CHAPTER 69 #2
At the first brush of his tongue against my overly sensitive flesh, I arched like a cat, moaning with the welcomed intrusion.
My ass twitched, fingers curled against the unforgiving surface of the wood, as he licked and sucked and drove his fingers up into me.
Arousal leaked down my thighs, and he groaned, pausing to suck his fingers before plunging them back inside me.
“Why does the forbidden have to be so fucking sweet?” He dragged his tongue over the back of my thighs, lapping up every drop.
A ravenous greed throbbed in my belly, and I backed myself to his knuckles and circled my hips, desperate for more.
A tight grip of my throat lifted my chin, sealing off the air to my lungs as he held me steady.
In and out, he pumped his fingers while squeezing my throat just enough that I could feel my pulse hammering against his palm.
He withdrew his fingers on a wet sound and ran the pad of his thumb in small circles over my swollen and aching hole.
“Do you need a proper fucking, Miss Vespertine?”
“Yes, Professor,” I breathed, my pussy clenching with his relentless teasing.
For the two weeks after Angelo’s attack, he hadn’t attempted to touch me that way.
Part of it was my own insecurity over the scar on my face and the yellowing bruises across my body.
I’d struggled to look at myself in the mirror without seeing those hateful black eyes and hearing Angelo’s promise to mutilate me.
Devryck had told me that he’d wait until I was ready, and while he’d remained affectionate, even more so than before, he’d never gotten sexual–not even as I’d slept beside him.
Not even the one time I’d broken down while showering, and he’d held my naked body against him.
I hadn’t realized how much I’d yearned for that, how much I’d needed that level of closeness without actual sex.
In the weeks that’d followed, my wound healed, the bruises faded, and I no longer heard Angelo’s whispers.
My desire for Devryck intensified, a hungry beast that twisted and curled with its appetence, until he’d finally caved.
What followed was a craving for the man like I’d never felt before.
It’d peaked that first night, from sundown to sunrise, when he’d taken me against his desk, the chair, and every wall of his office.
We’d eaten, showered, and fucked away every horrible thought still lingering in my head.
I’d come alive, resurrected.
I’d felt beautiful, desired, whole again.
Yet, there seemed to be something looming between us. Something unresolved.
A sting smarted the cheek of my ass, and with a nudge of my hip, he urged me to step down to the floor.
“Lower your face to the desk,” he commanded, and I did, feeling the hem of my skirt lift higher up the cheeks of my ass, giving him a full-on view of my needy flesh.
It seemed to be his thing, staring at me before he took me.
Part of me felt like he enjoyed the torment of having something he considered forbidden on display.
Palms flat to the desk, I stared toward the bookcase to the right of us, waiting as he visually devoured me in silence. I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth, the anticipation of his touch like sex itself.
Peering over my shoulder, I watched him unbutton his shirt, peeling it away from his shoulders, where a scar marked the bullet that’d plowed through him. He unfastened his belt buckle and sprang himself free, giving a few languorous pumps of that deliciously thick cock.
Still bent over his desk, I waited for his ruthless plundering.
The rapacious desire we had for ruining each other.
The tearing of clothes and scratching of skin.
The biting and smacking, and filthy words that sank themselves in my head, erasing every hateful thought about myself that I stored there.
Instead, I felt him notch the tip of his cock at my already soaked entrance, drawing soft circles over my flesh.
The maddening lust for his lechery had me feeling like I might combust from the tension, and I turned to rest my forehead against the desk, balling my hands to fists.
Slow and lazily, he gave small thrusts–just enough to stir the desperation coiling in my stomach, until, at last, he pushed to the hilt, and a sound of utter relief spilled out of me.
A guttural groan rumbled in his throat as his hips drove into me on a rough thrust.
Yes. This was what I wanted. What I needed.
Pain zapped my scalp, as he gripped a fistful of hair and lifted my head from the desk.
“Look how well you take my cock, Little Moth. You were made for me,” he said on a ragged breath, and he released my hair, gripping my hips in a way that felt possessive and dominating.
A few hard thrusts had the shiny veneer burning my breasts as my body jerked across the desktop, and he pulled out on a wet glide.
