Chapter 24 #2
It’s the most violent, beautiful thing I’ve ever felt. It’s not soft; it’s a collision of salt, copper, and desperation. His mouth crashes into mine with a starving ferocity, his tongue forcing my lips open as if he’s trying to swallow the very scream I just let out.
It’s a kiss that tastes like the fire we jumped through and the black water that tried to take us.
It’s a kiss that says I see the hole in you, and I’m the only thing big enough to fill it.
His other hand tangles in my wet, matted hair, pulling my head back until my neck arches, exposing me completely to the horrified gaze of the city.
I’m sobbing into his mouth, my hands clawing at his leather jacket, trying to pull him closer, to melt into the terrifying heat of him.
The friction of his stubble against my raw skin, the taste of his dark arousal, the way his thumb presses into the pulse point of my neck—it’s an sensory overload that finally snaps the last thread of my sanity.
The crowd is watching in a paralysed, sickened silence as the “hero” and the “victim” devour each other in the middle of a highway graveyard.
He pulls back just a fraction, his lips smeared with my kohl and my tears, his breath coming in hot, jagged bursts against my mouth.
“The silence is over, Hallow,” he rasps, his eyes burning into mine with a predatory light. “From now on, the only one you scream for is me.”
The sound of the latch disengaging is like a gunshot in the silence of the bridge.
Clack-shhh. Jex doesn’t let go of my throat as he kicks the rear doors of the ambulance wide.
The interior light spills out, clinical and harsh, illuminating the gurney where our father lies—strapped down, hooked to monitors, his face a map of fresh stitches and ancient terror.
“Look at him, Hallow,” Jex rasps, his voice a low, vibrating growl against my ear. “Look at the man who sold you. I want him to have the best seat in the house for the grand finale.”
“No… Jex, please,” I sob, my hands clawing at his leather sleeves, my broken nails dragging over the hide. It’s too much—the crowd, the cameras, the cold eyes of the man who ruined me. “Not like this. Not in front of him.”
“Especially in front of him,” Jex snarls.
He shoves me back against the bumper, the cold metal biting into my spine.
With a violent, one-handed jerk, he grabs the collar of my ruined gown and rips.
The fabric screams as it parts, the silk fluttering away like dead wings, leaving me exposed to the biting night air and the horrified, bulging eyes of the Mayor.
“Stop it! Jex, stop!” I cry out, but the sound dies in my throat as he leans in.
He doesn’t stop. He taunts him. “You see this, Dad? You see how beautiful she is when she’s broken? You paid for the silence, but I’m the one who gets the music.”
Jex’s mouth drops to my chest, his teeth grazing the sensitive, aching peak of my breast. He doesn’t tease; he bites, a sharp, possessive nip that sends a jolt of pure, electric agony-turning-to-ecstasy straight to my core.
I let out a sharp, fractured moan, my head thumping back against the ambulance door.
“Oh god… Jex…”
The tears are streaming now, hot and salt-thick, tracking through the soot on my cheeks. I’m shaking, my body caught in a terrifying tug-of-war between the shame of my father’s gaze and the starving hunger of my own skin.
Jex’s tongue is a hot, wet brand, dragging a slow, agonising path down the centre of my stomach. He’s kneeling now, his hands bruising my thighs as he forces them wider, pinning me against the edge of the gurney. He looks up at our father, a jagged, wolfish grin splitting his face.
“She’s crying, Dad. Is this what you wanted? Is this the ‘family values’ you preached about?”
He buries his face in the soft heat of my belly, his tongue swirling, tasting the salt and the lingering scent of the harbour. Every flick of his muscle makes my hips buck instinctively, my fingers tangling in his hair even as I try to push him away.
“Jex… fuck… please…”
I’m falling apart in real-time. I’m a mess of sobbing grief and rising, dirty heat. Through the haze of my tears, I see my father’s hand twitching against the restraints, his mouth moving in a silent, horrified prayer.
“Don’t look at him, Hallow,” Jex growls, his voice muffled against my skin as he moves lower, his breath hot against the soaking wet curls of my sex. “Look at me. Remember who stayed in the dark with you. Remember who’s the only one allowed to touch the wreckage.”
He licks me—one long, broad stroke from my labia to my clit—and the world shatters.
The sound that leaves my mouth isn’t a sob anymore; it’s a raw, animalistic wail of release.
I’m cumming, my body arching into a rigid, trembling bow, my pussy pulsing against his mouth in a frantic, rhythmic surrender.
