19. Wraith
Chapter 19
Wraith
H er softness calls to me like a fucking siren.
And I listen.
Because I’m starving for her.
Craving her like a drug I can’t cut out.
My hands end up at her door before I even realize I’ve moved.
I thought having her dripping and bound would be enough.
That it would break whatever sickness she’s been breeding inside me.
It didn’t.
It made it worse.
Now I can’t stop thinking about her.
The way she smiled around my cock like I gave her salvation instead of sin.
The way she whispered thank you like a prayer.
Sweet .
Willing.
Mine.
All. Fucking. Mine.
And it fucking rebuilt me.
Made me hunger for more.
For her.
For the way she makes me feel like I’m something more than the monster I was made to be.
I slide in the key.
The lock clicks.
Before I can even breathe, she’s there.
Soft sleep shirt hanging off one shoulder.
Bare legs. Bare feet.
A halo of warmth spilling from behind her.
She sees me—and lights up.
“Hi,” she says, voice bright as fucking sunrise.
Like I’m the best part of her night.
Like she’s happy.
Like she wants me here.
Her eyes—those impossible, too-big green eyes—shine so fucking hard it guts me.
Not fear.
Not caution.
Trust.
Raw.
Whole.
Undeserved.
It punches straight through my ribs, lodges behind my fucking heart.
I’m the monster of her fairy tale.
And she’s too damn good to see it.
Or worse? —
Maybe she does.
Maybe she sees every jagged piece of me.
And still chooses this.
Still chooses me.
She smiles wider—soft and goddamn blinding—like she craves me just as much as I crave her.
And fuck, to be wanted like that? Addictive.
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
Because suddenly, the monster inside my chest?—
The one that rages and tears at its chains?—
Sits patiently.
Waiting for her to bring him out to play.
And that’s fucking terrifying.
She doesn’t ask questions.
Doesn’t hesitate at my silence.
She just keeps smiling—soft and sure—and reaches for me.
Her tiny hand slips into mine.
Easily. Like it belongs there.
Like she belongs to me.
And I let her lead me.
Down the hallway.
Into her bedroom.
No words.
No pretence.
She peels the sleep shirt over her head.
Lets it fall to the floor.
Standing before me, bare-chested, bare-souled.
No hesitation .
No fear.
Just that same blinding fucking faith I don’t deserve.
The kind that makes my chest ache.
The kind that makes my hands shake with the urge to tear it open just to see how it works.
She drops to her knees.
No command. No pressure.
She chooses it.
“Let me,” she whispers, voice steady.
And it ruins me. Guts me in the best way possible.
She undoes my belt.
Frees my cock.
Takes me into her mouth with a reverence that borders on holy.
I grit my teeth.
Fight the tremor wrecking my control.
Fist her hair. Drag her up.
Devour her mouth like I need her breath to survive.
Slam her against the wall.
Wrap my hand around her throat.
Not to hurt.
Just to hold.
To feel her pulse hammer against my palm like she’s alive for me.
My voice breaks, low and rough:
“Has any man ever had you like this before?”
Big green eyes blink up at me.
“No.”
Fuck if that doesn’t make me want to be worthy of her.
I growl against her lips.
“Good girl.”
I don’t wait .
I can’t.
I line myself up.
Drive into her.
She cries out—sharp, raw.
I freeze.
Breathing hard.
Letting her adjust.
She trembles, but her fingers dig into my arms, anchoring herself to me.
“You good?” I rasp.
She whimpers.
Nods.
“Yes.”
That’s all I need.
I fuck into her—hard, relentless.
Each thrust cracks something wide open inside her.
Inside me.
Her whimpers melt into moans.
High. Breathless. Needy.
I growl filth against her skin:
“What a good little slut you are.”
“My pretty little cum dumpster.”
“Mine.”
Each word makes her clamp down around me, milking me, making me lose my mind.
She comes—tight, desperate.
But I’m not done.
I turn from the wall.
Toss her onto the bed.
Drag her hips up.
Drive into her again—deeper this time.
Her fingers claw at the sheets.
Her body bucks, meeting me thrust for thrust.
Another orgasm hits her.
She screams into the mattress, broken and beautiful.
Still not enough.
Never enough.
I flip her onto her back.
Hook her legs over my arms.
Plunge into her deeper.
“You’re pussy’s so fucking wet for me, isn’t it, Lily?”
