CHAPTER 34 THE KING OF THE GHOSTS POV THAYER #2
She doesn't ask. She doesn't hesitate. She parts her knees, entirely framing my broad shoulders with her thighs, completely offering herself to me in the silver moonlight.
"Come here," she commands softly.
The complete inversion of power—the Donna commanding the Don—is a psychological narcotic that instantly completely hardens the heavy ridge of my arousal beneath my linen trousers.
I do not stand up. I remain on my knees. I lean forward, completely burying my face in the soft, sweet valley between her breasts. I inhale deeply, entirely filling my lungs with the scent of her skin.
"You are so fucking beautiful," I praise, my voice a muffled, dark vibration against her chest. "You are the mother of my empire."
I drag my mouth downward. I leave hot, open-mouthed, wet kisses over her ribs, entirely tracing the path to her swollen stomach. I press my lips directly over her womb, completely worshipping the vessel that holds my bloodline.
Sybil’s head tosses back against the pillows, a sharp, breathless moan escaping her lips as my hands slide up the backs of her thighs.
I grip her hips with my large hands, my thumbs pressing heavily into the soft flesh, completely anchoring her to the edge of the mattress. I slide my face lower, the heat of my breath entirely washing over the slick, swollen center of her body.
She is completely soaked for me, a heavy, transparent nectar entirely weeping from her core, betraying her desperate, aching need.
"Thayer," she whimpers, her fingers curling violently into the sheets, her internal muscles completely clenching in anticipation.
I do not offer her a fast, aggressive claiming. The time for desperate survival sex is entirely over. This is a religious ceremony. This is the complete, meticulous worship of the queen who rules my ashes.
I open my mouth and entirely consume her.
My tongue sweeps out, a broad, heavy, relentless stroke that completely coats her sensitive flesh. I taste the dark, intoxicating musk of her arousal mixed with the faint, salty tang of the ocean breeze.
A high, piercing cry entirely tears from her throat, echoing loudly through the massive, empty villa.
I find the hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves hidden beneath her hood.
I draw it entirely inside my mouth, applying a heavy, agonizing suction.
I use my tongue to flick relentlessly against the swollen peak, establishing a slow, driving, completely punishing rhythm designed to completely unravel her nervous system.
Sybil entirely loses her mind.
Her hands release the sheets, flying down to tangle violently in my hair. Her thighs clamp tightly against the sides of my head, entirely trapping me exactly where I want to be.
"Good girl," I praise against her wet skin, the dark vibration of my voice sending shockwaves directly into her core. "Give it to me, Sybil. Completely let go."
I slide two thick fingers deep inside her tight, scalding velvet, completely stretching her.
I am incredibly mindful of the life growing inside her, adjusting the angle of my penetration, keeping the intrusion shallow but entirely devastating.
I curl my fingers upward, repeatedly striking the heavy, sensitive ridge along her anterior wall while my mouth continues its relentless assault on her clitoris.
She cannot breathe. Her chest heaves with violent, jagged gasps, her skin flushing a deep, mottled crimson in the moonlight. She is completely entirely at my mercy, suspended in a blinding, white-hot purgatory of absolute pleasure.
"Thayer, please!" she screams, her voice cracking, completely shedding any remnant of her former restraint.
"Shatter for me," I demand, my thumb pressing heavily against her opening, completely amplifying the sensory overload.
The climax hits her with the catastrophic force of a hurricane.
Her entire body locks into a state of rigid, trembling paralysis. Her internal muscles spasm violently, repeatedly crushing my fingers in tight, scalding waves. A long, fractured, beautiful wail entirely escapes her lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated release that I swallow entirely.
I do not stop. I force her to ride out every single, agonizing aftershock of the orgasm, my tongue relentlessly working her hypersensitive nerves until she is completely weeping, her hands weakly pushing against my shoulders.
When she finally goes completely limp on the mattress, entirely devoid of energy, I slowly withdraw my fingers.
I drag my tongue up the center of her stomach, leaving a wet trail of absolute devotion over her womb, before pulling myself up.
