The Weight of Darkness

45. Remy

Claire looks almost smug as she sits across from me with her forearm resting against the armrest as Garcia rubs a wet alcohol pad over her skin. I hold her gaze, refusing to back down even as she winces at the first poke of the needle. Garcia mutters something under his breath, tilts his head, and then shakes it. “Missed.” He says, almost apologetically.

Claire attempts a smile, but it turns to a wince when he pokes her again without finding his mark. “Stubborn veins.” He says, as if that’s an excuse.

I hate everything about this—most of all that it’s being dragged out by his inability to do a preliminary part of his job. I’d think human veins are easier to find, and yet he’s groping around with the needle like a blind man looking for his girlfriend’s clit.

“If you miss again, I’ll stab that needle through your fucking eye.” I snap.

“Remy!” Claire gasps, eyes round with shock and those pink lips parted.

Whether for fear of being stabbed or because he finally pushes his glasses up his nose to see, Garcia gets the needle in on the third try and sets about making little adjustments to the system he’s set up. I think he’s avoiding my gaze, but Claire certainly isn’t. She’s staring at me, contemplating my threat, and probably wondering if I can make good on a promise like that. My sweet little lamb has no idea just how depraved I am—I’ve held it back for her. But the way she looks at me makes me think she wants it all. And she deserves it.

I’ve never wanted to choke someone as much as I want to wrap my hands around her slender little throat right now. I’m doing a good job of reigning it in, but I’m seething. And it doesn’t let up—not when she winces at the prick of the needle, not when her blood starts to fill the tube, and not when I push the doctor to the side and tell him, “That’s enough”.

I know a thing or two about blood loss, and I don’t care how much blood Wes needs. Claire’s too small to give as much as the doctor is taking.

He doesn’t fight me as he stems the flow of blood, drawing the needle out of her vein, which is a stark blue against her fair skin. He presses a cotton ball to the puncture, tapes it off, and turns promptly to Wes, who could be dead for all I can tell. He’s not hooked up to any monitors, but there’s a gentle rise and fall of his chest as I move toward Claire.

She stands too quickly, losing her balance and reaching out into thin air for something to catch her fall. I catch her against my side, and she winces as the tender spot on her arm brushes against my back. Garcia called her veins stubborn—fitting since everything about her seems to be stubborn. “Call me,” I command, moving toward the door with Claire pressed against my chest.

“I can walk.” Claire says. “And we should stay until he wakes up.”

“Not a fucking chance.” I snatch her around the waist and transfer her weight over my shoulder just to prove my point.

“Remy!” She hisses. “Put me down!”

“I’m not having you faint on me. I’ll put you down when we get back on the boat.”

Her protests are drowned out by the howls of the animals as we walk back through the hallway and exit into the late afternoon. The sky is darker now, just like my mood, but I don’t care. We’re due for a storm, but I’m not watching her fawn over my brother another minute. I’ve got to get out of here before I kill Wes myself for being someone she’d give anything to. I don’t understand how she can after all that he nearly took from her, but I don’t think that’s what bothers me most. What I hate most is that she looks at him like a wounded puppy, like she can fix him.

Claire’s given up on fighting, swaying against me with every step until I carry her over the threshold of the boat and into the cabin. “You can put me down now.” She snaps, clearly annoyed with me.

But I’m more than annoyed. I’m furious with her.

I don’t put her down. I carry her past the fucking crime scene that my kitchen has become and to the small bedroom at the back. There’s a trail of blood leading to the bathroom, but I’m glad he at least had the decency to not ruin my mattress. Most everything else can be cleaned, though I may have to buy new cushions for the seats.

I throw Claire down onto the perfectly made bed with a little more force than necessary. “Stay.”

It’s all I can manage without losing my patience entirely, and I’d rather not do that with her. But Claire has tested me from the first moment I saw her. It took everything in me not to take her that night, not to throw her against that dresser and see just how innocent she really was. I held back because of my sister, because I wanted to keep her insulated from this sordid lifestyle that I inherited, but it took so much out of me to control myself. And I got good at controlling myself, made it look like it was something I did as a habit.

But Rhea knows everything, and Claire is fucking with my head, and I’m done playing nice.

“I’m not a dog.” Claire growls, sounding very much feral. There’s anger in her voice, but beneath it is a hint of delicious indignation.

