25. Rourke
Rourke
I’m like a dog, licking my wounds as I wander the halls, hoping to scavenge scraps of Belle's existence.
I tried to keep my distance, thinking I could at least last a couple of days like before, but it’s worse now with her direct rejection.
I was good. I was. For the first few hours at least. I stayed in my rooms. When that got too much, I ventured to Peter’s, watching from a distance as he returned late in the night, an unusual sheen over his glossy skin.
Seeing him like that crumbled my reserve, causing me to leak from my tip for an array of reasons.
I have to see her. She told me to stay away, but I can’t.
I’m stronger now, sharper of mind, yet my longing for her is even more ferocious.
Surely she didn’t mean it. She was just upset over Peter’s and my spat.
I can beg for her forgiveness, get on my hands and knees and drink from her cunt as a form of repentance.
I barrel toward her room, keeping my steps light.
Just as I’m about to dart from the shadows of the pillars to her doors, something slams against my shins.
I flounder for my footing on the marble flooring, my heart banging as I prepare for a fight.
A glowing orb scampers away. My pride is already injured, I won’t let a damned striped rat pour salt on my wounds.
I stomp toward the beast, catching him by his fluffy tail and bringing him to my line of vision.
I’ve given up raw meat, but I could make an exception for this bothersome pest. Perhaps if I disposed of him, Belle would need another creature to cuddle close at night.
The thought makes me smile. I bring my hook to his throat, ready to end his annoying terror for good, but then my damned consciousness sparks to life.
I plan to beg for Belle’s forgiveness tonight—kiss her feet, upwards, stalling for several hours at her cunt.
If I barge into her room, covered in the glowing green blood of her beloved pet, she’ll know for sure what I’ve done.
And then she wouldn’t even let me suck her smallest toe, let alone her sweetest cavern.
I sigh, placing the wriggling creature to the ground and watching with a sigh as he runs away—probably to eat holes through the barley sacks in the pantry, or whatever pests do in the dead of night.
As I turn back to her room, I’m proud of myself. I resisted my carnal urges in the name of Belle. If only she could realize I’d do anything for her—anything within my capability, that is.
Thankfully, her door doesn’t make a sound as I push my way in.
I’m left breathless upon entry, staring at Belle, sleeping at the center of her bed, so tiny among a sea of white linen.
She always has a brightness about her, but now, completely at peace, it’s even more so. As I move closer, her smell changes.
Peter.
I’d know him anywhere. He was here. I’m filled with jealousy mixed with a corrupt form of desire.
I crawl onto the bed, my eyes adjusting to the starlight. She’s tousled—fucked. My palm meets a wet spot on the sheets. Yes. He was definitely here. Instead of envy, something else blooms. I want to mix with him. To have her myself, but share her in this subtle interchanging of our cells.
My dark hair cages my view of her splayed over her pillow. She stirs, her feather-like eyelashes dusting to life. “Rourke?” she croaks.
I slap my hand against her mouth. Her eyes widen, and she claws at my restraint.
“Please. Please don’t make me leave.” I release my grip, realizing my approach may not be the best way to win her affection.
“What are you doing?” she asks, stupefied.
I fold over her, sniffing her neck. “I can’t stay away, Belle. Please let me have you as you let him.”
She tenses at first, eyes darting as if detangling thoughts in her mind, but slowly relaxes, running a hand down my back. I take the soft movement as acceptance, her legs wiggling apart underneath me, another clue. I hold myself up to examine her, just to make sure, as I run my hand up her thigh.
She’s all plush features, lips parted, eyes drooping, ready for the taking. “You don’t have to ask,” she whispers.
I scrunch my brow. “But before, you said to stay away?”
“Yes. But obviously, you could overpower me.”
“I would never,” I say, hand beneath her skirt and seeking out the wet heat.
She shudders. “Rourke, you’ve eaten people before.”
I trail down her body, eyes pinned to hers in the descent. I part her cunt with my fingers, preparing my meal. “Have I? I don’t remember. Surely they never tasted as sweet as you.” I spear her with my tongue, repressed whimpers egging me on.
She yanks at my hair, urging me closer. I greedily comply.
