicate, and her weird white dress did nothing to hide her hard nipples as she ran past us.
I’d stared at them for a moment, I admit.
Her hair caught my attention the most, though.
It’s long, thick, straight, and it shone like gossamer.
From her pale coloring, I assume the white-blonde of her hair is natural.
I picture myself raking my fingers through the silky strands and knotting it around my fist, then burying my face in it and inhaling the scent of her shampoo.
Roman turns to me, snagging my thoughts away from perky nipples and scented hair.
“I guess I’ll head to my room, too,” he says. “I’ve got a paper to write for mid-week, and I’ve not even started yet.”
He rarely attends classes, but he still puts in the minimum amount of work to avoid being thrown out of the college.
I nod and shrug. “Yeah, I could do with catching up on some work.”
It’s a partial lie. I do need to work, but I’m in no mood to right now. Tonight, I want to go lie on my bed with my eyes closed and picture the girl running away from us, her nipples hard beneath her dress.
“See you tomorrow.”
Roman jerks his head at me as he peels off to the right. We’re in the same wing, but his dorm room is on the opposite side of mine.
I get back to my room and throw myself onto my back on the bed.
The way that girl has made me feel is making my skin itch.
I’m not like Roman, who is practically a monk, but I don’t screw around.
I don’t treat women as nothing more than holes to fuck.
They’re important people with souls the same way men are.
And they are to be worshipped, not denigrated, so why did seeing that slight girl running away from me make me want to do filthy things to her?
It’s her hair. I have such a thing about hair, and hers is the sexiest I’ve ever seen.
If Roman could hear my thoughts, he’d tell me to pray to Baldr for forgiveness and ask for renewed purity.
I figure an ice-cold shower will probably do the job better.
Otherwise, there is no way my cock will behave.
Even as I stand under the icy water, I picture her, that strange, otherworldly girl in her long but thin dress.
I put my head under the water and let the cold wash the thoughts of her on her knees for me from my mind.
It doesn’t work, and the thought of her kneeling in front of me on the forest floor, those big eyes staring up at me, has me harder than ever.
What the fuck? Why am I reacting this way?
I think of her hair. I’d love to run my fingers through it; I bet it feels like silk. Then I’d wrap it around my fist and hold her, trapped. Has she ever tasted cock before?
“By the gods,” I groan. Hating myself, knowing this goes against the kind of strength I’ve been trying to achieve, the ability to withstand temptation that Roman always talks about, I slide my hand down my stomach.
I reach my cock and hiss at the sensation of my touch. I’m already leaking at the tip. I don’t know why I assume the girl is a virgin, but I’d bet money she is. She was wearing such strange clothes, and no makeup. She looked like she came from another time.
Cain knew her. Would he be pissed if I took a taste? Maybe just a chance to get a scent of her hair.
Does she have dark thoughts, too? Fantasies and things she won’t admit to?
Something about the way she’d taken one look at the three of us and fled has me feeling things I’ve never experienced before. The desire to chase, to hunt.
When I catch my delectable prey, I’ll devour her.
I imagine her naked under me, thoughts flitting fast through my mind.
She’s no longer on her knees, but on her back, on the mossy ground.
I lift her dress, smoothing the material over her slender thighs.
In my fantasy, no panties stand in the way of what I want.
Instead, she’s laid bare, her most secret place exposed, just for me.
I would push her thighs apart, and maybe she’d make a small sound of protest and try to keep them together, but I’d be stronger.
And as I pushed them apart, she’d moan, just a little.
Oh, fuck. I tighten my grip and work myself harder.
What does her pussy look like? Does she shave, or has she got the same almost white-blonde hair there, too?
I find myself hoping she has. Her hair is so amazing, I’d love to see it covering her slit as well.
My cock is painful as I run my hand up the length of it, the veins standing out starkly against the skin.
My cock throbs as if it needs to release the buildup. It has been a while, and I think this won’t take long. I’m on the edge of exploding. My spine tingles and my balls feel heavy as if they’re desperate to eject their load.
I reach down with my other hand and cup them, then I twist them just once, sharply, inhaling at the delicious shot of pain.
Would she like a bit of pain? That strange, ethereal girl. Would she welcome it the way I sometimes do? A sting of exquisite agony to help with the pleasure?
I doubt she’d like anything hardcore, but maybe spanking? Just something light. Her over my knee.
My fantasy changes again. This time she’s over my knee, ass in the air as I smooth my palm over her soft, creamy flesh. Then I bring it down sharply on her behind. In my imagination, she squirms and wriggles on my lap, pressing her pussy against my thighs, trying to get relief.
Bad girls shouldn’t do that, so I’d smack her again and again for it. Maybe she’d be crying, too, so prettily for me. Her pale skin would redden beautifully in ways I can imagine all too easily.
Damn. My cock is fucking pulsing as I stroke it. The head is a dark red, and my thigh muscles bunch and relax as I work toward what I need.
I’m committing so many fucking wrongs right now, but it feels so right.
My balls tighten and draw close to my body, my thighs tense, and I curse as cum shoots up my cock before spraying out against the shower tiles.
I come for what seems like forever, waves of intense pleasure washing over me, until I fall forward, one palm against the tiles. My chest heaves, my head lowered.
When I come to my senses, I laugh softly to myself. What the fuck was that?
I tell myself it’s fine. One indiscretion isn’t an issue.
Now I’ve gotten rid of the tension, I can think more clearly.
It’s really Roman’s thing—this not jerking off stuff.
He believes it preserves our masculine energy to be chaste not only with women, but even with ourselves.
He says it makes us stronger and more focused.
I do try, but fuck me, some days I just need to take the edge off.
My mind flicks back to Ophelia, and I’m dismayed when it seems I’m still just as interested in her hair, her perky tits, and her pointed nipples.
Damn, I might be in more trouble than I thought.