I know better than to take the bait, but my brain doesn’t have any say as I spin back to face her. “Oh? Could have fooled me.”

She’s scrambled up from where I tossed her on her back to sitting on her knees, likely in an attempt to not look so vulnerable. Her eyes are angry, her energy matching mine. She wants to fight as much as I do. “Which means what?”

“Meaning you were fawning over my brother like a bitch in heat.” I sneer, relishing the way her eyes go wide at the insult.

“I wasn’t fawning over him!”

“Could have fooled me.” As much as I want the fight, I also want to put distance between us so that I can think without her occupying my every thought, breathe without her in every breath. My hand is on the doorknob, my mind made up to go, but she draws me back like a fish on a line. She’s got her hooks in me so deep she could gut me, and I’d ask her for more. Everything about her is trouble, and I need to put a definite end to anything and everything between us for her sake and mine. I don’t know what we have, but it’s toxic. I’ve never known anyone to bring these feelings out of me, to make me jealous by simply being in the presence of another man, to make me want to hurt her as much as I want to fuck her.

“If I’m a bitch in heat, what are you? You act like you’re too good for me, then pull me in just to push me away. You kiss me, and then you accuse me of murder. You fuck me, and then you practically beg for my attention. You kill with me and then tell me we’ll never amount to anything! Shes practically yelling, her chest heaving with her anger. You tell me we only have one night, and you take every second of that night, and then you get jealous when I exist in the same room as your brother! This isn’t about me, Remy. It’s about you and your mommy issues.”

That comment sears into my skin, but I cover it with a laugh as I turn back to face her. “Mommy and daddy issues, Claire. Just like you.”

My rebuttal doesn’t bother her. She doesn’t even flinch, her cool stare burning through me. “So, we’re both fucked up.”

“You make me this way.” I argue. Maybe it’s not fair to put that on her, but I was doing just fine before she came along, mommy issues and all. “You bring it out of me.”

“So, take it out on me.”

She says it so calmly that she could be telling me to change the paint color on my walls. Despite the coolness of her words, her eyes are on fire, branding me with her gaze. I know what she’s suggesting, and my blood is already so hot from the rage filling it that I don’t stand a chance of telling her no. I close the space between us in a few short steps and pin her to the mattress with my hand on her neck. Her breath escapes her as she falls onto her back, staring up at me with those bright eyes. They don’t show a flicker of fear. She trusts me—craves my chaos, needs my anger. I don’t know what it says about us that we both get more from this depraved exchange than simple pleasure, but I don’t fucking care. I don’t care about anything right now.

“A bitch in heat needs a collar,” I tell her, stroking my thumb over the delicate column of her throat. I’m not squeezing, not applying any pressure. The suggestion is all I need right now. Claire’s eyes are blazing with desire, the heat between us approaching a flash point. We’re fire and gasoline, rage and chaos. All of our soft sides are gone—the pure, the genuine, the innocent. It’s all been stripped away by our passion, leaving only wicked desire in its wake. I’m drunk on the power she’s giving me, addicted to the rush brought on by her existence.

I want her to keep fighting me, but a moan slips out of her throat instead. And my cock constricts, along with everything inside of me. I think of ripping her shorts down to her ankles and filling her so fast that she screams at the intrusion. But she’s a flame, and I’m a moth. I’ll burn myself trying to get to her, so I just shake my head. The more I fuck her, the less I want to do anything else.

I move off of her, every part of me tense enough I’m surprised I don’t just shatter when she laughs. “That’s it?”

I pause, my knees still on either side of her hips. “What?”

“I didn’t take you for the kind to tap out.” She laughs, her breasts bouncing in her tank top.

“I’m not tapping out.”

“Are you scared of me Remy?”

No. I’m not scared of this little angelic girl with a dark side that she hasn’t even begun to explore the depths of. I am scared of what she does to me, what she brings out of me. When I don’t answer, she laughs again. “Pussy.”

It takes me a moment to register that she really just said that, and by that point, I don’t give a fuck about anything beyond this moment. I squeeze the sides of her neck, applying just enough pressure to remind her that she’s trying to pick a fight with a fucking killer. But Claire only arches off the bed, her hips searching for me. “So brave,” I whisper, licking my lips as my mind runs through all the different things that I could do to show her that she’s playing with fire. “So stupid.”

