Chapter 14 #2
He stood me up and peeled off my hoodie, then the turtleneck.
Then he knelt and rolled down my jeans. He did it slow, like he was afraid I’d vanish if he moved too fast. His hands lingered on my hips, then my thighs, every touch soft as wind.
I watched him, half-expecting him to stop, to reconsider, to realize I was more trouble than I was worth. But he never hesitated.
He undressed himself next, and my breath caught in my chest. I’d seen his body before, and it was just as majestic as I’d remembered.
But now, in the bright white light, every scar was a map, every tattoo a history.
He was built for violence, but there was a tenderness in the way he folded his clothes, set them aside, then climbed into the steaming water and reached for me.
I followed, skin prickling, heart jackhammering in my ribs.
He pulled me between his legs, my back to his chest, his arms a cage of warmth around me. The water was almost too hot, but I didn’t care. I let it scald the memory of Silas from my skin.
He reached for a washcloth and lathered it with soap. The scent was wild: bergamot and sage. It smelled warm. It smelled like home. His hands were careful, reverent. Every time he found a bruise, he lingered, thumb tracing circles until the ache went away.
His soapy hands lingered, rinsing the memory from my skin.
At first, the cloth skimmed across the surface—shoulders, arms, ribs—each stroke steady, impersonal, as if he was working on a puzzle instead of a person.
But as the water cooled and the bruises faded from blue to red, the way he touched me changed.
His thumb trailed the line of my collarbone, then slipped down to the curve of my breast, tracing circles until the nipple stood up in shock.
He shifted, legs bracketing mine, and the heat from his body lit up the whole bath.
I pressed my thighs together, but he noticed, always noticed, and reached between them with a wet hand. His fingers were rough and callused, and the contrast to the soft cloth made me gasp.
He washed me slowly, starting at the outside, then working in.
I let my knees drift apart; the water sloshing in little waves, and waited for him to do what he wanted.
He watched, lips twitching into a crooked smile.
He liked watching. He liked making me squirm.
He liked knowing that even after everything, I would still give myself to him.
His hands drifted lower, and my breath caught.
The first touch was gentle, the second rougher, and by the third I was grinding against his palm.
I couldn’t help it. I wanted to hate myself for it, but it felt too good.
He ran a finger along my slit, then circled my clit, light as air.
I moaned, and it echoed off the tiles, a sound I didn’t recognize as mine.
He bent forward, pressed his mouth to my ear. “You want it?” The words were hot and thick. “Say it.”
I tried, but the air wouldn’t come. He pinched my nipple, and the shock of it broke me open. “Please,” I whispered, the word small and pathetic.
He smiled for real then. “Good girl.”
He lifted me from the tub, water streaming down my skin. The air was cold, but his hands were hotter than before, working over every inch of me with the towel, drying me but also teasing, testing, leaving marks of a different kind.
He slipped a robe over my shoulders and took my hand.
“Let’s go.” He said as he gave my hand a small tug.
Within just a few minutes, I stood at the edge of Wrecker’s playroom, the air thick with the scent of leather and something darker, primal.
The dim light cast long shadows across the room, and I felt the weight of his gaze on me, heavy and unrelenting.
My heart pounded as he stepped closer, his bare feet silent against the cold tile floor.
He wore the towel from when he’d exited the bathtub, his muscles flexing with every deliberate movement, his tattoos twisting like living shadows beneath his skin.
He led me to the padded St. Andrew’s Cross.
“Turn around,” he commanded, his voice low and filled with promise.
I obeyed without hesitation, my breath hitching as I faced the St. Andrew’s Cross. The leather padding felt cool against my palms as I pressed my hands against it. Behind me, I heard the soft clink of chains, and I shivered, anticipation curling low in my belly.
His hands were rough as they gripped my wrists, securing them to the cross with practiced ease. The metal cuffs bit into my skin, but the pain was distant, overshadowed by the electricity sparking between us. He stepped back, and I felt the loss of his warmth like a physical ache.
“You’re mine, Parker,” he said, his voice a growl that reverberated through me. “Every inch of you. And tonight, I’m going to make sure you forget everything, every other touch but mine.”
