Chapter 36
Wild Rose
A Heart That Dances with Bones
Tears roll down my face as my nails dig into his flesh, marking his back, an oeuvre of my doing. A moan slips past my lips, my head tipping back, his feral grunts melding with my own to create such a salacious euphony. His hold around my neck tightens as his thrusts grow savagely rough. He bounces me up and down his length like a rag doll, his rag doll.
“You take me so well, Wild Rose ,” he whispers into my ear, an inferno fueling through my veins. “Just look at how your body bends for me.” My back arches to his touch, and his lips wrap around my nipple. Biting and licking until I’m whimpering for mercy.
My body purrs with a release that promises to ripple me apart, one that will surely make me see those fucking stars only he makes me see. He stretches me with his cock, marks me with his tongue, and submissively, I let him. My nails prod hard enough to tear his flesh and draw blood .
“Sebastian,” I moan unabashedly, calling his name like a prayer. My body has fallen prey to the pleasure he gives me. It is sinful and illicit for me to feel the way he makes me, as he uses my body for his own callousness and depravity. My eyes shut, and a rough slap lands on my ass, and I hiss.
“I want those eyes on me,” he growls, and it is so darn hot.
It makes me feral when his eyes darken with each thrust, when his voice turns uncouth, and his kisses become sloppy and needy.
I reach for the half pomegranate on a plate. We shared dinner in his bedroom, sprawled on the floor next to the fireplace. And when I asked for my dessert, he too asked for his, me .
He poured red wine all over my neck and swirled the sour juice all over my boobs with his tongue, making me more ravenously dirty . After he had his fun tasting my skin, he buried himself between my legs, demanding I fill his mouth with my release. And so I did, twice, yet just when I thought he would give my sore body a rest, he pushed himself inside me with an unrelenting force.
His back presses against the foot of the bed with either of his hands kneading my ass. The pomegranate syrup leaks in my hands as he bites into it, making a mess between us.
I feel sultry in all the sinful ways his ruthlessness turns me on. His hands leave me scorched as he fills me up, taking everything I have to give. He is brutal and nor do I want him to be anything less. I want him to ruin me to shreds, for the pain and pleasure to make me high, and for this thing between us to choke me until all I know is him. I want Sebastian in my blood, under my skin, and in my head, tormenting me in the most delicious and vinous way.
I feel him swell inside me as my peak nears. He lifts his head and captures my mouth in a raw kiss. He devours me until I’m panting for air. My release violently gushes out of me like a clamorous rollercoaster, making my legs buckle and moans escape my mouth as the mounting crescendo overtakes me, just as he spills his hot seed inside me.
“Tell me a story,” I pant out, his thumb drawing circles over my tattoo.
“There was once a God named Hyacinthus,” he begins, his voice rich with ancient myth. “A Spartan prince, admired by many, but it was Apollo, the sun god, who won his heart. Despite the attention of others, Hyacinthus chose Apollo above all.”
“He sounds devious.” A teasing smile tugs at my lips as I wiggle my brows, and he laughs softly, shaking his head in amusement. “Go on then,” I encourage.
He continues, his voice flowing with an accent that carries the charm of both Italy and Greece. “One day, Apollo and Hyacinthus played a game of discus, a simple contest between them. Hyacinthus, ever mischievous, tried to provoke Apollo, chasing after the discus. But Zephyrus, the west wind, watching quietly from the distance, took his chance. With a swift gust, he sent the discus off its path, striking Hyacinthus in the head, and he died.”
His voice flows like the winds he speaks of, so captivating that I feel lost in his words. There’s something ancient in the way he tells these stories, as if the gods themselves are lingering in the air around us. I can’t help but admire both Greek and French culture, so distinct in their own peculiar ways, yet so captivating in their elegance and flair.
“Apollo was devastated and refused to let Hades take Hyacinthus’ soule. He changed Hyacinthus into the Hyacinth flower.”
To say I’m in love feels too big of a word, but what can I do when I feel this arcane emotion and it’s such an unabating infatuation when I want him to feel anything close to the rhythm of my heart. But I know he can not, not because he doesn’t want to but because his mind works differently from most.
“Tell me more of you.” I place my hand on his chest.
“But you know —”
“No, no I do not. I want to know what each of these mean,” I trace over his tattoos. “I want a page a day from your journal. I want to know the book you could read a million times without enjoying it any less, your favorite color, what your most treasured memory is. I want to know how your mind thinks.”
He smiles, another one of those rare boyish smiles, I love so darn much.
“The Shining, a classic. Silver and red.” His hand whisks my strands. “When my mother and I would throw rocks down in the woods by a small stream. She would tell me the stories I tell you. I have this darkness that rattles my bones, one that has made a home in me. It used to scare me but now, I feel safe with it.”
His voice is soft, kind and honest in ways I can not put to words.
“One day, I’ll open my journal for you, but not tonight.” He places a kiss on my forehead.
“Why not?” For a moment I think he won’t answer, but when he does, my heart jumps.
“I do not want to lose you, and the things written in there are not for your sweet soul.”
“I too want to feel safe with this exquisite horror that sleeps in you. Allow me to see you and I promise not to leave. ”
He is vulnerable, like an open wound and gracious, I have fallen for this man right in front of me. Can he not see? I’m hopelessly devoted.
“A sea speaks honestly to those willing to die, Wild Rose, you won’t ever be without me.”
“And you, I.”
The words felt like vows, like an oath given in church.