13. Drystan
Chapter Thirteen
DRYSTAN
Istand at the edge of her bed and simply stare.
She lies there, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, breathing slow and deep under the soft purple glow.
Ethereal. Untouchable. Mine.
I place my phone on her desk, camera angled perfectly, zooming in until the frame is filled with nothing but her.
Then I open the duffel bag and pull out the fresh hellebore.
One by one I tear the black petals free and scatter them across her body as dark blessings.
They settle on the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the pale skin of her thighs.
I light two thick candles and set them on the nightstands. The flickering flames dance with the purple lights she loves, casting long, living shadows across the room. The air grows thick with the sweet-rot scent of hellebore and warm wax.
I roll my shoulders, eyes devouring her.
That tight black dress clings to every curve as if it was made to torment me.
The keyhole cut-out at her chest reveals a teasing line of pale skin.
The silver chain choker rests against her throat as an invitation.
I want to wrap my fist around it and pull until she’s on her knees.
I pull my hoodie over my head, then strip off my shirt. Standing before the camera, candlelight licking over my bare chest, I point one finger directly at the scarred brand above my heart.
brIAR.
Burned into my skin. Not a tattoo, a scar. A vow. A brand I carved myself so I would never forget who I belong to. Who owns me.
I keep the black mask on, covering the lower half of my face. I drag a hand through my messy hair, letting strands fall over my eyes, then turn back to her.
She is waiting.
I climb onto the mattress, knees sinking on either side of her hips. The bed dips under my weight. I lean over her slowly, one hand braced beside her head, the other hovering just above her body.
My palm settles over her breast, feeling the soft weight through the thin fabric. I squeeze gently, reverently, rolling her nipple between my fingers until it hardens for me. A low, guttural sound escapes my throat.
So fucking perfect.
I sit back on my heels, careful not to crush her, and let my hands explore. I trace the chain at her throat, slide my fingers down the keyhole cut-out to feel the warm silk of her skin. Down her waist. Over her hips. I push the hem of her dress higher, revealing the smooth skin.
I like it rough. When she’s awake I will ruin her, pin her down, choke her with that pretty chain, fuck her until she screams my name and forgets every other man who ever touched her, but tonight is different.
Tonight I worship.
My fingers brush higher, slipping under the hem of her dress, tracing the edge of her bare pussy. She’s already wet. Even in sleep, her body knows it wants me.
I lean down, mask brushing her neck, and inhale her scent as a man starved. My lips ghost over her throat, her jaw, the corner of her mouth.
“Mine,” I rasp against her skin, voice rough and trembling with six years of unbearable hunger. “Every breath. Every moan. Every drop of wetness between your thighs… it all belongs to me.”
I press one finger slowly inside her, feeling her tight heat clench around me even while unconscious. A broken sound leaves my chest.
“So fucking tight for me, my darkness…”
I remain that way for a long moment, one finger buried deep inside her, petals scattered across her body, candlelight painting her in gold and shadow, memorizing every second of this first true claiming.
Then I pull my finger free, bring it to my mouth under the mask, and taste her.
My eyes roll back.
“You taste so good,” I breathe against her skin, voice rough with six years of starvation.
I slide my hands beneath her, gently lifting her enough to reach the zipper on the side of her dress.
The metal whispers down. I peel the black fabric over her shoulders and hips, then toss it onto the chair in the corner.
She lies before me in nothing but a black lace bra that matches the panties in my pocket and the silver chain choker.
My breath catches.
Her nipples are hard beneath the delicate lace. A small purple butterfly tattoo rests just below her navel like a dark invitation. I stare at it, fingers tracing the delicate wings.
“Why did you mark your body?” I murmur, low and calm, almost hurt. “You never liked tattoos.”
I lean down, pull the mask down and press my lips to the butterfly, kissing it reverently before moving higher. I tug the lace bra down, freeing her breasts. A deep growl rips from my chest at the sight, pale skin flushed in the candlelight, nipples tight and begging.
I close my mouth around one, sucking slowly, lavishing it with my tongue. A soft, unconscious moan slips from her lips. Her skin prickles under my touch. Her breathing grows faster, shallower.
I release her nipple with a wet sound and kiss my way down her stomach, moving lower until I’m settled between her thighs. I push them wider, staring at her glistening cunt like a man staring at salvation and damnation at once.