“Yes,” she cries out, wrecked.
“Only ever for me. Do you understand?” I growl into her neck, drunk on her scent, her heat, her everything.
She nods fast.
Breathless.
“I need your words, Lily.”
“Y-yes. Only you.”
I slam into her harder.
The bed slides with each brutal thrust.
She sobs.
Begging for something she can’t name.
“I—too much—can’t?—”
“Yes, you can.”
I fuck her deeper.
Harder.
“I’ll take care of you, little angel. Even if I have to break you to do it.”
She splinters around me—shattering.
Her cunt flutters.
Squeezes.
And I lose it.
I spill into her with a roar.
Never looking away.
Watching every fucking second she falls apart for me.
Wide-eyed.
Wrecked.
My come marking her cunt as mine.
Thoroughly. Fucking. Claimed.
She’s curled beneath me.
Breathless. Boneless.
Beautiful in a way that should be illegal.
Her thighs are sticky with come and pleasure.
Her body still trembling—cracked wide open for me.
I brace on one elbow, trying to breathe.
Trying not to crush her.
The smart move would be to leave.
Pull out. Dress. Vanish.
But I don’t move.
Because her arms wind around my neck—not to trap, not to beg?—
but like she already knows.
Knows I’m not going anywhere.
Her breath skims my collarbone, soft and shivering.
“You smell like home—and safety,” she whispers against me.
Already half-asleep. Trusting me with far too many pieces of herself. Ones no one else gets to see.
The words gut me in a way only she seems to be capable of.
Deep. Vicious. Innocently honest.
Like they were meant to find every place I’m weakest.
I shift slightly .
Look down at her flushed, ruined face.
Her lashes flutter open.
She blinks up at me, dazed and soft.
“Will you stay?” she whispers.
No fear.
No expectation.
Just a quiet, fucking devastating hope.
I should say no.
Should smirk.
Should pull away and remind her exactly what kind of monster she’s inviting into her bed.
But I don’t.
I nod once.
Small. Final.
Her smile could crack the world in half.
I move carefully.
Slide out of her—my come leaking from between her thighs in a slow, obscene drip.
She whimpers at the loss.
I shush her.
Murmur soft nothings before I slip away to the bathroom.
The washcloth runs under warm water.
I wring it out.
Bring it back.
She watches me with heavy-lidded eyes.
Trusting. So fucking trusting.
I clean her with careful hands.
No roughness. No rush.
Like I’m trying to erase the mess I made and somehow make her whole again.
Make myself whole .
Her thighs twitch.
Her mouth parts in a sleepy gasp.
I work slowly.
Until she’s clean.
Until she’s boneless and blinking and pliant in my hands again.
I toss the cloth aside.
Slide under the covers.
And she moves immediately?—
Tucking herself against my chest like it’s the most natural thing in the fucking world.
Her bare skin presses against mine.
Her heartbeat flutters at my ribs.
And I think maybe it is.
She exhales.
Sinks.
Sleeps.
And me?
I stay awake.
Hand curled around her hip.
Breath shaking in my chest.
Heart pounding like a fucking war drum.
I don’t know what this is.
I don’t want to know.
But the truth slips in anyway?—
Soft.
Inevitable.
Final.
I didn’t stay because she asked.
I stayed because I didn’t know how to leave .
Because I can’t.
Because I’ll do just about anything to see her smile.
The bed dips.
Soft weight.
Warm.
I stir, half-asleep, half-alert.
Mind wrecked by the echo of her voice—Stay.
My hand twitches.
Reaching instinctively.
Small.
Solid.
Heavy.
I crack an eye open.
Green eyes stare back at me.
Not Lily’s.
No. The fucking cat’s.
He’s perched on my chest like a smug little bastard surveying his new kingdom.
Tail flicking against my ribs.
Fur puffed out like that will somehow intimidate me.
We stare at each other.
A brutal, soul-shattering silence.
I sigh through my nose, slow and murderous.
“This isn’t happening,” I mutter.
The cat, blinks.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Smug. Always so fucking smug.
His tail slaps me once.
Twice.
I shift, trying to dislodge him.
He digs in harder.
A solid, stubborn little bastard.
I could shove him off.
Could reclaim the last shreds of my dignity.
Instead…
I scrub a hand over my face.
Curse every life choice that led me here.