The absence of him had every cell in my body screaming with a voracious hunger.
I craned my neck to see him flicking his fingers, urging me off his desk, and he fell into his chair, his cock standing proud and threatening as he stroked the thick shaft.
I impaled myself over the monstrous fiend that’d tormented me so many times with his teasing, biting my lip while he filled me completely.
As I pushed to draw myself back up his length, he held my shoulders, keeping me in place.
Finger hooking my chin, he guided my face to his, those implacable copper eyes searching mine.
“Do you feel that, Lilia?” He ground my hips against him, rooting himself so deeply it sprang tears to my eyes.
We’d had sex countless times before, had fucked in nearly every position, but why, in that precise moment, didn’t it feel the same?
Why, the second the question tumbled from his lips, did my heart pound in my chest, as if I’d anticipated his inquiry? As if I’d thought it at the same time.
As we sat wrapped around each other, breaths hastening with need and desperation, something clawed inside of me.
It begged me to turn away from him. To push off and curse him.
Twisting and writhing in my gut with a furious determination to break away.
An unfamiliar intruder that hooked itself into my belly and climbed its way to my ribs.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Why does it feel different?”
He ran his thumb over my scar and pressed his lips to the jagged surface. “Tell me what feels different?”
I focused on the foreign pressure blooming in my chest. The way he held me. The freedom and security, and our heated bodies entwined together like two flames.
Soulmates.
It was his eyes. The way he was looking at me. The feelings he stirred inside of me with that obnoxious gleam of reverence.
No.
I pushed against his chest, but he held me closer, digging his fingers into my hips, refusing to let me go. His hands climbed beneath my shirt, to the column of my spine, where he pressed me against him.
The monster scratched at my ribs, punching at my bones for escape.
“Say it.”
“Just fuck me already,” I snapped, frustrated for reasons I couldn’t tell him.
“Is that all you want? A quick fuck? You know I can give you that, but I think there’s something inside of you that craves more.”
How could he have known that? How could he have possibly known the hungry shadow, the vacuous hole that longed to eat my heart?
“I feel it, too,” he said, as if reading my mind. “It’s inside of me. Burning like a fever I can’t shake. It’s a spiteful, prideful anger that refuses to admit the truth.”
“What truth?” I asked, my voice shaky. Nervous.
“That I would kill for you without a beat of hesitation, or remorse. And yet, at the same time, I could be reduced to nothing more than a pile of ash without you. I’m weak for you, Lilia.”
Through an irritating blur of tears, I chewed on his words, savoring them. How strange that I felt so different. Stronger. More confident because of him.
As many times as I’d had to look at the scar Angelo had left, Devryck made me forget it was there. He somehow infused courage into my most discomposed moments, when the world felt more foe than friend. “Why do you have to make me cry?”
“Because I know there’s a truth inside you, too. One you refuse to admit, but I want you to say it. Say it to my face.”
“I can’t.”
“What are you afraid of?”
I shook my head, a swell of panic rising up into my throat and yearning to break free on an angry bellow.
Teeth clenched, he gripped my jaw. “What are you afraid of?”
“That the universe will hear it, too! And it’ll steal you away.
” The wobble of tears broke, skating down my cheek.
“I wanted to say it to you so badly that day at the ocean, when you were slipping away from me. I was screaming inside my head. Tell him! Tell him before it’s too late .
But I couldn’t, because I knew if I did, you’d be gone forever.
And now? Now it feels cursed. Like I’m carrying a cursed secret inside of me that I can never say aloud. ”
His brows came together as he pushed a strand of hair behind my ear.
“I’m not going anywhere. You and I? This?
There’s no escaping it. Doesn’t matter how fast you run, or how far you get, I will always be inside you just like this.
In your bones and in your blood and in your head.
It doesn’t matter what you tell the universe–what secrets you spill.
Nothing can change what we are, what we’ve become. ”
It was there, on the tip of my tongue, begging to be said, as I imbibed his confession like an addict.
“I want to tell you. I’ve wanted to tell you for a while, but my heart feels too hard.
Too guarded. And in some ways, I’m glad, because the harder I am, the less I feel, and the less I feel, the less everything hurts. ”