26. Twenty-Six #2
My hands wandered up the ridges and planes of his stomach and chest, fingertips pressing gently over faded scars. His skin trembled with currents too potent to be called shivers.
Studying the cocktail of wounds—the purpled bite by his clavicle, the cut across his shoulder, the webbing of bruises across his ribs, and the crescent moons on his flanks where my nails had broken skin—I catalogued every mark.
Arrow watched me explore him, my hands moving over the sweat and blood marking his chest and shoulders, never flinching at any of it. He wore blood as a badge, and the shimmer of the city behind us let me see what kind of art two bodies could make with violence.
Hissing when I grazed a fresh scratch just above his nipple, with a lazy push, he opened my knees wider, slotting himself between them. He kissed me with the slow patience of a man who had decided never to die.
He was impossibly hard, the head of his cock straining against the zipper of his jeans.
I palmed it through the denim, feeling the weight of him, the heat radiating through the fabric.
I wanted to memorize every detail—the way he filled my hand, the way he twitched under my touch, the fact that even soaked in blood from a night of killing, his body still answered to mine.
Arrow made a rough sound at the back of his throat, a growl that vibrated through the air between us. His hand moved to the chain at my throat and pulled it tight until I gasped, the links pressing hard into my skin, cutting off my breath in increments.
Unzipping, he let his cock arch between us, his tip already weeping, a bead shining in the city’s blue glow. He didn’t guide my hand, just hovered a breath away, waiting to see if I’d take what I wanted.
I slid off the counter and kneeled in front of him, the marble floors cold under my knees.
Locking eyes with him, I steadied his cock in my palm, and, never breaking his gaze, dragged the flat of my tongue up the ridge to where the taste of blood mixed with salt and heat.
Arrow hissed in a breath, his head tightening on my nape.
My mouth was open and greedy as I licked him slow, swirling the tip with my tongue. I savored every drop of him. His head fell back, but his need to watch was stronger.
His eyes snapped open, locked on me, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle working, and his pulse hammering visibly at his throat. I took him deeper, pushing past the resistance in my throat until he hit the back of it hard.
The gag came out wet and involuntary, and he shuddered, his hand finding the back of my head.
He didn’t push—he didn’t need to. I was already drowning in him, sucking harder, taking him deeper. Drool spilled down my chin as he stretched my mouth, and my thighs were slick with my arousal. His left hand cradled my skull, and his right palm bracketed my jaw so he could control the angle.
I took him back down, refusing to break eye contact to prove that I could. He let me set the rhythm, resisting the urge to fuck my face, but his whole body vibrated with the effort.
Cursing in Russian, he gripped my hair tighter, his hips beginning to move. Shallow thrusts at first, testing, then deeper. I relaxed my throat and let him use my mouth, let him fuck it the way he’d fucked everything else tonight.
His thighs tensed. His breathing turned ragged. The curses kept coming, his voice rough and desperate.
Every time I pushed my nose to the root, he shuddered, the ridges of his abs twitching beneath my palms. When I pulled off and gasped, a strand of spit braided us together from my jaw to his cock, and he watched it with a hunger so alive it made my scalp tingle.
“Fuck, baby. You take me so good.”
Biting down on the soft flesh of his inner thigh, I left teeth marks filled with blood. His breathing went ragged. He gripped the back of my head, fingers digging in, and the pressure said everything—mine, all mine.
“I knew you were mine the first time I tasted you.”
After what he’d done to my body, I’d allow him any number of hallucinations if it meant I could keep finding this ugly, beautiful hunger between us.
I took him back in slowly, savoring the way he pulsed against my tongue, every twitch a feedback loop between us. My eyes watered, the chain at my throat choking a line between pleasure and suffocation, and I whimpered around him, the vibrations making his cock jump.
“That’s it,” he crooned.
He fucked my mouth until my jaw ached, until the inside of my cheeks were lined with molten pressure, until there were tears slipping from my eyes and down my lips.
His grip on my skull was a cage, but I loved the locked, helpless ecstasy in his gaze as I gagged and swallowed, refusing to look away.
Salt—blood, skin, sweat—seared my tongue; I think he wanted me to drown before he’d even let me breathe. My arousal was a wet pulse, a throb between my legs that kept time with his cock splitting me at the mouth.
Muttering something savage when I sucked him clean to the root, something I couldn’t catch, his hands convulsed at my scalp, and he shuddered like a drugged animal.
On the next thrust, he came, violent and hot, the first jets splattering my tongue so deep the taste filled my nose, then leaked out the corners of my mouth when I couldn’t keep up.
Watching, panting, while I swallowed, he stroked the blood and spit from my chin with two fingers and made me lick them clean.
“Moya malen’kaya gadyuka* has the strongest jaw,” he said, and then pulled me up by the chain, guiding my mouth to his.
Arrow kissed me with the hunger of something that never wanted to be let out of its cage again.
He lifted me onto the counter, spread my thighs open, and slid two fingers inside me so hard I saw sparks.
I yelped, but not from pain—my body was greedy for it, the ache and the stretch and the blunt intrusion of his hand.
The scratches on his knuckles dragged along the inside of my cunt, and my hips bucked, hungry for even more.
He watched every shudder, read the flex of my muscles as a language only he could parse, and when I looked up at him from my spread limbs, the look on his face was full worship and full homicide at once.
He bent his head and sucked a welt to life at the inside of my thigh, then bit down hard.
The bruise came up instantly, a raspberry haloed by his teeth.
I clamped around his fingers, and he twisted them, curling against the ridge in a way that made me think, for the first time, that he might want everyone in the city to see this—me propped up, open, evidence of him written all over my skin for everyone to see.
His thumb worked over my clit relentlessly, and each time I tried to look away, he made a short, sharp motion with the chain at my neck, drawing my gaze back to the mirror.
“Look at yourself,” he ordered. “See what you are now.”
In the glass, I saw Arrow behind me, his head bowed, and his arms bracketed tight around my hips, chain taut, and my face gleaming with a reckless joy I didn’t know I could grow.
There was blood on my lips, spit, mixed with his cum, running down my chin onto my tits, and a carnivorous glow that had nothing to do with shame.
Working me with that animal patience, never relenting until my thighs trembled wide and unsteady, until my vision went black at the edges, he made me scream. Loud enough, I knew, for the neighbors below to call building security.
I bucked so hard the glass bottles on the counter rattled, I came and collapsed around his fingers, the orgasm rippling high up to my ribcage and back again.
Arrow only grinned, lips curled as he held my stare through every shudder, every electric after-throb. He didn’t let me look away. Not from him, not from myself, not from what he’d made of me.
Withdrawing his hand, he sucked the taste from his knuckles, never breaking eye contact through the mirror. The tastes—blood, salt, and the tang of my cunt—mingled on his tongue, and he bit down on the last two fingers, savoring it.
God, he was fucking hot. And he knew it.
He tugged my chin up with the chain. “Come to bed,” he whispered, voice gone low and hoarse with need.
I slid from the counter, every muscle a sliver of ache and velvet, my thighs shaking as he braced me, a hand at my waist like a brand. He led me down the dark hall and into the bedroom.