Chapter 9 #3
Fucking hell. Even with my body all fucked up from the opioids last night, even weakened and shaky and feeling like I got hit by that goddamn train instead of riding it, I’m on fucking fire for her. And she’s all wet. All that water on her skin, in her hair. I need her to douse me.
I need to put some fucking space between us, before I’ve got her up against the wall, towel torn away, cock straining to take again what I took last night.
Would she let those pretty, torturous tears spill out again this time?
Probably.
I force myself away from her, ruminating on what it means to make a perfect angel come and cry at the same time.
Slamming the toilet lid down, I sit heavily, watching her as she pads to the marble counter, leaning over it to examine her face in the mirror.
After taking a few moments to finger-comb her wet locks, she swears softly.
The gauze at her temple is soaked. Grimacing, she removes it, crushing it into a white-and-red ball and throwing it into the bin beneath the counter.
The wound at her temple is angry and red, and suddenly all thoughts of fucking her are gone, replaced with the acid boil of pure fucking fury.
I start cracking my knuckles, one by one, but it doesn’t do shit.
There’s no pressure valve for this feeling, no way to shut it off or let it out. Not without killing Messina.
I can’t remember the last time I was this fucking angry. I can’t remember the last time I felt this much of anything at all.
Eight. Eighteen. Thirty.
All the most vivid points of my life.
All the times when she was with me.
What would it be like, to go back to being half-dead now? To be nothing but what I’ve always been – a monster wearing the suit of a man, whose only sense of peace comes from pain. Blood. Broken fucking things.
I look at the broken skin at Aurora’s temple and there is no peace. My hands are fucking shaking. Again, I try to crack my knuckles. Again, nothing happens.
And it’s the nothing that kills me. That makes me feel like my entire being is going to split apart, atom by atom, if I keep fucking sitting here, staring at the place he hit her.
Aurora sees me coming in the mirror before I’ve even realized I’m moving. The reflection of her eyes changes, widening at my approach.
“Curse?”
She turns, startling backwards at the sight of my face.
Her lower back hits the counter. I don’t give her a chance to steady herself, instead gripping her hips and lifting her until she’s seated in front of me.
I settle myself between her splayed thighs, remembering the last time we were positioned like this, in Messina’s house, right after I’d slit his throat.
“What is it?” she breathes, blue and silver searching my face. “You don’t look right.”
Do I ever fucking look right?
I sure as hell don’t feel right.
Not when I am with her.
And not when I am without her.
So where the fuck does that leave me now? Can’t keep her.
Can’t lose her.
I bring my fingers – trembling, Dio fucking help me – to the side of her face, combing hair away from her injury. She flinches at my touch, but I don’t stop, and she doesn’t ask me to. Not even when my mouth replaces my fingers, lips grazing her wound, my tongue swiping over that torn place.
I groan, a full-body tremor wracking my frame, at the taste of her blood.
I’ve known for a long time that I’m not a psychologically healthy or normal individual. But I’ve never been one for phony vampire shit. Never had any interest in getting somebody else’s blood in my mouth.
Until now.
I feel like I’m accessing something sacred right now. Drinking down holy water but the holy water is her. She should burn me from the inside out, unworthy fucking demon that I am, but all she does is send darkness surging in me.
I taste her again, teeth grazing, tongue taking. Am I kissing her? Consuming her? I don’t have a fucking clue. Aurora gasps, her hands flying to my bare shoulders, fingers convulsing against my skin.
There’s another torn place on her body. The place that I’m responsible for. Will it taste like this? Like skin and shampoo and the celestial tang of her blood? A ragged sound of need tears from me. I think I’ll fucking die if I don’t find out.
My fingers shift and tighten on her hips, and in doing so, cause the towel to fall away.
The white shape of it falls on either side of her, like crumpled wings.
Wings I’ve damaged, wings I’ve ripped away.
Her skin is flawless, rosy at the tips of her breasts, her nipples puckering into needy points.
Goosebumps move over her in a great sweeping motion, like wind rustling through a meadow of flowers and grass.
She’s panting, still holding my shoulders. She doesn’t say a thing.