I stand at the edge of the bed. I reach for the drawstring of my dark linen trousers, pulling them loose. I step out of them, leaving me entirely naked in the moonlight. I am massive, heavily scarred, and completely rigid with an obsessive, dark lust.
I climb onto the bed.
I do not cage her beneath my heavy frame. I lie down on my uninjured right side, pulling her completely into my arms. I arrange her so her back is entirely flush against my chest, my body spooning hers.
"Lift your leg," I murmur, my voice a dark, lethal hum against her ear.
She obeys, entirely trusting me. She lifts her top leg, completely opening herself to me from behind.
I position myself at her slick, swollen entrance. I wrap my left arm securely around her waist, my large hand resting protectively over her pregnant stomach. I pull her hips backward against my pelvis, burying myself entirely inside her with one slow, agonizingly deliberate thrust.
A sharp, breathy gasp entirely tears from her throat as my internal walls completely clamp down around my thick length. The angle is incredibly deep, entirely intimate, completely bypassing the barriers of the world.
"You are so fucking full of me," I growl, my teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her neck, leaving a dark, wet bite mark over her pulse point.
"Always," she sobs, her hand coming up to cover mine where it rests on her stomach, completely locking our fingers together over our child.
I begin to move.
The rhythm is slow, heavy, and completely mesmerizing. I pull back almost entirely before driving my hips forward, completely seating myself against her core. The heavy, wet slap of our bodies colliding is a hypnotic drumbeat in the quiet room.
I completely control her. I dictate the pace, forcing her to endure the slow, agonizing friction. Every thrust is a physical vow of absolute protection. Every withdrawal is a deliberate torture.
"Tell me," I demand, my hips driving deep, completely grinding against her sensitive center. "Tell me exactly who you belong to."
"You," she whimpers, her head falling back against my shoulder. "I belong to the monster."
"And who do I belong to?" I challenge, entirely increasing the heavy, driving pace of my thrusts, completely pushing her back toward the edge.
"Me," she gasps, a fierce, undeniable pride completely bleeding into her voice. "You are mine, Thayer. You are my king."
The absolute, unadulterated validation of her words entirely severs the last thread of my iron-clad control.
I stop holding back. I ride her with a feral, aggressive intensity, completely branding my existence into her nerve endings. She meets every devastating thrust, her hips bucking backward against me, her internal muscles milking my heavy length in tight, scalding waves.
The climax hits us simultaneously.
My vision completely whites out. I roar her name, a dark, primal sound of absolute victory, as my body entirely locks rigidly against hers. I pour my heavy, hot release deeply into her core, completely sealing the legacy of the Thorne Syndicate once again.
She shatters in my arms, screaming my name, completely losing control as the second orgasm rips entirely through her nervous system.
We collapse against the mattress, entirely tangled in the white linens.
My chest heaves violently against her back, my breathing a ragged, jagged sound in the silence.
I do not pull out of her. I remain entirely buried inside her, my hand completely locked over her stomach, refusing to sever the connection.
The tropical breeze washes over our sweat-slicked bodies, entirely cooling the immense heat of our consummation.
"They are never going to find us, are they?" Sybil whispers, her voice heavy with sleep, entirely devoid of fear.
I look out the open glass wall, my pale gray eyes scanning the dark, endless horizon of the Atlantic Ocean. The Black Book is locked in the vault. The offshore accounts are completely secure. The federal government is entirely paralyzed by the threat of their own destruction.
We are not hiding. We are ruling from the shadows. We are the architects of our own untouchable universe.
"No," I murmur, burying my face in the dark, heavy silk of her hair, my lips pressing a lingering kiss to the nape of her neck. "We are entirely off the map, little bird. We are the ghosts that haunt their nightmares."
She sighs, completely entirely surrendering to the deep, heavy exhaustion of the night. Her breathing evens out, her body going completely limp against mine.
I hold the Queen of the Syndicate in the dark. I feel the tiny, microscopic flutter of my heir beneath my palm.
I am a murderer. I am a sociopath. I am the devil of Chicago.
And as I pull the sheets over my family, completely insulating them from the world, I realize I have absolutely no regrets.
The ashes were entirely worth the crown.