Chapter 35 Nyx #4
“How do you need me?” he asks quietly, and my eyes flutter shut at the heat in his deep voice.
When I open my eyes again, his are almost completely black. “I need you to make it better.”
“Okay.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“Okay,” I whisper, crawling backwards. We move in sync as he follows, pressing me into the bed with his hips between my legs.
Gently, he brings his hand to cup my chin and tilts my head back.
When our lips meet, it awakens the urgent, undeniable need to be touched with a fury I didn’t think was possible, at least not tonight.
I thread my fingers through his hair and pull him into me, deepening our kiss at the same time as I wrap my legs around his waist.
We part, and I whisper through panting breaths, “Don’t be gentle.
” He groans desperately as my words unleash his restraint, and then we’re both frantically removing our remaining clothes.
I moan when the heat of his bare skin meets mine as hard muscle meets soft skin.
I don’t care that he’s adding more marks to my skin as he runs his fingers down my breasts and sides, palming my ass and pulling me into him.
His hand snakes between my legs, rubbing my clit and spreading the arousal dripping from my entrance over my pussy, then his cock.
He notches himself at my opening, but I whimper when he stops.
“Yes or no?” My answer is immediate. I use my legs to pull him inside and whimper at the stretch of him as his head falls to the pillow beside me.
“Jesus fuck you feel so good,” he moans.
“More.” It’s simultaneously a plea and an order, and he laughs breathlessly, posting back up and grabbing my hips with both hands, eyes fixated on where we’re joined.
He withdraws, and then everything else in the world disappears except for the stretch of his thick cock as he works it inside of me, again and again and again, until every inch of him is where it belongs.
My breath stutters when he hilts me, and he drops his forehead to mine. “You’re so fucking tight I need a minute.” Despite the indescribable fullness, the pressure on my cervix, my hands run down his back and reach for his ass, pulling him into me.
“Baby—God. Fuck. On your knees.” I nearly cry when he pulls out, but then he’s turning me onto my stomach, pushing my ass up so I’m on all fours, and mounting me. My elbows buckle as he begins to thrust, and then sob from the pleasure of him rutting into me hard enough to make our skin slap.
The sounds of our sweat-soaked bodies meeting violently with shared arousal is a symphony he orchestrates to drive every other thought out of my mind except the mounting pleasure between my legs, and the fire running through my veins.
He starts groaning with every thrust, and the pillow is wet with my tears, but it feels like we’ll both die if we stop.
“Gimme one, baby. I need to feel you squeezing around me before I fill this perfect pussy up.” He flattens me into the mattress with his weight and snakes his arms around mine until our fingers are threaded together, never stopping his thrusting.
“You can do it,” he moans. “You can do it for me.”
His praise ignites an explosion of heat that seizes me in its grasp and refuses to let go.
“Oh good girl. Such a good fucking girl,” he laughs, and then I can only lay there, shaking as he uses my body so thoroughly I fear I might float away if he stops.
“God—I’m so close. So fucking close oh fuck, fuck—” I gasp when pressure like I’ve never felt before fills me so completely that I orgasm again as he tries to reach the deepest part of me, that sacred place where there’s no beginning and no end and nothing else matters.
He lets go of my hand and snakes his arm under my neck, rolling us to the side even as he continues his shallow thrusts, kissing my neck and pressing on my pelvis with his other hand.
As our breathing slows, awareness creeps in, and I realize the pressure inside of me hasn’t gone away.
“What is that?” I ask, not bothering to open my eyes from where I’m laying my head. His thrusting slows and then stops entirely, hard cock still inside of me.
He exhales sharply and answers with a shaky voice, “It’s—it’s a knot. Just—something werewolves do.”
“Okay,” I whisper, but then he’s pulling his arm out from under my head and off my stomach.
“Should go down in a few minutes.”
“Okay,” I murmur, basking in the afterglow of two incredible orgasms. Every so often, he tries to pull out and I feel a tugging sensation that eventually eases enough for him to slide his cock out of me.