Not a single word to stop me.
Not a single word to save me.
Or to save herself.
My hands drop to her thighs, squeezing then pulling hard.
She cries out as I drag her ass all the way to the edge of the counter.
Keeping my iron hold on her thighs, I drop to my knees between them.
She is silk beneath my fingers, velvet beneath my mouth as I take her there.
Take her with my lips, my tongue, my teeth.
Her thighs contract violently against my fingers, her pelvis shuddering and trying to rise right up off the counter.
I snap my hands upwards, clenching them at her hips, pinning her in place.
I fuse her perfect body to the flat chill of the marble at the same moment that I drag my teeth across her clit.
I groan deeply when she quakes in response.
“Right there, angel?” I murmur, dark, husky. I bite her, a tight nip to that swollen point of her flesh, and she gives a strangled shout in response.
And, fucking hell, I can see, feel, the way her pussy contracts needily in response. The way her hips are still fighting my hold, desperate for motion, trying to grind on me.
I’m losing control again. I can feel it unwinding inside me, like the spun string of a kite being carried off in a storm.
If I stop now, maybe I can catch hold of it again.
I contemplate this while I suck greedily on the salted pearl of her clit, and then again while I dive lower, punching my tongue through her folds, tasting her wetness, her blood, the ruinous disaster of her perfect fucking essence.
I could stand up and walk away, right fucking now. I could.
Should, even.
Until she utters one breathy little word, digging her fingernails into my skin.
“Please!”
Please what? Please stop?
Not a fucking chance.
And I don’t think that’s it, anyway. Because she’s writhing and twitching, her head thrown back as she moans so fucking prettily. When my tongue thrusts deep inside her, her hands rise to the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair, holding me possessively in place.
I nearly come in my pants, right fucking there, kneeling and untouched. My dick throbs painfully behind the stiffness of my black jeans, threatening to spew. Not because of Aurora’s flawless fucking pussy, the pussy milking me, the pussy I’ve made bleed.
But because of the way she’s grabbed on to me.
Like she wouldn’t fucking let me go if I tried to leave her now.
And maybe it’s just because she’s coming now, mewling and shuddering and clenching on my tongue.
Maybe that’s the only reason she’s clutching at me.
But it affects me all the same, and a part of me hates it, because all I ever wanted was to protect her. From everyone. From me.
I never wanted her to want me. It’s why I let her believe I only took her for her inheritance. So it would be all the easier for her to hate me. To leave me.
I don’t let up even as she starts to push my head away.
I fuck her hard with my tongue, pressing the fronts of my teeth to her clit, lapping up sweetness and blood.
This is more drugging than the fucking opioids.
She’s the only thing that can enslave me now.
She’s come up with the perfect concoction for my doom.
And she did it without even fucking trying.
“Curse!” she whimpers, shoving at the top of my head, her sensitive pussy trembling and convulsing, her thighs shaking like she’s been running for miles. “I can’t!”
“You will,” I growl before diving back in, grinding my teeth on her clit, curling and thrusting my tongue, gripping her hips with bruising force. I’m being fucking ruthless and I know it. She’s the only thing I’ve ever really treasured, and I can’t even show her mercy now. I don’t know how.
But she reacts to it, this merciless destruction of us both. She pulls my hair, her spine bowing, breasts shaking with the force of her rapid breaths.
“Again…No…I…Oh, God-”
She climaxes again, and I feel it in her like a storm breaking.
A massive, wet, electric frisson of energy cracking wide open inside her.
Her voice echoes off the bathroom walls, a shattered, shouted prayer, a hymn too holy for someone like me to grasp.
But I listen anyway, stealing the sounds for myself, memorizing the ragged lilting of her voice as she comes and screams and bleeds for me. Only me.
Somewhere in the house, I hear a door slam shut, and I’m dragged from her sacred spell. I hurl myself away from her, reeling, alertness spiking through my head, my limbs. It’s probably just Leo returning from his errands. But I have to be sure.
“Stay here,” I tell her, stalking away. Before I slam it shut I tell her to lock the bathroom door behind me.