29. Briar
Chapter Twenty-Nine
brIAR
Iwake to a deep ache in my body, every muscle tender in a way that tells me Drystan is home.
I turn slowly under the covers, pulling them higher against the chill that has settled in the bedroom now that the fireplace has burned down to nothing but cold ash.
The air feels heavy and still, the thick curtains blocking out the world beyond the tall windows.
I gasp softly when I see him lying beside me, sleeping with a rare peace that softens the hard lines of his face.
His black hair falls across part of his forehead, the strands so dark they seem to drink in what little light filters into the room.
He lies shirtless, his broad chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, one arm tucked beneath his head while the other stretches out toward me across the sheets, his strong fingers relaxed for once.
I peek beneath the covers, and the sight of him fully naked sends heat curling low in my belly. His pierced cock rests heavy against his thigh, the metal gleaming faintly. So many piercings. The thought of how they must have felt going in flickers through my mind as my fingers itch to touch.
I move my hand slowly, wrapping it around his thick length.
He stirs but does not wake, his breathing unchanged.
I slide my thumb over the tip, tracing the smooth metal there, and feel his massive cock begin to harden under my touch, growing hotter and heavier in my palm.
Heat pools between my legs, slick and insistent, even though I can still feel him.
I know I should rest. I should let my sore body recover. But his perfect, thick, pierced cock has become an obsession of its own, pulling me under. Oh well.
I shift carefully, straddling his hips, settling over him. I hold his cock steady beneath me and begin to sink down, the first piercing stretching my entrance as it slides inside. His hand snaps up from behind the pillow and grips my throat, fingers pressing hard enough to leave marks.
“Fuck, Briar—” he growls, eyes flying open wide, his chest rising faster now. Realization darkens his gaze, the corner of his mouth curling as his grip on my neck tightens.
I hold his stare and sink lower, each piercing dragging a moan from my lips as I take more of him.
His eyes never waver, sending a shiver racing down my spine at the raw possession burning there.
I sink all the way down until he fills me completely, the stretch making me flinch at the depth.
His free hand grips my hip, pulling me up slightly.
“Do not sink all the way down like that. It will hurt more in this position.”
I start to move, ignoring his advice, rolling my hips in slow circles as I ride him, lifting and sinking again. He grunts deep in his chest, the sound vibrating through me.
“You seem to have a lot of experience,” I tease, voice breathy. “Prison must have been fun.”
He smirks and pushes his hips up, so I stop moving completely and lift a finger. “Uh uh. Stay still like a good boy.”
His eyes widen, lips parting, and for a moment I think he will flip me over and take control.
Instead something unhinged flashes across his face, his pupils blowing wide and dark.
“Yes, my love,” he says, voice rough as his hips settle back against the mattress and his hand slides from my neck to rest on my waist.
“Good boy.” I bite my lip and begin moving again, picking up the pace, chasing the delicious burn as every thick, veined inch of him fills me over and over.
My inner walls flutter and clench around the piercings, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through my core while my breasts bounce with each roll of my hips.
The power of controlling this massive, dangerous man for the first time floods me with a rush I have never felt before, I feel feminine, bold, completely alive.
He stays true to his word, letting me set the rhythm, his strong hands flexing on my skin but never forcing the pace.
His muscles tense beneath me, veins standing out along his forearms and neck as he grips the sheets, chest heaving, every inch of his powerful body surrendered to my touch in the cold, quiet bedroom.
I ride him harder, lost in the way he feels inside me, the way my own body responds with slick heat and tightening pleasure.
I keep moving, chasing that edge of control with every roll of my hips.
“That’s it, ride my cock—” he grunts, his jaw ticking hard as I watch the strain in every tensed muscle of his chest and shoulders.
He is holding back with every ounce of willpower he possesses, and the knowledge sends a rush of power through me that I have never tasted before.
I brace my hands on the hard ridges of his abs, feeling the heat and tension there under my palms, and use the leverage to move harder and faster. But it is not enough. The ache inside me builds, demanding more.
