Chapter 16 – Sara
The scent of smoke tickled my nose. I sat up and promptly sneezed. Then sneezed again. The window, which I knew for a fact had been shut before falling asleep, was wide open. I shivered against the chill in the room, dragging the blanket over my shoulders.
Someone had lit a fire.
My bare toes protested as I climbed out of bed. The rug was chilly, but the wood floor beyond was downright cold. Inching to the window, I peered out on the backyard.
Where the patio pavers ended, before the sand of our private beach began, there was a raging fire.
He read the scene!
It had been a week since I’d seen Cam, even longer since he’d visited as my nocturnal caller.
I wasn’t going to waste any time! I changed into the white lace nighty that was buried at the bottom of the dresser.
Thankfully, my parents hadn’t opened the package that I’d risked being delivered to their house.
Skin peppered with gooseflesh, I rushed from the bedroom, down the stairs, and pulled open the sliding glass door to the patio.
The ritual I’d written had been heavily influenced by the pagan rites surrounding the Fall Equinox. I took creative liberty to make it my own, and I’d left the freshly printed copy on the kitchen counter for my stalker to find. That had been three nights ago.
But he was here now, and he was ready to play.
The fresh October wind cut through the air, whistling around me. Skeletal branches, mostly bare now that the leaves had taken their final bow, clacked above my head. Waves crashed against the shore, excited at the otherworldly energy coursing through the night.
I hesitated on the edge of the patio, right where the pavers ended.
He was nowhere to be seen.
But I felt him watching me.
Kneeling in the freezing grass, I tipped my head back to watch the harvest moon, fat and golden in the sky. The icy blades of grass clung to my skin, leaching the warmth from my body.
I held my breath.
And didn’t wait long.
“‘Cadet! You shouldn’t be here.’” The voice of death broke through the night, quoting the dialogue from my novel perfectly.
I shivered in anticipation of my book coming to life. This was a thousand times better than typing the words on the screen.
“‘I had to see for myself,’” I murmured, voice losing its strength as I imagined the altar with the sacrifice dripping next to the fire. That detail was thankfully missing from tonight’s roleplay.
Yeah, because I don’t know what we would do with a dead goat.
But it wasn’t like my monster to forget such a prominent part of the scene.
I leaned to the side, trying to see around the tented logs.
A breath caught in my throat. There was an altar.
Instead of a dead animal gifted to the god of war, a pumpkin was cloven in two.
But it was the honest-to-goodness sword lodged in the orange flesh that stole the air from my lungs.
He’d gotten the essence of the scene right!
Everything to play out this fantasy.
I was so happy, a tear leaked from the corner of my eye. I swiped it away, reminding myself that the heroine wasn’t a crier. She was strong and fierce, a warrior training to be one of the elite. I doubted I could wield that sword, let alone fight with it for hours on end in an epic battle.
Semantics. Pull yourself together, Raven!
Struggling to my feet, I crept across the grass to the altar and channeled my character’s energy. Raven’s white gown hadn’t been this short, and it certainly hadn’t been this see-through. But I was the author, and I was taking creative liberties with the scene research.
“‘What is this place?’” I quoted my girl.
“‘It’s sacred to the old gods,’” the voice explained from the darkness. “‘You’re trespassing.’”
“‘I’m a soldier of the crown. I belong here, same as you!’” I retorted hotly.
Shirtless, with runes painted over his body, the monster unfolded from the night. The fiendish mask from the harvest ball covered his face. The sight made me gasp. This felt real, not just some play-acting game.
“‘You want to shed your blood for the Baelith?’” the devil ground out.
I held up my wrist. “‘Let my blood seal the oath.’”
From a sheath on his belt, he pulled out that wicked eight-inch blade. The same one he’d used at Oktoberfest. The devil approached slowly, stopping a foot away from me. “‘You can never escape the blood bindings, little death.’”
Cut me, was all that I could think.
But this wasn’t an oath to the fake deity I’d created. This was me swearing myself to the living force of darkness towering beside me.
“‘Swear your oath.’”
I broke character. Stretching my arm to the blade, I whispered, “I’m yours.”
The monster growled.
I didn’t flinch as the blade descended. Instead of slicing my wrist, which fictionally would have healed due to the forbidden magic, the tip pierced the flesh under my palm. There was the smallest of stings before a bead of blood wept from the wound.
Without hesitation, he gouged his own palm. “And I am yours.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. Emotion flooded through me. This had ceased to be a dark rite and was fast turning into a mating ritual. Our hands clasped together a moment later.
“‘Baelith requires his sacrifices to bleed on the altar,’” the devil rasped, trying hard to stick to the script.
Instead of smearing the blood over the altar, I twisted and jumped to sit on it. The slain pumpkin was shoved to the edge. It was a slab of wood, not stone, but it served. “I’ll be your sacrifice.”
A strained groan left his lips. He stepped between my legs, and I parted them, eager to rewrite this part to fit our story.
The knife glinted in the moonlight as it flashed toward me. I forced my body to become stone. The lace nighty ripped in two. It fell from my shoulders, pooling over my legs.
The monster towered over me. That garish mask menaced, and the knife flashed between us.
But the devil would never hurt his angel.
I stayed very still.