I’d climb fully inside her if I could. It’s different from the last time I feasted between her legs, less flavor, less healing, but no less exhilarating.
I pull back to ground myself, to keep from spilling my seed too early like before.
I want to have her writhing under my tongue, to have her slick coating my mouth, but I must take her as Peter did. It’s only fair. It’s only right.
I crawl over her, hiking up her legs and forcing her against my middle, careful not to nick her with my hook.
I pull myself free of my slacks, not letting our gaze untether.
Her heels dig into the back of my thighs as I position myself at her entrance.
If she wants to impale herself on my cock, I’ll happily comply.
Is this my first time with a woman in such a way?
I can’t remember. My movements feel natural, my body knows the steps, and yet I can’t recall a time I’ve claimed someone as I plan to do with Belle.
I’m thankful for these lost memories, if only that Belle will be the singular beacon of pleasure in the wasteland of my mind. No one would ever compare.
I pound inside of her. She’s tiny, wrapping around me with a suffocating grip. “Fucking stars!” I yell. I want to take my time, to enjoy this monumental moment, but I can’t hold back. I must claim her with speedy force.
I close my eyes, unable to look at her, at risk of this ending too soon.
Her breaths are shallow and quick, but she’s not as noisy as last time.
Perhaps because I’m taking my pleasure instead of focusing on hers.
The thought makes my dick the tiniest bit limp—not by much, but still.
I want her crying out, her vocal cords slapping against each other until they’re worn away.
I open my eyes, needed to make sure she’s enjoying herself.
She clutches a dagger, pointed at my arm.
Her muscles strain, but the weapon doesn’t move closer.
She drops it to her side, eyes wide with terror.
I used to feed on fear, get off on it, but from her, it rattles my bones.
I swoop the distance, devouring her lips with mine as I pound away.
She’s stiff at first, but soon melts into the embrace, wrapping her arms around my neck.
Perhaps she wants to carve me up while being fucked.
I’d let her cut off my dick and put it in a jar if she asked.
The Darling won’t let her hurt me, but maybe next time we can figure out a way she can have her fantasy.
More likely, she was trying to kill me, but now she claws at my back, rubbing her clit against my pelvic bone, reaching the height of her edge.
She doesn’t seem like she wants me dead.
And if she does, I don’t mind. She can do whatever she wants with me as long as she keeps me near.
I’ll haunt her from the grave and feast on her cunt from the afterlife.
I increase my tempo, pushing away the fabric covering her breasts and greedily grabbing the revealed treasure. I let myself get close as I sense she’s there with me.
She grabs my arm. “Rourke.”
I cradle her jaw in my hand, my hook resting against her cheek, my elbows holding up my upper half as my hips work without direction.
“Come on my chest.” There’s desperation in her eyes, that terror again.
I want to release inside of her, a deep-seated urge to claim her fully, but I know she fears my father's task, that I’ll fill her with my heir.
Has Peter already staked his claim? Does she deny me, yet offer herself completely to him?
My familiar green friend pokes his ugly head.
I am half inclined to resist her request, but her grip tightens on my wrist.
“Rourke, come on my chest.” She screams, convulsing around my cock, reaching her crescendo.
How can I refuse her? I pull out at the last moment, pumping my fist down my shaft as I release hot globs of pearly white over her perfect mounds. I stare at my creation, barely believing I made something so beautiful.
Her voice cracks the silence, a determined deviance in her eyes. “Lick up your mess.”
I’m still under her spell. Her pupils swim in a fire of desire as she watches me obey her request, making slow, focused work of washing her clean.
Her breath hitches with each stroke of my tongue on her skin.
I’m half-cocked again, ready to go for round two, but once I’ve lapped up the last drop of my seed, she pushes me away. “Leave,” she demands.
I’m wounded, but I rise. Disappointment lines her features. Perhaps I didn’t perform. Of course, I didn’t. I could do better than my quick, desperate release, but she seems in no mood to witness a second chance of my performance.
I stuff myself back in my pants, rushing away from her bedroom as she wishes. I’m back to licking my wounds through the hall, this time with a saltier taste on my tongue.