His words sent a thrill down my spine, and I whimpered, my body already reacting to his dominance. He moved behind me, and I felt the heat of his body as he pressed against my back. His hands trailed down my sides, ghosting over my hips, and I shuddered, my breath coming in shallow gasps.
“I’m going to take care of you tonight, Wren. Spread your legs,” he ordered, his voice a growl that sent shivers down my spine.
I obeyed, my legs parting for him, and I felt his hands grip my hips, pulling me back against him. His tongue traced a path up the inside of my thigh, and I gasped, my hands gripping the cross as pleasure shot through me.
“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “You’re dripping, baby. Do you know what that does to me? Knowing how much you love my touch?”
I moaned, my hips rocking against his face as he licked and teased, his tongue tracing circles around my clit before plunging inside me. I cried out, my body bowing as he devoured me, his hands holding me firmly in place.
“Wrecker,” I gasped, his name a plea on my lips.
He stood, and I felt two of his large fingers enter my pussy and pump in and out of me at a relentless pace. I could hear the sound of my wetness as they pistoned in and out. My body writhed against his hand. His mouth was at my neck kissing and licking a trail down my spine.
The feeling was incredible.
“I love how your pussy sucks my fingers into your body hungry for me to fuck you anyway it can. You’re so tight. God, what you do to me little bird.”
He took my face and turned it towards him so he could shove his tongue in my mouth, kissing me with desperation like he wanted to consume me whole.
He stepped away for a moment and then came back with something in his hands. It was an embossed black leather riding crop with a braided handle.
He showed it to me. “See this sweetheart?”
“Yes,” I told him.
“I’m going to use this on you now. It will sting, but my intention is not to harm you. You remember your safe words?”
“Yes, sir. Dumbledore if things are good, Snape if I’m concerned, and Voldemort for full stop.”
“Such a good girl.” He praised me, and it made me feel so good inside.
The first swat carried a shocking sting.
I jerked at the feeling. He trailed swats up and down my back and then across my ass.
Back and forth, up and down. They hurt until they didn’t.
I found myself leaning into the crop, my ass reaching for it.
Evey so often he’d stop and press his fingers into my pussy, which was dripping wet.
“There’s my pain slut, enjoying the sting of my crop.” He laughed as he circled my clit with his finger.
“Wrecker, I’m close. Please.” I needed to come so bad.
“I love to hear you beg, Wren. To see you squirm under my touch.”
He took the handle of the crop and pressed it to my entrance, and I stilled.
“Dumbledore?” he asked.
“Yes,” I told him.
He slowly inserted the handle into my pussy, then pumped it in and out. The ridges of the braid felt unbelievably good.
“Oh my god.”
“Come for me, Wren.”
And I did. I came apart. The sensation was too much. I shuddered and jerked as he continued to pump the crop handle in and out. My moans filled the room.
He undid the cuffs and laid me on the bed in the corner of the room. He hovered over me, weight on his forearms.
“You are the most fucking magnificent creature I have ever laid my eyes on. Are you ready for me?”
I looked down the length of his body as he sat back on his heels. He gripped his enormous cock in his hand. I wanted him more than anything.
“Please,” I said.
He lined himself up at my entrance and entered me with a powerful thrust. There was nothing like the feeling of being filled with him. It was the most complete I’d ever felt. I gripped him with my legs as much as I could, gripping him with my heels. He set an unrelenting pace.
“That’s right, take all of me, Wren. You squeeze my cock so tight. Nothing has ever felt as good as your pussy wrapped around me. You’re mine. Say you’re mine.”
My eyes never left his face. For once in my life, I truly felt as though I belonged to someone. “Yours, I said. Forever yours.”
He reached down and stroked my clit as he pounded into me and I came completely undone; the orgasm taking me by surprise. He followed with a shout and groan filling me completely.
He rolled off, then scooped me into his arms, cradling me against his chest.
“Still feel dirty?” he asked, voice gentler than I’d ever heard.
I shook my head. “No.”
He kissed the top of my head, then tucked me under his arm. “Good. Because you’re mine. And I take care of what’s mine.”
We didn’t talk about tomorrow, or the war, or Silas. For now, there was only the bed, and the warmth, and the way his heart beat steady under my cheek.
I let myself drift, knowing that when morning came, it would all start again.
But for now, I was clean.
And I was loved.