six -Brynn-
six
-Brynn-
It’s like there’s a veil over my mind as I keep trying to convince myself this is a dream, that I’ll wake up from soon.
Because there’s no way my body would betray me like this.
I know Ares does things to me no other man ever could.
Makes me feel things. Makes me vibrate. But this has gone too far.
I’m too out of control. Too out of touch with myself.
Like something shifts inside me every time I’m around him, and I only function like a wooden golem.
My mind, my body, my heart—all under his spell.
There’s no point in lying to myself. I knew I was doomed from the second the door opened, and no matter how badly I wanted to deceive myself that I could face him without consequences, seeing him face-to-face rewrote everything I’d prepared for.
Funny how just the proximity to a person can cancel self-will or any kind of plan ever made, the line between revenge and need blurring into something undefinable.
I know he’s part-human, part-devil—or whatever name fits the monster inside him—and I should’ve been scared seeing his dark-side taking over. But nothing about me is functioning normally right now. I’m just too lost in front of the impressive display of muscles...strength...and raw power.
I should’ve said something, but all I could do was accept whatever he might’ve given me as long as it wasn’t pure rage.
Because I know damn well that’s what I deserved.
He has no idea what this is all about, and that I’m keeping him in the dark on purpose; expecting him to understand when I’ve done nothing to help him with that.
Still, I don’t have time for explanations right now, my mind feeling too dumbstruck to form one. Or maybe it’s because I don’t want to get into a fight, not before he stills the torment that’s been ripping from my body for far too long.
His touch is like fire, mystifying, addictive, leaving unerasable trails behind.
I just never considered this. That my own body would give in like this. That I would be drowning in the sensation of completion, yet somehow still yearning for more.
Maybe the solitude caused me to lose my mind.
I see no other logical explanation for it.
The need to see, sense, feel another human being this close.
Or maybe that’s just a lie I tell myself to deal with this.
When Elias died, I spent months alone. I didn’t want to talk or see anyone else.
So that’s the best proof that I don’t need company. Yet somehow, I do need him.
Just when I thought there was nothing left for him to ruin, because my world started spinning and nothing, except the rhythm of his breath, made sense. That’s when I realized this has gone too far. It’s dangerously addictive.
I try to escape as soon as my body finds a pleasure I never imagined possible. Something so violent, it felt almost out of this world. The final line between ecstasy and agony.
I don’t get far before he caught me. To be honest, I’m not even sure where I was going.
Maybe just testing the limits, hoping our reality was distorted enough for him to let me go.
But deep down, I know this was just fucking, or just him proving how much power he holds over me.
He didn’t forget or forgive me. It’s just our bodies refusing to stay away from each other. Maybe for one last time.
He catches my waist, turning me until my back hits the steps. I’m still trying to recover from whatever the fuck he did to me against the wall. Not that I didn’t enjoy it. In fact, I think I enjoyed it far too much.
I don’t get a chance to get back my senses before he finds room between my thighs, his strength overpowering me as he climbs on top of me.
My heart pounds louder than usual, louder than it should, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. The same way, there’s nothing I can do to stop what’s about to happen next. How easily I’m gonna allow myself to be weak in front of him again.
His weight pins me down against the stairs, though I’m not sure if it’s anxiety or excitement that really keeps me there. I don’t try to fight him, though, just squeeze him between my thighs, letting my body say what my mouth is too afraid to.
He hums, like he understands me completely, then lets his hands slip between us, looking down at me as he lifts my T-shirt. I can feel him twitch between my legs as his fingers wrap around one of my nipples, squeezing tight enough to hurt, tight enough to make that spot between my own legs twitch.
I let out a silent gasp. Not in pain. But because I want more, I just don’t know how to let him know. Though by the devious look in his eyes, I assume he already suspects.
“I should kill you,” he mutters, but I can tell he has no intention of actually doing it. If he wanted me dead, I’d be dead by now. From what I can tell, he’s doing his best to keep me alive… and very satisfied.
Still, I’m done playing victim, so I let my hands slip between us, reaching for his zipper.
