Chapter 28
“Do you want to meet my cock tonight?” he asked.
Oh! It was happening! It was finally happening!
Stay calm. Stay calm.
“Yes!” I screamed.
“Gah.” He jerked. “Relax.”
“I’m relaxed. I’m relaxed. I’m relaxed.”
My lower lip quivered…from fear or excitement, I did not know. I just needed to move my hips, needed to feel his skin on mine, I needed to sink my teeth into him and eat him and drink him and drown in him.
“Princess.” His fingers brushed down my cheek, trying to find me in the dark. “My cock isn’t going to fit inside of you. I need you wet, soaking wet, if we’re going to make this work.”
“Sounds good.”
“I’m going to make you come first.”
I kept the knife at his throat. “I can’t let you move. You’re mine.”
I heard a smirk. “Yeah, Delphine, I’m yours.”
“You…you just said my name.”
With the knife at his throat, he slowly pulled me up to sitting, vigilant of not letting himself escape my weapon. Tugging me by my hips, he set me on the edge of the mattress and knelt between my legs on the floor, doing it slowly enough so that I could keep the blade under his throat.
His fingers dallied up to my underwear and he slipped them down my legs, and off my feet and parted my thighs, opening them up.
Now with myself bare to him, my chest thumped with electricity.
He moved my hand that held the knife to the back of his neck. “You don’t want to prick yourself,” he said.
Now holding the blade at the back of his neck, I looked down, trying to find him in the dark, seeing only a mess of black hair. “What—”
He dove his mouth onto me.
I lost a sigh.
He kissed, he sucked, he plunged his tongue, he grazed his teeth in all the places I needed him to graze and soon his fingers worked me. Not one finger, he slipped in two and stretched me and pumped me while he sucked on my clit.
Furious with the building bliss, with my free hand I threaded my fingers through his scalp and bunched up a fistful of his black messy hair, forcing his face into me, keeping the blade locked against the back of his neck.
A muffled chuckle emitted from his mouth, but I did not let him up. I kept him restrained, and he obeyed, sucking and licking and pumping his fingers.
I erupted, losing the knife, flinging myself back onto the bed, grabbing at the sheets and let the wave of frenzy trundle over me. My legs quivered. My heart eclipsed into a clutter. Magnificent. Beautiful.
Dig got up as I expired into satisfaction and lit a candle on the bedside table, bringing a buttery glow to the bedroom.
When I looked up at him through the chaos of my panting, the bliss still echoing through my nerves, my heat reclimbed.
He wore his red heart-shaped sunglasses.
I had just come, but I was ready to come again. And again and again. A thousand times I needed to look upon those silly red heart-shaped sunglasses and feel him deep inside of me thrusting until I was filled up with Dig Graves.
In the tawny light I came to witness his naked chest.
Oh freckles, he looked good.
Shoulders broad and so wide he could have carried wings on his back.
The perfect figure of his torso held chiselled definition of abdominal muscles, and his waist tapered down flat and smooth to his pelvic bones.
An array of tattoos sprinkled over his chest along with a tapestry of scars, some ivory, some pink.
Some from years ago, some still healing.
There was only one blank spot on his skin.
His heart.
The skin covering over his beating organ was plain and untouched as if waiting patiently for an insignia that would show his connection to a Soulmate. It was as if he had left that space bare, as if he were anticipating his Soulmate would find him and they would become one.
I looked up at the majesty of this seraphic creature, this man of wickedness, this being who had stolen endless lives. His black hair tousled down his cheeks, his pink lips pulled into a sly grin, he cocked his head with wolfish delight.
“So, Princess.” He pulled on the waistband on his pants. The bulge of his cock kicked under the material, eager to be released. “Do you want me to fuck you?”
He looked how he had seven years ago.
That night when he had climbed into my bedroom; those same sunglasses and that same grin. It was a moment I had replayed over and over in my head.
At first there had been a spike of fear.
Rolling over the thoughts of this man taking me hostage with his blade, drowning in the sound of his deep voice and thundering laugh.
But the more those thoughts impeded all others, the more I realised…
I was daydreaming about him. I played that night like a broken record through my mind with a sly, stupid smile, running my fingers over my skin, touching in all the places that brought me into a sigh.
I lingered on his scent of blood and leather, wrapped my bedsheets over my body, trying to soak his presence into me.
For weeks I lived in those same unwashed sheets, looking at his picture wearing his red heart-shaped sunglasses with my hand down my legs.
It did not matter how many times I forced myself to come, it did not solve this fixation.
My nerves were humming. Constantly humming with need.
Some part of me grieved that night.
What would it have been like, if I had not stopped him?
Would his hands have explored every crevice of my body like they had done so dutifully before? Would he have whispered haunting words into my ear, forcing me to tremble? Would his tongue have lapped up my wetness? And how would he take me?
There.
There at 2am in my bedroom. After crawling through my lace curtains, getting blood all over my antique rug.
I had worn my silk pyjamas, his bloody knife would have slashed them into threads, he would have pulled down his belt, slammed his cock inside of me and fucked me there upon my pink flower-speckled sheets, holding his hand over my mouth so that my screams of terror and bliss and desire and release could not be heard by my brother or personal guards.
After that… I realised I needed something.
I needed therapy.
“I need you.” I reached out my hand to him.
Screw therapy.