“So.. angry.” She gasps, her breath coming in pants despite the fact I’m not squeezing hard enough to choke off her air supply.

“You like me angry?” I snarl, slipping a finger into the waistband of her shorts and sliding it around, pulling the fabric off of her, testing it. She opens her mouth to give me an answer, but I don’t let her say whatever it is. I move my other hand off her neck, slipping my fingers through the loops of her pants and jerking them off of her in a single motion. I’m not delicate. The fabric chafes against her skin as I rip them over her knees, tossing them out of my way.

Her black bikini doesn’t betray how wet I’m willing to bet she is, but I don’t need it to. All it takes is a tug on one string, then the other, and she’s exposed to me. Even as she tries to press her thighs together, I see that she’s glistening. My little vixen gets off on the anger, and that’s fine with me because I’m so frustrated with her that my choices are only to fuck her within an inch of her life or kill her.

This way is a lot more fun.

“You look a little wet.” I tell her, relishing the scarlet that blooms immediately on her cheeks, spreading across her chest, just above those gorgeous tits she’s hiding from me. I remedy that by gripping the neckline in my hands and tearing. She gasps in shock as it shreds down the middle, and then I cover her body with mine and tug on the knot behind her top, too.

When she spills out of the top, I think my cock is going to burst through my pants, but I force myself to wait as I climb on top of her, taking her wrist in one hand and threading the strings of her own bikini around them, securing her to the headboard with her arms raised, immobilized. The rise and fall of her chest betrays the brave face she’s trying to put on.

“Scared?” I taunt.

“No.” Her answer is immediate… too quick. I laugh, unbuckling my belt and wrenching it free in a single motion.

“I think you’re lying.” I croon, watching her chest rise a little faster as I crawl up her body, surveying every inch of what is displayed before me. The mostly healed cut on her chest is the only betrayal that not even two weeks ago, she was stolen from me and sold off like secondhand art. I hate that fucking scar, so I flip my eyes to hers.

I’m right in front of her, close enough to reach out and take what I want.

“Do you want me to be scared?” She challenges. Her bright eyes betray a hint of what she’s denying, but mostly they burn with anger and desire.

Yes.

And no.

I want her to run from me and never look back. I want her to have the good sense to realize that I won’t give her anything… all I can do is take. And I will take more than she should give. I will ruin her. But I’m scared too, of how much I want to ruin her. I’ve never been one to hurt people for fun, but I am so addicted to our toxic game of push and pull, so addicted to her, that I feel myself pushing boundaries I never even realized I set.

This isn’t me.

“I want you to have the sense not to help those who would hurt you. You fucking gave him your blood. And he would have taken every drop of yours if his daddy hadn’t had his own plans for you.”

“You like talking about him when your cock is pressing into my stomach?” She asks, her breath hitching as if she can’t believe she asked that. As if I needed another reminder that she’s woefully unprepared for the world she’s found herself in. She can’t even say dirty words without blushing, and I fucking love it.

“No.” I tell her honestly. “Not at all.”

“So, you should probably stop.” She hedges, her voice breathy. “Talking about him, I mean.”

I can’t help myself. I laugh, happy to oblige her. Our conversation is far from over, but right now, I have a more pressing issue at hand.

She treats my laugh like praise, glowing a little as it washes over her. I stand, ripping my shirt over my head and letting it fall to the ground. My pants come next, and my boxers along with them, so that when my cock springs free, she shifts a little in anticipation… or fear. “What do you want?” I ask, watching her eyes rake over me, still a little flushed, her lips parted like she needs just a little extra room to breathe.

“I want you.” Her throat bobs as she contemplates what else she has to say. And then she seems to think better of whatever thoughts are in her head, because she shakes her head. “I mean, I want you to fuck me.”

And who am I to deny her? I spread myself over her again, chuckling as she squirms under me even though her eyes don’t leave mine. She wants this, she’s asking for it, her body is practically begging. I swipe the pad of my thumb along her slit, testing my theory. She’s so wet, so silky smooth, that I groan in anticipation of how it’s going to feel when I push my cock into her. I’m going to go slow, making her desperate for every inch of me. I want her to burn for me.

