36. Drystan #2
She let’s go, her orgasm hits her hard with a long, trembling moan. Her body twists and tightens beneath me, hips jerking against my mouth as pleasure rolls through her. I stay with her through every wave, licking her gently, drawing it out, refusing to pull away until she’s boneless and panting.
Only then do I kiss my way back up her body, pressing my lips to every bruise, every mark, every inch of skin I can reach, until I’m hovering over her, forehead resting against hers.
I brace myself on my forearms, our faces close. My cock is aching, the piercings heavy and cool against her warmth. The worry twists in my chest.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I confess, brushing my nose against hers. “If it’s too much, you tell me. Promise me.”
“I promise,” she breathes.
I reach down and guide myself to her entrance, rubbing the head of my cock slowly against her, coating myself in her wetness. Then I start to push in, one piercing at a time, agonizingly slow.
“My love…” I say softly when her breath catches.
The first barbell slips inside and her lips part slightly. I freeze, heart hammering. “Too much?”
She shakes her head. “Keep going.”
I push forward another inch, watching her face the whole time. My jaw is clenched tight, every muscle in my body fighting the urge to sink deep. I want to bury myself in her, to lose myself completely, but I won’t. Not if it costs her even a second of pain.
“That’s it my love,” I murmur, voice strained. “Relax, I’m here.”
Another slow push. Another piercing. I lean down and kiss her softly, swallowing her little gasp. My hand strokes her hair, her cheek, anything to keep her grounded in me.
“Still with me?” I ask against her lips.
“Yes,” she says quietly. “Don’t stop.”
I keep moving like that: slow, careful thrusts, one bar at a time, until I’m fully seated inside her. The feeling is overwhelming. I drop my forehead to hers, breathing hard, fighting for control.
“Look at me. Keep looking at me.” My voice is rough, almost broken. “I need your eyes.”
We stay like that for a long moment, connected, breathing each other in.
Only when her body starts to relax around me do I begin to move with long, slow rolls of my hips, savoring every inch, every flutter of her walls around the metal.
My eyes never leave hers. Every thrust is a promise.
Every moan I draw from her is a victory.
“You feel like salvation in the dark,” I whisper against her lips. “Like the only light I’ll ever need.”
Her hands clutch at my back, pulling me closer, and I keep that same slow, rhythm, watching her, loving her, proving with every careful movement that she is safe, and I will spend the rest of my life making up for every second she suffered.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders and she breathes against my mouth, voice husky with need: “I want to feel you inside me… all of you. Please, Drystan.”
Something in me snaps just enough. I kiss her deeply and begin to move faster, deeper, still controlled but no longer holding back completely.
The piercings drag with every thrust, and her moans grow louder, spurring me on.
My hand slides down between us, stroking her.
She starts to shake. “Drystan, harder.” I obey.
Her lips part in a mix of a whimper and a moan, I feel her walls clenching and then she comes, her warm cum covering my cock, her body twitching as if she is being hit by little shocks.
She doesn’t stop moving, her body meets mine thrust for thrust. The pleasure builds fast and heavy in my spine. I keep my eyes on hers, even as my rhythm turns more urgent, more desperate.
“Look at me,” I rasp. “I need you to look at me while I come inside you.”
She does. And with her name on my lips like a prayer and a curse, I finally let go, thrusting deep as my orgasm crashes through me, long and intense, filling her while I hold her gaze.
The release is shattering after weeks of fear and emptiness.
I keep moving through it, slow and deep again, until every last pulse fades and I collapse over her, careful not to crush her, forehead pressed to hers.
I lay next to her, pulling her close until every inch of her body is pressed against mine.
Her head rests over my heart, black hair spilling across my chest. I take her hand in mine and guide it slowly to the scarred letters of her name carved into my skin, right over my heart.
Our fingers lace together, both palms pressed against the raised marks that bind me to her forever.
“My love… my only light in this endless night,” I breathe against her temple, voice low and rough with everything I’ve held back for years.
“I will never let another shadow fall across you. No one will ever touch what is mine again. My darkness will devour them whole, tear them apart and swallow their screams, before they even dare breathe your name. You are safe with me now. Always.”
I kiss the top of her head, breathing her in as the rain continues to fall softly outside. My arm tightens around her, possessive and reverent all at once. In this moment, with her warm and breathing against the brand of her name on my chest, the monster in me finally settles.
I descend the stone steps into the basement, the weight of the mansion pressing down on me like it wants to bury what’s about to happen. The air grows colder with every step. Rain hammers against the narrow windows high on the walls, and thunder rolls in the distance, low and constant.
The cell door is already open. I left it that way. No need for locks anymore.
Lawrence is exactly where I put him, chained to the stone wall by one wrist, the other arm hanging useless at his side.
His face is a mess of bruises and dried blood.
Around him, black hellebore flowers are scattered across the floor in a circle, their dark petals and glossy leaves brushing his legs.
I crushed some earlier. The faint, bitter scent clings to the damp air.
He lifts his head when he hears me. His eyes are glassy, already showing the first signs of what the hellebore has been doing to him.
I close the cell door behind me. The heavy clang echoes off the stone.
“Evening, Father.” My voice comes out calm. Almost pleasant. I crouch in front of him, just out of reach. “How’s the stomach? Still burning?”
He tries to spit at me. It lands short. Pathetic.
I pick up one of the larger flowers and twirl it between my fingers. “You know, hellebore was used to treat madness. Funny, isn’t it? How it’s actually used to make people insane. To make them lose themselves into hell.”
I lean forward and press the crushed petals against the open cut on his forearm. He jerks, a sharp hiss escaping through his teeth as the toxins hit raw flesh. I hold it there, rubbing slowly, watching his face contort.