And the whole city is watching. And the man who made me is forced to bear witness to the monster he perfected.
I am pinned against the cold, clinical bumper of the ambulance, my naked skin a stark, shivering white against the black night. Dad is inches away, his eyes bulging behind his oxygen mask, his muffled, wheezing pleas lost in the roar of the wind.
Jex doesn’t just lower his head; he descends on me like he’s starving for the very thing that broke me.
“Look at her, Dad,” Jex growls, his voice a vibration I feel in my bones. “Look at the girl you tried to bury.”
Then, he buries himself.
The first touch of his tongue is a shock—a hot, wet broadside against my swollen, salt-stung centre.
I let out a jagged, high-pitched scream that the PA system catches and throws across the bridge, a sonic boom of pure need.
He doesn’t tease. He doesn’t hesitate. He cups my ass with his gloved hands, his fingers digging into the meat of my thighs to hold me open, and he devours me.
His tongue is a heavy, rhythmic muscle, dragging from the very base of my opening all the way up to my hood in one long, agonisingly slow stroke.
It’s thick and rough, tasting of the copper in the air and the salt on my skin.
He licks me like he’s trying to scrub the memory of every other man’s touch off my body.
“Jex…… oh god, Jex…”
I’m sobbing, my head thumping rhythmically against the metal door, my fingers tangling in his damp hair, trying to push him closer and pull him away all at once. The tears are a hot flood now, dripping off my chin and onto his neck, but he doesn’t flinch.
He switches from the long strokes to a frantic, fluttering suction.
He pins my clit between his lips and pulls, a deep, vacuum-like pressure that makes my toes curl into the asphalt.
It’s a localised explosion of nerves. Every flick of his tongue is a lightning strike, a precision-guided assault on the very core of my being.
I can hear the wet, rhythmic slap of his mouth against my inner thighs, a dirty sound that carries over the silence of the horrified crowd. He’s drinking me, his throat working as he swallows the frantic, over-bright heat of my arousal.
“Is this the silence you wanted, Dad?” Jex mumbles against my skin, his voice muffled by the folds of my labia.
He sticks two fingers inside me, stretching me wide while his tongue continues its relentless, circular grind on my nub.
The contrast is breaking my brain—the freezing bridge air on my back and the boiling, invasive heat of his mouth.
I am a wreck of sensation, a mess of sobbing grief and a pleasure so sharp it feels like a wound.
My hips start to buck uncontrollably, my pussy pulsing in a frantic, staccato rhythm against his face. I’m climbing a glass mountain, my breath coming in short, terrified gasps.
“I’m…“I’m… I’’m going to…… Jex, please!”
He doesn’t let up. He intensifies, his tongue darting into me, then back to the peak, faster and faster until the world dissolves into a blur of orange hazard lights and white-hot static. I shatter.
It’s a violent, physical seizure. My internal muscles clamp around his fingers, my body arching off the bumper as a long, harrowing wail of release tears out of my throat and echoes into the dark.
I’m coming so hard my vision goes black, the tears finally flowing freely as the last ten years of quiet shame are licked clean by the only monster I ever truly loved.
He stays there, his face buried in me, breathing in the scent of my climax while our father watches the light die in my eyes.
The aftershocks of the climax are still racking my ribs, making my breath hitch in ragged, wet stutters, but Jex isn’t finished with the theatre. He pulls back, his face glistening with the salt of my release and the soot of the fire, looking like a demon who just took communion.
“The show’s not over, Hallow,” he rasps, his voice a low, jagged vibration. “The city’s watching, but the VIP needs a better view.”
He grabs my wrists, his grip like iron manacles, and hauls me up into the back of the ambulance.
I’m a dead weight, my skin humming, my vision swimming in the harsh fluorescent light.
He doesn’t lay me down. He reaches for the heavy-duty nylon restraint straps hanging from the ceiling grab-bars—the ones meant to stabilise patients in a roll-over.
“Jex… no… please,” I whisper, my voice breaking.
He ignores me, his focus clinical and terrifying.
He loops the straps around my wrists and cranks the ratchets until my arms are pulled taut above my head, forcing me to stand on my tiptoes directly over the gurney.
He kicks my legs wide, snapping secondary leads around my ankles and tethering them to the base of the bed.
I am suspended in a perfect, agonising arch, my core thrust forward, my centre hovering barely inches above our father’s face.
“Look at her, Dad,” Jex growls, stepping toward the head of the bed.