And grudgingly scratch behind his ear.
He fucking purrs.
Loud. Immediate. Triumphant.
A goddamn motorboat.
“You fight dirty,” I grumble under my breath.
The door creaks.
I glance up—and there she is.
Standing in the doorway.
Lily.
Wearing one of her oversized shirts, grinning like she just caught me committing a felony.
Her hands fly to her mouth, trying to smother the giggles.
I glare at her.
She beams.
Bright.
Relentless.
Sunlight exploding through storm clouds.
And damn it if it isn’t impossible to smile back at her.
“Best. Morning. Ever,” she whispers as she climbs back into bed.
Oley butts his head against my chin.
I sigh. Again .
Long.
Slow.
Suffering. So much fucking suffering.
I’m going to kill that cat.
Later.
Maybe.
Probably not.
She snuggles up against me and I’m starting to think she’s always belonged there.
“He’s Oleander,” she says softly, scritching under the cat’s chin. “But I call him Oley. Oley, this is…”
She trails off.
Brows furrowing.
Mouth parting slightly.
Realizing—
She doesn’t even know my fucking name.
It hits me harder than it should.
I scrub a hand over my face.
Fucking hell.
“Nice to meet you, Oley,” I mutter, deadpan. Never once thinking I’d be introducing myself to a fucking cat. “I’m Dominic.”
Her whole face lights up.
She smiles—slow, secret—and slides back into bed.
Pulls the blanket up to her chin, curling against me like I’m her favorite thing.
And just before she tucks her head under my jaw, I hear her whisper it:
“Dominic.”
Soft. Reverent.
She looks up at me like I hung the moon .
Her hand drifts under the covers, and presses her hand flat against my chest, right over my heart.
As if she can feel how hard it’s fucking pounding for her.
Her hand drifts lower.
Not with intention.
But that’s all it fucking takes.
One small touch of her skin against mine and I’m hard.
Not dick breaking-hard.
Not need-to-destroy-her-pussy hard.
But aching. Starving.
For her.
She blinks up at me, slow and bleary, mouth tilted in the softest smile I’ve ever seen.
“Sorry,” she whispers in a half-apology.
I cup her jaw, thumb stroking over her flushed cheekbone.
“Don’t be.”
Her lashes flutter.
Her breath catches.
She leans in—presses her lips to mine.
Barely a kiss.
More like a plea.
Something inside me tears clean in two.
I roll her under me in one slow, gentle glide.
Trap her wrists above her head with one hand.
Cage her tiny body with mine.
Her legs part without hesitation.
Inviting me in.
Welcoming the wreckage.
I rock my hips against her, slow and steady.
Her gasp slips between us—pure, broken sweetness.
“Is this what you want, little angel?” I murmur against her lips.
“Yes,” she breathes. “Want you.”
I line myself up. Press into her. Inch by aching inch.
Her head tips back.
A shiver rolls through her.
I watch her face the entire time.
Every twitch. Every tremble. Every desperate, blissed-out sound.
I sink deeper.
She takes it.
Takes me.
And when I bottom out, her breath hitches like I’ve stolen the stars from her sky.
I move slow.
Deep.
Dragging every second out like a punishment I don’t want to end.
She whimpers under me, soft and perfect.
“You’re mine,” I rasp.
She nods, dazed.
Tears well in her eyes—too much feeling, too much everything—and spill over when I thrust again.
I catch one on my thumb.
Taste it on her mouth.
Worship the ruin I put there.
And when she comes—whimpering, shuddering, clutching at me like I’m the only thing keeping her alive?—
I follow.
Bury myself so deep inside her I’ll never find my way out.
Her breathing evens out .
She slips back into sleep without a care in the world—still flushed, still ruined, still fucking beautiful.
I sit there for a long time.
Staring at her.
My chest screams to run.
Panic flares through my veins.
The realization crashing over me:
I now have something to lose.
A weakness.
I scrub a hand over my face.
Look at the door.
Look back at her.
I have to get out of here.
I ease out of bed.
Dress quietly.
But before I leave, I pause.
Pull the battered flowers from my jacket?—
Leaving them on the pillow beside her.
Silent.
Unspoken.
A promise I don’t know how to keep.
I slip into the dark.
And the door clicks shut behind me.
I might not know how to be hers, but she’ll always be mine.
And I’ll always return to remind her.