“You sound so cute using bad words like you’re not the most innocent person I’ve ever met.” I slip a single finger inside her and swirl, enjoying the feel of her warm walls enveloping me, not too quick to pump it in and out of her.

“I’m not that innocent,” she snaps.

I decide to test that claim, slipping my coated thumb from her and gliding lower, pressing firmly on her asshole. I watch her face as I do it, see the way her eyes widen, her lips part like she’s thinking of telling me to stop, and a breath rolls through her, escaping as a moan. I also feel her tense under me, every part of her rigid. Even if she thinks she’s willing to try this, her body is afraid. She is innocent, no matter how much she tries to claim the opposite. “You’ve never been touched here,” I say, my words whispering over her full, pink lips.

Its not a question, but she answers anyway. “No…” Her breath hitches when the pressure increases, waiting to see if I take it further. “But I want to.”

My cock throbs at that admission, an ache that demands soothing. “You want to be touched here?” I ask, rolling my thumb in a slow circle that gently kneads the muscle. “I’m already touching you here.”

“I—” She looks frustrated, her eyes closing as she cants her head back. I’m not sure if she’s searching for patience or the words to finish that thought. “I want more. I want you… inside me.”

I didn’t expect that, but I love the way her cheeks burn. Her skin is so hot under mine, heated with the blood rushing through her veins, the heart that’s hammering beneath me. But her wetness has already dried on my finger, and now the friction of skin on skin is making that request a little hard to come by. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” her eyes fly open, but she drags her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’m sure. Please.” My cock jumps against her soft skin hearing the plea, but I don’t waste another minute. The power she’s giving me over her is too much to deny her.

“Then you’re gonna need to relax, sweetheart.”

She nods, letting go of a slow breath… a measured breath, controlled. She’s not relaxed, but she will be. I grip her thighs and slide between them so quickly that she sits up, confused at the sudden change. I think she’s about to object to my denial, but then my hot breath whispers over her pussy, and her head falls back against the headboard.

She’s so warm, so soft, and so damn sweet that I could do this all night. I’m not here to make a whole meal out of her right now, but I’m also not going to devour her in a single go. I press kisses to her thighs, her ass, her mound, each sigh and shiver she gives me swelling through me. And then I dart my tongue over her clit, working slow circles right over the top of her until her sounds get louder and her moans get closer together. “Remy,” she chokes on my name, on the need. “Please.”

I’d ask her what she means if my mouth wasn’t busy—I pull her into it, her sweet little nub disappearing in my mouth. Claire’s cry is so beautiful it only encourages me to bring her faster to that cliff so that I can join her. I nip her, using the suction to hold her in place while my tongue rolls over the sensitive tip. And she withers, falling apart around me until I release her.

She’s still curling her fingers, trying to grab hold of something even though her orgasm just scattered her to pieces, judging by the crescendo of sounds that came from her. Before she’s even fallen silent, I use the grip I still have on her hips to drag her further down the bed, the delicate strings of her bikini pulling away from the headboard with the force. Probably for the best, because when I roll her onto her knees, at least her hands are free to catch herself.

Dipping into her pussy, I find her slippery and slick, so ready for me to slide in and take her. But it’s only a finger I slide in, dragging her wetness back to her ass and pressing into her with more force than before. She clenches, surprised at the speed and then I hear an exhale as the muscle relaxes.

I sink inside of her up to a knuckle, relishing the warmth, her moan as she squeezes around me and then, seeming to realize it, she relaxes. That’s the easy part, the part that feels good. She has no idea how much further I can go, how much more she can take. And honestly, neither do I. But I’m going to find out. “Rem…”

“You’re in control, Claire. You have to tell me what you want.”

I’m lying. I will follow her directions, but I am exercising an unbelievable amount of control right now, resisting the urge to make her take more, to spread her and stretch her until my cock can slide easily into the space she’s tempting me with.

“More.” She doesn’t even hesitate, and neither do I, sliding in the rest of the way, letting her adjust to the feel for only a second before pulling back. She sucks in a sharp breath on the retreat, but I don’t make her wait long before I’m filling her again with a second finger.

Her moan is choked by pain, but she brings her hips back to meet me. “Is this what you want?”

“Y-yes.”

She doesn’t dare move as I explore her channel, easing through her and back out. “How does it feel?”

“It—” She sighs, “It’s good. I want you…”

I hesitate. “You want me to fuck you here?”

