28. Karia
Karia
Idon’t watch more than a heartbeat as Cosmo pushes away from the doorframe and ducks beyond the gauzy curtains.
My eyes come to Sullen’s.
He’s staring at me as he flicks the edge of the bandage free from my throat.
I bite back my wince even as it stings, the way he slowly rips it off, almost as if he is savoring each moment that it drags and pricks.
His dark gaze watches me intently, searching for my discomfort, and I can’t stop clenching my jaw as he continues pulling, goosebumps and heat rising along my skin.
It hurts even as cool air rushes in from my exposed flesh, but I don’t want him to stop anything he’s doing.
I want him to do worse. More. Everything.
I lean into him instead of flinching away, our noses nearly touching as he tugs the last scrap of sticky fabric free.
My pulse beats in my throat where I was cut, my skin raw from the torturous way he undid all the gentleness in which he took care of me in the aftermath of having a knife held to my pulse point.
His grip around my wrist tightens but still, he makes no move to touch me elsewhere, despite the fact I am aching for him. After what I did in his room, what I said to Cosmo, how I have chosen him at every turn, I deserve to get fucked.
I slide my hand up his arm, along the corded muscles of his shoulders, broad beneath my fingers. I curve my hand over the back of his neck, along his bandana, my thumb brushing the sliver of skin between his hairline and his covering.
His eyes drop from mine as he pulls back an inch, and I watch as he holds up the wide bandage he pulled off, cream-colored on one side, but my darkened blood dots the white of the other.
It’s this he is focused on.
My pulse leaps to my throat, causing the pounding there at my wound to escalate, quicken. I imagine this is how a rabbit feels trapped in the gaze of a fox, despite the fact he is not looking at me.
Then, slowly, very deliberate in every motion, he lifts the dirty wrapping to his mouth as his gaze flicks to mine, locking hold much like my breath trapped inside my lungs.
He flicks his tongue out to the blood-stained fabric, tasting me.
His eyes flutter closed, chin lifting as his nostrils flare, like my blood is divinity.
My face is hotter than ever, my body temperature rising. I feel embarrassed and I’m not sure why, but I want to turn and duck my head.
I don’t move.
I force myself to watch as he looks at me once more, pupils dilated.
And he places the bandage in his mouth.
He keeps his lips parted as he bites down on it with his back teeth, never looking away from me.
I swallow tightly, feel the skin along my throat sting, but there’s another sensation in my body, too. Like I am buzzing. Floating. Flying.
I know he can feel my heartbeat racing from his grip on my wrist, blood pounding through my veins at a dangerous speed.
He smiles as he chews, his cheekbones lifting, eyes gleaming and glowing deep violet from the light of the room. He doesn’t speak, and I don’t move, my mind racing, but I can think of nothing to say or do.
He continues eating the blood, the bandage, the thing of mine that isn’t quite me.
Perhaps this is a baby step. A slow crawl to what he really wants to eat.
I bite my bottom lip the moment he swallows, hard, his eyes closing for a moment as he does, as if it’s a lot to get down.
“I am a lot.” The words come out unbidden. I want to snatch them back because he won’t know what I was thinking, how that sentence fits inside my head. He just ate a blood-soaked bandage and for that I feel I should give him something more than what I said but—
His fingers come to the back of my neck, tangling through my hair and pressing to my skull as he drags me closer. My breasts are pressed against his chest, our heartbeats echoing one another.
My nose is close to his own, his mouth brushes mine and I feel as if I’m spinning when he says, “And I am a liar.” He runs his lips against mine and I am trembling in his lap as he holds me by the back of my throat and the circumference of my wrist.
I have never wanted anyone this much.
I only have room inside my head for him.
But I don’t know what he lied about. I don’t know what he means.
Then he bites my bottom lip. His canine digs into my flesh, splitting the skin after a glorious moment of pressure until I give way for him, bleeding into his mouth as he closes his eyes, savoring the taste of me.
“I told him I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you,” he whispers, speaking against my mouth, the taste of pennies tangy on my tongue as I try to remember I need to breathe or I might pass out. His eyes snap open, dark and gold and violet nearly swallowing me whole. “But I’m going to.”