The flat of the blade rubbed my nipple as he pushed the skirt up my thighs. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the crisp air and leaned back on my hands. The blade trailed down my body, over the ruined lingerie, until it pressed against my pussy.
“So beautiful,” he rasped.
I held still as the flat part of the knife rubbed back and forth over my clit.
The scent of slaughtered pumpkin was savory on my nose. The wind blew the heat of the fire toward us. Every nerve in my body was alive and thrumming with pleasure.
“More,” I whispered.
With a dangerous chuckle that sent sparks shooting over my skin, he tipped his wrist and pushed the handle inside me. It was too shallow. Nothing like his cock. It began to work in and out of my channel.
“Look at you taking my knife,” he rasped. “Such a greedy little pussy.”
He reached up and slapped my breast. I jumped, whimpering at the sting.
“This tiny knife isn’t doing it for you, is it?” He spun the handle, making a circle of pleasure inside me. “This pussy wants to be fucked. Hard.”
I moaned, spreading my legs wider.
The monster accepted the invitation.
There was a dull thud as the blade fell to the grass.
“Who am I to tell the lost princess no?” he asked and tapped his fingers roughly against my clit. The bite of pain was delicious.
The devil removed his belt. The snap of the leather as it escaped the loops made my skin prickle.
“Lift your hair.”
I fumbled, adjusting my weight, before reaching for long tendrils.
The leather brushed against my neck before he looped the end through the buckle. He drew it tight. It might not be a leash made from shadows, but it was perfect, effectively siphoning off my air.
His cock sprang free a moment later. I had a split second to enjoy the sight: long and thick, almost red in the moonlight, and then it was nudging against me.
I wrapped my legs around his waist and whimpered as he pushed deep inside.
Right to the hilt. One arm snared around my back, holding me on the edge of the altar.
“As my sacrifice, you’re going to take it hard.” He tugged on the belt. “Ready?”
With a nod, I laid back on the altar. The moon glowed bright, nearly blinding. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
The devil lifted my palm, sliding it under his mask.
He sucked on the cut, groaning at the taste of me.
There was a soft sting of pain, but my inner muscles clenched around his cock.
I squirmed, trying to grind against him.
Letting out a dangerous chuckle, he placed a soft kiss on the bloody mark before lowering it to rest on his chest. Right above his heart.
That was the last gentle moment between us.
He squeezed my breast and drove into me hard.
The devil fucked me without mercy.
There was nothing slow or gentle about this. His thrusts made the wooden altar shake. I curled forward, lifting my body to meet him. My fingers scrambled on the slippery surface, slick with the innards of the sacrificed pumpkin, while my hand on his chest left a crimson stain on his skin.
Wind howled around us. A log popped, cracked, and fell. I didn’t feel the cold. There was only him.
“You’re mine, Sara,” he grunted and slapped my breast again.
My body went rigid as the pleasure coiled tight. “Yes! I’m yours.”
His fingers slipped between us. He rubbed my clit, touch brutal.
“Get ready to take my cum, angel.” The harsh note of his voice was more animal than human. “I’m going to fucking fill this tight cunt.”
I screamed as he tugged on my clit. “Yes, yes!”
Grabbing the belt, he pulled me flush against his body. I choked out a broken moan. Two quick strokes, and the monster slammed deep inside. The devil threw back his head and roared into the night.
I ground myself against him, unable to breathe, not caring that there wasn’t any air. Pleasure consumed me. It pushed me off the intangible ledge, and I orgasmed around his throbbing cock.
Pushing me back against the altar, the monster collapsed on top of me. His fingers yanked on the strap, and the leather loosened.
“Breathe, angel, just breathe for me.”
I moaned, still clenching around him.
“Do you feel that? You’re so fucking full.” He pushed forward, locking our bodies together.
I nodded, blinking up at the glittering sea of stars. There were probably more up there since my vision was spotty from the lack of air. But it was really beautiful.
He reached between our bodies as he pulled back. Hot liquid seeped from me, but he caught it, shoving it back into my pussy, before bringing his stained fingers up between us.
It was madness, most likely insanity caused by loss of oxygen, but I snatched his wrist and brought his fingers to my mouth.
“That’s it, beautiful,” he growled approvingly. “Clean them. Clean every last fucking drop.”
I did.
And then my tongue slid lower, swiping over the matching gouge on his palm. I licked the dried tears of blood and gently laved over the still weeping cut until he pushed his hand back through my hair, cradling my skull ever so gently.
“You did so well,” he murmured, lifting the mask a fraction to kiss my chest.
Dragging a full breath into my lungs, I choked out, “I’m falling.”
“I’ve got you.”
I shook my head and grasped his face, pulling that grotesque mask toward me. “I’m falling…for you.”
His body stilled. “Angel.”
That word sounded pained.
Curling up, I placed a kiss on the devil’s unsmiling lips. “I’m yours.”
“Mine,” he repeated, as if trying to convince himself.
Running my fingers along his skull, I clasped them behind his neck. “Come to bed with me. Stay with me, monster. Stay and sleep.”
He paused, breathing hard, as he considered my words. “As you wish, my angel.”
The fiendish savagery was gone as he scooped me into his arms and carried me like a priceless treasure back into the house. This was real, the man tucking me into bed and scooting under the covers to curl his body around mine. It was the best story I had ever written.