Chapter 23 #2
He suddenly grabs me by my waist and thrusts me onto the table.
The low surface presses against my back as he begins to undress me, his fingers working the black velvet ribbons at the back of my dress with practiced efficiency.
The crimson silk parts like a wound, sliding down my shoulders, over my breasts, pooling at my waist before he pulls it completely off.
I'm not wearing anything underneath, and the cool air hits my bare skin as I lie completely naked on the wooden surface.
Rhys watches me with those dark eyes, drinking in every inch of exposed flesh.
Then he begins to undress himself, starting with the silver buttons of his frock coat, shrugging it off to reveal the burgundy waistcoat beneath.
He removes that too, then the black shirt, revealing the muscular chest I've felt against me so many times.
His trousers follow, and then he's completely naked, standing before me like some dark god of vengeance and desire.
"Are you ready to become mine completely?" he asks, his voice rough with possession.
My cunt clenches the second I see him, that huge cock swelling from half-mast to rock-hard while his hands claim every inch of me.
He squeezes my tits hard enough to bruise, then leans down and crushes his mouth to mine.
His tongue pushes past my lips as his palms slide down my ribs, over my hips, gripping like he owns every fucking bone beneath my skin.
He spreads my thighs wide, lines that thick cock up with my dripping entrance, and slams into me with one brutal thrust that knocks the breath from my lungs. My back arches off the table, eyes rolling back as he fills me completely.
The witches rise and move to the wall, grabbing black stone mortars and pestles among other things that I don't recognize or see.
They return to their seats, each one crushing something in their bowls—dried nightshade berries that crack and split, releasing dark purple juice that stains the stone like old blood.
The pestles grind in rhythmic circles, crushing the shrivelled fruit into a thick paste that smells of rot and something sweeter underneath.
Rhys grabs my waist with both hands. "Look at me," he growls.
I force my eyes to focus on his face as he starts pounding into me—hard, vicious thrusts that make the table creak beneath us.
His eyes are black with obsession, pupils blown wide, jaw clenched tight as he watches every reaction ripple across my face.
Sweat beads on his forehead, his lips parted in something between a snarl and a smile.
Three of the witches mix whatever they made in one big mortar, while the other mixes it in another.
My hands grip the edge of the table above my head, knuckles white. They place all the candles around my body. My legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his back as he fucks me mercilessly.
The candles flicker beside my body, wax dripping onto the wood.
One witch opens a massive black spellbook and places it beside my head, pages rustling as she finds the right passage. They begin chanting, but I can barely hear the words over the wet slap of Rhys's cock driving into me.
The table shakes with every thrust. "Rhys," I moan, and his eyes light up with dark pleasure.
"That's it, cracked doll. That's it, love. Say my name while I ruin you."
The coven of witches dip their fingers into the first bowl—thick crimson liquid that coats their fingertips like fresh blood. The first traces a symbol on Rhys's forehead, chanting louder. He doesn't even blink, his gaze locked on me as he keeps fucking me raw.
The second witch marks my forehead with the same bloody symbol. The third traces Rhys's chest over his heart. The fourth marks mine. The fifth draws on Rhys's lower abdomen, just above where his cock disappears inside me. The sixth traces above my clit, her fingers cool against my burning skin.
They chant louder. Rhys fucks harder.
One witch brings the second bowl to Rhys's lips. He drinks without breaking rhythm, crimson staining his mouth. Then it's my turn. The liquid tastes metallic and bitter, like copper mixed with something herbal and ancient. It coats my lips in red.
The witches begin drawing more symbols—circles around our joined bodies, lines connecting our marked skin. Their chanting reaches a fever pitch.
Rhys's hand wraps around my throat. His other hand pins my hip to the table as he squeezes, cutting off my air.
My vision blurs, but the pressure between my legs builds unbearably.
My cunt spasms around his cock, the lack of oxygen making every sensation sharper.
My hands claw at his wrist, not to stop him but to pull him closer.
The pressure builds and builds until black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
He releases me just as I'm about to come, and I gasp for air. Before I can catch my breath, he leans down and kisses me, swallowing my desperate sounds.
The coven finish their spell as one. Rhys gives me one final, punishing thrust and we both shatter—my scream echoing through the chamber as I convulse beneath him, his cock pulsing deep inside me as he fills me with hot cum.
The witches watch us, their eyes gleaming in the candlelight. Then they speak in unison, their voices carrying the weight of ancient magic.
"Your souls are bound together. For eternity. You will never escape each other in this life or the next.”
The symbols have dried into dark, crusty lines across our skin as we lie tangled in Rhys's black velvet sheets. I can't meet his eyes, my fingers tracing the symbol over his heart, feeling the steady thump beneath the dried blood. The witches' chanting still echoes in my skull.
"Look at you. Look at your beauty," Rhys murmurs, his voice like velvet dragged across broken glass.
"My perfect little sacrifice. My perfect little cracked doll.
That raven-black hair spilled across my pillows like ink from a murderer's quill.
Those ice-blue eyes that cut through me like winter frost, yet burn with such heat when I fuck you senseless.
Your nose, delicate as a porcelain doll's, the kind I'd smash just to see the pieces scattered.
Those lips—fuck, those lips—pale as death and twice as inviting, parted now like they're begging for my cock between them.
How they turn red like a rose over the moonlight after I suck on them. "
My cheeks burn as he continues, his fingers ghosting over my collarbone.
"Your skin, so pale it glows in the candlelight, marked now with our binding.
Every inch of you belongs to me—those perfect tits that fit in my palms like they were carved for my hands, that narrow waist I can span with my fingers, those hips that bruise so beautifully when I grip them hard.
Your cunt, so tight and wet for me, dripping with my cum even now.
Those long legs that wrap around me like they never want to let go.
Even your feet, delicate little things that curl when I make you come. "
I feel my face flush deeper, a smile tugging at my lips despite myself.
"And that smile," he whispers, thumb brushing my bottom lip, "that shy little curve that makes me want to corrupt every innocent thought behind it.
I giggle despite myself, the sound escaping before I can stop it, and his eyes darken with satisfaction.
“Your giggle—Christ, that sound could bring gods to their knees. So light, so unexpected from someone who's seen what you've seen. And your voice when you moan my name... it's the sound of surrender, of a soul finding its home in darkness."
I giggle again. I blush so hard that I feel embarrassed.
And I swallow hard, trying to find words that won't sound pathetic compared to his poetry.
"Well... your eyes," I start, my voice shaky, "they're like...
like staring into an abyss that stares back and wants to keep you.
Your hair's all dark and messy, like you've been running your hands through it while thinking about doing terrible things to me.
Your lips are... they're cruel-looking, but they feel so soft when you kiss me.
Your whole face is all sharp angles and shadows, like someone carved you from marble and then decided to make you dangerous added to your beautiful. "
I trace down his chest, feeling braver.
"Your body's... fuck, it's all muscle and power, like you could break me in half without trying. Your cock's... well, you know what it does to me. Your hands are rough but they know exactly where to touch me. Even your voice makes me wet when you tell me I'm yours."
Rhys's smile is predatory as he leans down, capturing my lips in a kiss that tastes like copper and possession. He shifts above me, his weight pressing me into the mattress as he settles between my spread thighs, his cock already hard against my entrance.
"One more time before we wash," he growls against my mouth, and I feel him push inside me again, claiming me anew as the dried symbols crack and flake between our bodies.