When he crawls off the bed, I assume he’s getting a washcloth or something, but when I hear the clink of his belt buckle, I open my eyes and sit up, pulling the sheet over my breasts.
“What—?” I ask, but he doesn’t look at me as he starts talking and finding the rest of his clothes.
“That was great. Thanks.” Thanks?
“You’re leaving?”
“Yeah, yeah I have to go.”
“I thought—”
“I didn’t realize how late it was.” For the second time in as many hours, icy dread trickles down my spine. He’s leaving. He said he was going to stay, and now he’s leaving.
He said he was going to stay.
Unlike earlier, I don’t lose myself in the chasm of hurt that’s cracking my chest open. Unlike then, my mind becomes still, and numb.
“You said you would stay.” It’s a statement, but I can’t help the hint of longing that bleeds into my voice as realization dawns that I’ve just done it again. I believed this night couldn’t get any worse, and the universe proved me wrong.
“I mean, you were great—really—but you know this doesn’t mean anything, right? It was just… a good fuck. Stress relief. Nothing serious.”
He doesn’t bother putting his shoes back on, holding them in one hand with his suit jacket slung over his arm.
“Nyx? You know this isn’t serious, right?”
Un-fucking-believable. “
I meet his eyes with a dead look. “What makes you think I take you seriously?” He flinches like I’ve just slapped him, but it doesn’t stop him from saying a rushed goodnight, and he closes the door behind him.
I sit in my bed for a few more minutes, but the sensation of his cum dripping out of me spurs me into motion.
I wipe between my legs with the sheet and strip my bed, then pull on my oversized sleep shirt and nearly run to the showers, desperate to get him off my skin.
To scrub away the stupidity I seem to be addicted to.
To drown out the voice in my head that keeps repeating what tonight showcased brilliantly: I’m not worth staying for.
I run the shower until the hot water turns cold, watching as it cascades down my hair in rivulets before catching soap bubbles, swirling round and round until they disappear down the drain.
I will it to wash away my thoughts so the outside world doesn’t seem so big, so loud.
So I can linger in this small, quiet world where I’m safe.
When I can no longer stand the cold water, I get out and move slowly through the empty communal bathroom. I have no idea what time it is, but the Gala must still be in full swing since no one’s back yet. Good. Fewer people to see me crash out.
I don’t recognize the woman in the mirror this time. There’s nothing left of the Nyx from before. Nothing left of the Nyx that came after. The shaking, shivering woman with pain in her eyes is a stranger punishing herself for feeling too much. She’s desperate, lonely, sad.
Weak.
Fragile.
She’s everything I never wanted to be again.
A tidal wave of anger and bitterness and shame and self-hatred burns through my veins, and I close my eyes to shut out the reflection of my own pathetic making.
I lay my head on the counter, trying to regulate my breathless, soundless sobs as my chest tightens and fists clench.
But then my control snaps, and I scream.
I scream and scream and scream until nothing else exists. Until nothing else matters.
I don’t hear the porcelain toilets crack and explode.
The screeching metal as welds fail, rending water pipes from stone.
The lights and mirrors shattering, raining shards of glass.
The door blowing off its hinges and crashing into the hall.
When the screaming finally stops, the world is cold and dark and wet.
Slivers of glass and porcelain are crushed beneath my bare feet as I walk through the debris-littered tile floor.
I ignore the burn of pain as they embed into my skin.
The dripping blood from a thousand cuts splashing on the tile.
When I step through where the door used to be, the emergency lights slowly come to life, illuminating the empty hallway.
Under their pulsing red hue, I watch as fragments of glass and stone and wood are pushed out of my skin and fall to the floor.
My broken skin knits together before my eyes, unmarred save for the rivulets of blood and water running down my body.
Without looking back, I calmly walk to my room, lock the door, and begin to wipe away the blood.