Before I can respond, he is shifting his hips, his hands, holding me as he stands the moment before he sinks to his knees on the plush carpet. I wrap my legs around him, my arms, too, and he comes in again to kiss me, and this time, I don’t just let him bite.
I sink my teeth into his plush bottom lip as his breath catches, his body trembling as he sits on his calves and holds me in this close embrace. I dig deep with my front teeth, worried I am hurting him, but wanting to all the same.
I bite back, Sullen Rule.
And the moment I taste his blood, I laugh. Wicked, loud, obnoxious, bursting through the quiet of the purple-gilded room.
A slow tug of amusement pulls on his lips, then he is pushing me back, both of us going to the floor, the fresco ceiling arching over our heads like heaven, but I know that’s not true.
What’s divine is this between us. His body over mine, his fingers now on my face, the way he brushes his swollen, bleeding bottom lip on my top one, tempting me, tasting me.
And then we are truly kissing.
My knees fall to the side to accommodate his bigger body, pressing me flat to the rug, the wooden slates beneath it hard under my spine but I don’t care.
Not when my fingers are tangled in the thickness of his hair and his mouth is frantically exploring my own.
Rushing, never stopping. He opens and closes, devours me, leaving me breathless as I try to keep up.
I am more experienced, I should know what I am doing, but with the wine in my head and his closeness and the fresh scent of him like a graveyard after it rains under a full moon, the dizziness in my brain, traveling to my limbs, this is like nothing I have ever done.
He doesn’t stop kissing me, his tongue cool, his teeth pricking along my lips. It stings, it hurts, it is heaven.
His hands are everywhere now, sliding down my throat, lower still until he slips them under my shirt, his gloved fingers tracing up my ribcage, causing my muscles to jump.
I am not wearing a bra and he grabs my breasts, squeezing hard.
I tense but I don’t want him to stop and so I tighten my legs around his hips, pulling him closer.
He groans into my mouth, then he bites me again, causing me to wince.
His eyes flash open when I gasp, but he doesn’t stop kissing or touching.
Desire is thick in my veins, and I can feel how much he wants more too, at least physically. But when he dips his head to kiss along my jawline, then lower, over my neck, my throat, I prepare myself for him to stop at any moment.
His teeth drag against my wound and I arch my back, melding my body into the hardness of his.
He licks where he bit me, cooling the sting. Then he drags his tongue down between my breasts, over my sternum, ribcage, the line down my stomach before his teeth clamp around the fabric of my shirt. He is shoving it up with his mouth, so his hands never leave my breasts.
He exposes me from the waist up, cold air licking my body, causing my nipples to sharpen into tight points.
He sits back between my thighs, my feet hitting the floor, knees falling to the sides to accommodate him as he stares at my breasts, his hands cupping underneath them, pushing them up, his thumbs brushing over my nipples.
I whimper at the touch, reaching for him and grazing only his thighs although I desperately want to explore higher.
He lifts his gaze to mine, his chest rising and falling so fast, his lips swollen, blood at the corner of his mouth in a haphazard smear.
But there is something hesitant in his eyes.
A guarded look locking up his features, as if he has just now realized what we’re doing, where it might lead, what comes next.
“Sullen.” Please don’t stop.
He stares at me, his fingers pinching my nipples, tugging softly, but he isn’t watching what he’s doing.
Then he’s not looking at me at all.
His eyes flicker to the left, over my shoulder, toward the couch I was sitting on.
Without a word, he releases me, then leans over my body, momentarily obstructing my view as I catch his scent, delicious and heady, his arm outstretched for something.
I don’t realize what it is until he’s back between my thighs, and he is placing the wine glass around my nipple, upside down.
My mouth goes dry.
The circumference of the cup isn’t enough to contain me completely. Still, when I lower my wide-eyed gaze to the coldness of the glass rim around me, I see my hard, pink nipple trapped inside the glass. A bead of red wine rolls down the inside of it before slowly spilling onto my skin.
My chest heaves, causing the glass he holds by the stem between gloved fingers to rise and fall heavily, my stomach muscles contracting as he places a palm there, pressing down.
I remember when he did the same underneath the hotel.
My gaze lifts to his and I don’t remember doing it, but I realize as he stares at me that my arms are stretched over my head along the rug. It is as if I am surrendering willingly to whatever experiment he has in mind.