“Please,” I can’t see her face, but her voice is quiet and I’m willing to bet those cheeks are on fire with her embarrassment. She sounds ashamed to be asking for this.

“Don’t be afraid to ask for what you want.” I tell her, leaving the rest of my thoughts unspoken. Because there’s no way I could say no to you. “There are ways to make your first time easier.”

It’s not like I keep toys on hand, but if she wants this, I’ll gladly take her shopping. Or maybe I’ll come to my senses before we make it. Either way, I need to give her the option. “I don’t want easier,” She whimpers. “I want you. Now.”

I should tell her no. It doesn’t seem like a good idea to do something so intimate with a woman I already am going to have a hard time parting ways with. But the same thought runs through my mind from just a few seconds ago. I can’t say no to her, particularly when I want this as bad as she does.

She turns to look at me as I shift off of her, but I make quick work of darting to the bathroom, ignoring my stupid ass half-brother’s blood trails and grabbing the bottle of aloe vera I keep in the bathroom cabinet. As soon as she sees what I have in hand, she eases into the bed, remembering that I told her she’d have to relax.

“Remember that you’re in control.” I’m not sure I can ever remind her of that too much, but I hope if it annoys her, she’ll just tell me to shut up. “If you need me to stop, tell me that. If you need me to go slower, tell me that. Okay?”

Claire makes some unintelligible noise, so I grab a fistful of her blonde hair, pulling her face out of the mattress. “Okay?” I repeat.

“Yes,” she gasps, giving me all I need.

The aloe is cold, but it’s almost soothing on my hot cock; I’ve been burning for her for too long. She jumps a little at the sudden coldness as I coat her hole with the viscous jelly, and then stills just as suddenly as I push three fingers inside, letting them coat the path that I’m about to follow. I don’t want to give her too long to adjust to the feeling, so I slide out as quickly as I went in and line myself up at her entrance. “Breathe.”

She doesn’t need more than that command, letting go of the air she’d been holding hostage as I begin to push into her. My crown spears her, and as I push the tip in, she moans. I focus on going slow, controlling myself. It’s agonizing, but so would be having to stop because the pain is too much.

I should have known better. She’s not weak, not afraid of pain. She asked me last night to hurt her, and she asked for me to do the same thing in a different way by initiating this. Claire doesn’t back down, doesn’t ask me to stop. I watch her nails dig into the comforter, her fingers curling as she takes the pain out on my bedspread. I bring my mouth to her ear, pulling the lobe into my mouth and nipping at it as I slip further.

I can feel her skin dampening with sweat, her hair mussed from where I grabbed it so indelicately. I’ve got a grip on her hips, keeping her in position as I sink inside. When I meet with resistance, she squeezes around me, her body trying to force out the intrusion. “I—I can’—”

“Don’t tell me you can’t,” I tell her. “You can take it. But if you want me to stop—”

“No,” she gasps, shaking her head. “Stop asking.”

I chuckle a little, unable to help myself. “Open up for me, then.”

Realizing she’s too tense, she breathes in and then out, her body relaxing. I take advantage, forcing her to accommodate me. Once I’m past the ring of muscle, I pull her hips back onto me, making her take the rest of me all at once. She gasps out, her head jerking up, her breath a series of tremors. “I—I don’t think I can.”

The hard part isn’t just getting it in. It’s the retreat, the feeling of the body trying to return to normal before it’s time. I give her a minute to adjust to feeling so full, to knowing she’s doing something that some people call filthy, disgusting, sordid. When I hear her get control of her breath, I pull back, almost all the way.

When I thrust back in, she cries out. The sound is so desperate I almost force myself to stop, but then I hear her whimper. “Keep going.”

I do, even as her breath comes in jolts that shake her entire body and her ass squeezes me like she’s gonna choke the life from me. And just before I find a rhythm with my strokes, I reach around to her pussy to find she’s absolutely dripping. The pain is feeding her pleasure, doing exactly what she wants. And I’m only going to take her higher. I slide my fingers to her clit, rubbing a circle over her. “Ohhhh,” Her moan is drawn out with the ecstasy, so that when I pull back this time, she doesn’t tense, doesn’t push me out.