“Oh, Briar…” The sound that leaves me is broken, almost painful.
I lean in and drag my tongue through her folds in one long, slow stroke. The taste of her explodes across my tongue, sweet, warm, addictive. Ten years of dreaming. Six years of agony. And now she’s here, wet and open for me.
I groan into her, the sound vibrating against her clit as I devour her. My tongue circles, licks, presses deep, savoring every drop. Her body reacts even in sleep, hips twitching, soft moans falling from her lips, back arching like she’s offering herself to me.
I suck her clit into my mouth, flicking it with my tongue while my hands grip her thighs hard enough to leave faint marks. When I feel her getting close, I move to her left inner thigh and suck hard, marking her with my mouth. One single bruise. A secret claim for her to find tomorrow.
I return to her cunt with a starving growl, licking deeper, slower, worshiping the taste I have waited nearly a decade to claim. Black hellebore petals cling to her pale thighs and stomach as a dark sacrament, scattered across her body in the flickering candlelight.
Every unconscious moan. Every helpless tremble. Every drop of slick heat coating my tongue belongs to me.
I slide one thick finger inside her, curling it slowly against that perfect spot.
Her walls flutter and clench around me as another soft, broken moan slips from her lips.
Her hips twitch, chasing the pleasure even in sleep.
I suck her clit harder, thrusting my finger in a steady rhythm, desperate to feel her fall apart for me.
Her entire body begins to shake. Her thighs tremble against my shoulders. I growl into her, sucking and licking relentlessly until her walls pulse hard around my finger and a flood of wetness coats my tongue.
“Fuck…” The word rips from my throat, raw and reverent.
When the last tremors fade, I look up at her.
She is breathtaking.
Lips parted, cheeks flushed, long black hair fanned across the pillow like a dark halo. The purple light and candle flames paint her skin in gold and shadow, making her look as if she’s a fallen goddess offered up just for me.
I pull my mask up just enough, stand, and stare at her.
I can’t move for what feels like an eternity. I just watch her, the way her breasts move as she breathes, the way her cum is still glistening between her legs.
Fuck.
I shake my head, take a deep breath and walk to the bathroom. I dampen a soft towel with warm water, then return to her. With careful, almost tender movements, I clean between her thighs, wiping away the evidence of her pleasure and my hunger.
I gather her into my arms, cradling her against my bare chest. Her head rests over my heart—right where her name is burned into my skin. The feeling is almost too much. Too real. Too perfect.
Holding her with one arm, I pull the blankets back and lay her down gently in the center of the bed. I cover her carefully, then place a single perfect hellebore bloom on her chest, right over her heart.
I walk to my phone, stop the recording, and stare at her one last time.
“Goodnight, my love,” I whisper, voice hoarse with satisfaction as I leave her bedroom.
I turn her alarm on before leaving, the soft beep sounding almost laughable. Lucille really believed something so small could keep me away?
I slide into my car and start the engine. As I pull away from her block, headlights appear behind me.
Not unusual at first. But when I turn left, they follow. Another turn to the right, still there. A slow, dangerous smile curves my lips beneath the mask.
Interesting.
Tasting Briar has left me hard and viciously hungry. I promised myself I wouldn’t come until I’m buried deep inside her while she’s awake and screaming my name. So killing will have to feed the beast tonight.
I was always prone to violence. I simply learned to leash it.
Right now? The leash is gone.
I lead him away from the city, deeper into the woods. The moment we hit the old, narrow road lined with ancient trees, I kill my headlights and accelerate hard.
“Let’s play, asshole.”
I take a fast turn onto an overgrown path, kill the engine, and glide silently between two massive trees, swallowed completely by darkness.
I wait.
The other car slows, cautious now. Headlights sweep past my hiding spot. He hesitates, then continues forward, searching.
Perfect.
I start the engine again, quiet, deadly, and pull out behind him. He doesn’t notice until my lights suddenly flood his rearview mirror. I accelerate and slam into his bumper with a satisfying crunch of metal. The car swerves. I hit him again, harder, forcing him toward the steep embankment.
He loses control.
The car careens off the road, crashing through brush and small trees before slamming violently into a thick trunk with a sickening scream of metal and glass.
I don’t stop to check if he’s alive.
I simply smile into the rearview mirror, turn around, and continue into the night.