“Drystan, harder,” I moan, my voice breaking on the words.
He obeys instantly, thrusting his hips up to meet mine on every downward stroke.
The sharp slap of skin on skin fills the cold bedroom, echoing off the stone walls and high ceiling as my orgasm crashes over me like lightning—sharp, blinding, tearing through my core and leaving my thighs shaking around him.
My walls clench tight, pulsing around every thick inch as waves of pleasure rip through my sore body.
Before I can catch my breath, a dangerous smirk curls his lips. “My turn.”
In one fluid motion he flips me onto all fours, his strong hands gripping my hips and positioning me exactly where he wants.
The mattress dips heavily under his weight as he kneels behind me, his massive frame towering over me.
He lines himself up and drives in hard, burying himself to the hilt in a single powerful thrust that forces a sharp cry from my throat.
The stretch burns so good, every piercing dragging against my sensitive walls as he sets a brutal pace, pumping deep and relentless.
His hand fists in my hair, pulling firmly until my back arches deeply for him, my breasts pressing into the cool sheets.
The new angle lets him hit even deeper, owning me completely as his hips slam forward again and again.
I can feel the raw power in every flex of his muscles, the veins standing out along his forearms where he grips me, the unhinged hunger in the way he growls low in his chest with each thrust.
He does not hold back now. The bed creaks under the force of it, the heavy wooden frame groaning as he fucks me harder, chasing his own release.
My body trembles beneath him, still riding the aftershocks of my orgasm, every nerve alight as he takes what he needs.
With a final, deep thrust and a guttural sound that vibrates through both of us, he comes hard, spilling inside me in hot pulses that fill me completely.
His grip on my hair stays firm, keeping my back arched as he rides out every last wave, his chest pressed hot against my back, breath ragged against my neck.
The room falls quiet except for our heavy breathing and the distant creak of the old mansion settling around us.
I stay there on all fours, trembling and full of him, the delicious soreness spreading through my limbs as his hand slowly loosens in my hair and strokes down my spine in something almost reverent.
He slides out of me and his big hands wrap around my waist, pulling me up with effortless strength before he slings me over his shoulder. His palm connects with my ass in a sharp slap that echoes off the tiles. “You need to rest. Not fuck over and over.”
I roll my eyes, thankful he cannot see it. “I am fine.”
Another slap lands, warmer this time. I try to kick my legs, but he only laughs, low and rough, the sound vibrating through his chest into my body.
He turns the shower on and sets me gently on my feet, straightening to his full height.
The sight of my name carved into his chest still makes my heart beat faster.
How can someone carry that kind of love for a decade without ever saying a word?
Water falls between us in warm sheets. I reach out, tracing the raised scars of my name with trembling fingertips. He places his hand over mine, covering it completely.
“The symbol of my eternal devotion to you,” he murmurs.
I take a step closer and wrap my arms around his torso, pressing my cheek to his wet skin. His strong arms come around my back, enveloping me completely. “Briar—”
“Shh. Just let me stay like this,” I say in a low voice. He does not move. His fingers trace slow, soothing paths up and down my spine while he presses a kiss to the top of my head. The simple tenderness of it hits me hard. I have not felt this safe with anyone since my mother died.
A tear slips down my cheek, warm against the cooling water. I miss her. I miss who I was when she was still alive.
She died of cardiac arrest. She never told me about her heart problems, and our family life had always seemed so calm on the surface. But my father… he turned out to be a very different man than the one I thought I knew.
“Baby, we need to leave the shower. Your skin is turning red,” he says quietly.
I pull back reluctantly and force my brightest smile, the one I have perfected for moments when the thoughts in my head grow too dark for anyone else to see. Drystan stares down at me, his thumb brushing the tear from my cheek with surprising gentleness.
“You can cry with me.”
My heart cracks open at his words, then pieces itself back together under the softness in his dark eyes. Drystan has such a mean face to the rest of the world, yet I have seen this side of him more than once now. I wonder if anyone else has ever witnessed it.