I don’t have much practice with this, though that doesn’t mean I don’t get the damn thing open in under two seconds, and my hand slides inside his boxers, fingers wrapping around his length.
My nails hit the metal piercings there, and a chill runs down my spine, remembering how good it felt inside me.
How good he felt inside me. I don’t have time to lie to myself anymore.
I want him there. I want to feel him, even if it hurts.
Maybe it’s better when it hurts, because he reminds me how real this all is. How I’m still alive.
His eyes light up like Christmas lights.
No matter how hard he tries to hide the flicker, I can feel his warmth beneath my fingers, his precum, pooling at the tip.
I find myself trying to stop that pulse between my thighs again.
Only it’s getting stronger, already tampering with my still very sensitive condition.
A second ago, I was convinced I had enough.
Now I’m starting to believe I’ll never have enough of him.
I would never admit that though. I just challenge him, “Then do it. Kill me,” my tone doesn’t ask for actual murder, maybe just murder my treacherous pussy all over again.
He doesn’t give me a response—at least not a verbal one, but with one sharp move, he rips my shirt off, the piercing in my nipple glinting under the faded light, like a beacon, calling him to taste it.
He leans in, then sucks rough, so rough that I fear he might rip it from my body, but my fingers wrap tighter, the metal nudging into my hand, traveling his length, as I begin to count all seven of his piercings.
“Don’t… give… me… ideas,” he grunts, his voice strained with a metallic edge to it. His lips move over my breast, his fingers digging into my ribs, light enough so he won’t hurt me, but hard enough for me to feel it.
He then pushes my legs further apart as my hand doesn’t stop working on his very aroused appendage.
I’m hot and cold. Cold because it’s damn freezing down here in the basement, and hot because he seems to be setting me on fire from within. Especially as I feel him so ready to have me.
He pushes his pants down, just enough to set himself free, while I can’t help but peek down. My hand on his cock, an all-too-obvious picture of what’s really happening here. He didn’t take anything I haven’t already given him. But now, I want him to take it all.
Which seems to be exactly what he’s doing.
His hips move closer, his breath warm against my skin, and for a second, I’m fucking afraid.
Afraid of what’s gonna happen to us after this, of what it will take to repair myself if I let him sink so deeply into my soul.
Though it's not my soul he’s trying to sink into right now.
Like I’m having a moment of lucidity in all this madness, I draw my hand back, grabbing the edge of the stairs, as if I’m clinging to the last wire that keeps me tight to my past—to my real mission.
But then that wire snaps, and I’m drawn back into the raw emotion of what being his really means as his tip presses against my folds, taunting me like it's the forbidden fruit I can never taste. Even though I’m pretty sure my channel must be bruised, I can’t help but want him.
Maybe even more than earlier. Maybe even more than ever.
He moves again against my damp core, a visible tremble in his limbs as he tries to hold back. Though there’s no holding back now, and we both know it. There’s no waiting either. His fingers dig into my thighs as he pulls me down to meet him.
The first piercing slides in. The movement leaves me breathless—muscles tight, jaw clenched—holding back a moan that escapes anyway through my gritted teeth.
That tightening sensation sets in, like my body is about to implode and explode at the same time.
My head falls back, resting against one of the steps.
Right now, I’d do anything for this kind of pleasure to never leave my body.
Then another piercing follows, my back arching from the welcome intrusion, my mind a mess, trying somehow not to show him how badly I want this...
and miserably failing. I grip the stairs tighter, like I’m about to fall apart into pieces.
But suddenly, there’s a sharp sting in my hand.
“Fuck,” I curse, my voice raw, but not exactly just from the sting in my hand.
It instantly gets Ares’ attention, his head rising from my chest, his eyes locking onto my hand, now bleeding. “My wine bottles are claiming revenge,” he smirks like he's satisfied that I’ve cut myself on a shard.
Before I get to think about all the senses of the word revenge can have right now, he takes my hand and brings it to his lips.
A dark lust lights up in his eyes like he’s a fucking vampire, not the devil.
He licks the wound, slowly like he’s testing it, spitting out the shard when he’s done. Only he’s not really done.