I bury myself in her over and over again, sliding effortlessly in and out until it gets hard to focus on anything other than maintaining the rhythm. “Fuck,” she cries, her breath hitching. I can feel her tightening, fighting the impending orgasm.

“You make the prettiest fucking sounds.” I tell her, wrapping my arm around her waist so that it’s digging into her stomach, keeping her still as I double my pace.

This isn’t the first time she’s come for me, come on me, but it’s the first time she comes so relentlessly. The air is filled with the sound of her screams, whimpers, sobs, and gasps. She rotates between them as the orgasm takes hold of her, pleasure rolling into pain, pain rolling into exhaustion, exhaustion turning to euphoria.

I guess she’s not worried about anyone hearing her out here, because she’s totally thrown caution to the wind. I’m pretty sure they can hear us from the shore, and I vaguely hope that Wes is alive to hear the sounds I’m pulling from her.

We’re both covered in sweat by the time I’m at the edge. She’s limp, her body thoroughly fucked and worn out, her cries and gasps turning to whispers and moans. I’m all that holds her up, and I’ve taken my fingers off her, giving her a chance to rest.

I hit her hard with one last thrust, my balls slapping against her swollen clit, and unleash a groan as I spill into her. My hot seed floods her, and I work to get every last drop into her before easing out.

She collapses the minute I move my arm out from around her, her arms shaking, and her body spent. Her hair falls in a tangled mess over one shoulder. I don’t even stop to think about what I’m doing when I press my lips to the top of her spine, watching her entire body shudder with my kiss.

She doesn’t move when I get up and run a cloth under warm water. It takes all of thirty seconds, but by the time I’m back to her side, she’s lifting her heavy eyes to look at me, dazed. I press the washcloth between her legs, and she jerks awake, surprised as she bats her hand away from me. “I’m just cleaning you up.”

“I can do that.” She looks affronted by my attempt, but it’s not discomfort on her face or in her eyes.

It’s embarrassment.

I lean into her, pressing my mouth to hers and making quick work of cleaning my cum out from between her legs. By the time I’m done and stop kissing her, she’s staring at me, her mouth open, her eyes confused.

“I can clean up my own messes, sweetheart.”

She stays stunned, silent as I take the cloth and drop it in the sink. I should get dressed and take us back to the house. I shouldn’t have called her sweetheart. I also shouldn’t have fucked her again. And I definitely shouldn’t lay down beside her and pull her against me.

But I do just that, wrapping an arm around her and dragging her to my side, cocooning her warm body against mine. Her head rolls onto my chest, her cheeks flush with my skin as I listen to the sound of the rain starting up outside, the cadence of our breaths.

It’s peaceful. Honestly, I’m not sure the last time I’ve ever felt so at peace. She’s safe in my arms and Rhea is safe with Dimitri, and for the first time since my dad died, I feel secure in that knowledge. Even before he died, I was always on guard, wondering if he’d do something stupid, wondering if that would be the day my sister’s world shattered and she learned the truth about our family. I’m not sure I’ve felt this at ease since the night before I was taken to Amsterdam, the last time I had Monica in my arms, the last time the world didn’t seem like hell.

Something wet drops against my skin, and I chuckle, thinking Claire’s already passed out so hard she’s drooling on me. “Asleep already?” I tease.

She shakes her head the slightest bit, and more moisture pools on my chest. I catch her chin in my hand, and she tilts her head back to look at me. She tries to wipe the tears away before I see them, but they’re streaking her face, cutting silent paths down her cheeks.

I tense, an ache in my gut as I sit up, appraising her. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Claire is quick to shake her head, but the tears gathering in her eyes beg to differ. Clearly, something is wrong. “No.”

“Did I hurt you?” I’m confused, to say the least. Not even five minutes ago she was coming harder than I bet she ever has. “Are you mad that I—”

“No.” She doesn’t give me a chance to finish. “It’s not you.”

“Well, you and I are the only ones here, so unless there’s something you want to tell me, I’m assuming it was me.”

“No. I don’t know why I’m crying.” She shakes her head, dragging her hands over the last of her tears, and then lays down on me again. Her sniffle is the last betrayal of whatever is wrong, and then she sighs. “I think I’m just tired.”

Of course she’s tired. I’m tired and I haven’t been through half the shit she has.

I press my lips to her forehead, and then reach around to thread my fingers through hers.

We both just need to rest a minute.