Chapter 29 #3
“My sister.” He doesn’t elaborate and I don’t push.
I tuck the photograph back inside along with placing the book back on its shelf.
The lights are dim in his room creating soft shadows to pool along the corners of the room.
I move to his record collection; it’s a strange mix of metal and classical music, Nine Inch Nails, Johny Cash, Arvo P?rt.
There’s a vinyl already mounted, Cigarettes After Sex.
I turn it on and Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby starts playing.
The voice comes through smoky, and slow.
The kind of lullaby that feels like it could seduce a wound into staying open.
Eryx moves to stand behind me and spins me around so that I’m facing him. He towers over me so I have to crane my neck just to look at him. He leans down and kisses me softly as the lyrics dance around the room.
Nothing's gonna hurt you baby
As long as you're with me you'll be just fine
I melt into it before I can think, his hands coming to rest at my waist, steady and possessive, like he’s staking a claim. The kiss lingers, the taste of him as dark and rich as the song spilling from the speakers.
My fingers curl into the front of his shirt, tugging him closer.
He exhales against my mouth, low and pleased.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” he murmurs, voice thick with restraint.
“Yes.”
That’s all he needs.
In one smooth motion, he backs me toward the bed, mouth never leaving mine. His hands are slow but certain, sliding beneath the hem of my shirt and lifting it over my head.
The record spins on, crackling softly like fire.
Nothing's gonna hurt you baby
Nothing's gonna take you from my side
Every kiss deepens, every breath draws us further into something neither of us can take back.
I want this.
I need this.
He unbuttons my shorts, sliding them off my body.
Leaving me in just my swimsuit. His eyes drag down my body, dark and greedy.
He tugs off his shirt next, tossing it aside.
His chest is all sharp lines and shadows, muscles flexing as he moves.
The faint scars across his ribs catch the dim light, beautiful in their brutality.
His tattoos are on full display for me. Ink stretching over his chest, curling down his ribs, and wrapping around one bicep like a chain made of smoke and scripture.
A serpent coiled around a dagger inked in black and crimson, sprawls across his ribs.
A quote—in Russian, just below his collarbone.
I don’t know what it says, but the way his eyes darken when I reach for it makes me wonder.
“What does it mean?” I whisper, tracing the line of text with my fingertips.
“We all kneel for something,” he answers. “Eventually.”
I lick my lips while I mess with his waistband. “These need to come off too. I can’t be the only one with my clothes off.” A wicked grin on his face. And just like that, he slides them off. His boxers do little to hide his thick outline. It’s enough to make me lick my lips in anticipation.
I slowly drop to my knees, keeping my eyes trained on his as I do.
I can see the desire shining in his eyes.
My fingers trail over the edge of his boxers, slow and deliberate, never breaking our stare.
His chest rises and falls harder now, restrained tension coiled in every muscle. “What are you doing?”
“I want to taste you,” I whisper, the words soaked in heat, in want, in power I rarely get to claim, but he gives it to me now, willingly. His jaw clenches, a low curse slipping past his lips.
He lets out a small knowing laugh. “What’s so funny?”
“You remember what I said? About the first time, how’d you be on your knees for me?”
“Shut up,” I feel my cheeks get hot, but I don’t care.
When I free him, he’s already hard, already leaking for me, and the way his hand fists in my hair says he’s just as desperate.
I press a kiss to the base of him, teasing, letting him feel my breath, my control.
His hips twitch, his breath stutters, and I smile against his skin.
I run my fingers along his length, teasing, watching his stomach tense.
“Fuck, Stass,” he growls, voice rough and strained.
I look up at him through my lashes, lips parted, letting him watch every second of his undoing.
My tongue flicks out, slow and soft at first, tasting him.
I drag my tongue from his base, slowly up to his tip, wrapping my mouth around him, then swallowing him down.
Hollowing my cheeks as I take him further in.
His head falls back, a guttural sound escaping him. But I don't stop. I own every sound he makes, every sharp inhale, every ragged groan. “Fuck,” he growls, his voice fraying at the edges. “You look so pretty like this. So fucking perfect with your mouth on me.”
The praise makes my thighs squeeze together.
I hum around him, watching the way it nearly breaks him.
He starts to move, holding my head, his hand wrapped around my braid as he thrusts into me.
I take him deeper, letting him feel every inch, every drag of my tongue, until he groans and his free hand clenches at his side.
“Touch yourself, Anastasia. Let me see how wet you are from sucking my cock.”
I do as he says. I bring my hand down my body, under my swimsuit, and start rubbing small tight circles on my clit, then insert two fingers while I ride my hand. My other hand goes to my breast. Rubbing and tugging at my nipple between my fingers. With my mouth full of him, I let out a moan.
“Let me see,” he tells me through hooded eyes.
I bring my hand out to him and he grasps it. His mouth wrapping around the fingers that were just inside of me. He sucks them slowly, tongue swirling and licking them clean.
“You taste fucking delicious.”
I have drool dripping off my chin, as he bobs my head back and forth on his dick. His head hitting the back of my throat with every thrust. Tears in my eyes. “You cry so pretty for me. Are you going to swallow everything I give you? Or do you want me to paint those pretty tits of yours?”
I nod around him.
“Eyes on me,” he says, voice low, commanding. With two more thrusts, I feel him spill inside me. “Swallow,” he commands me. And I do. Until I’ve got every drop.
He pulls out of me and swipes his thumb on my chin to gather what escaped before pressing his thumb in my mouth to get the rest. “Show me,” he orders. And I obey, sticking my tongue out for him to see. My eyes never leaving his. “Good girl,” he breathes. And I swear I could melt right there.
He helps me up off my knees to my feet, then lays me down on his bed.
“Now it's my turn. I’ve been thinking about this pussy all day and I want a taste.” He takes my swimsuit off so that I’m completely bare to him.
His eyes scan over my body. I can see it in his eyes, the restraint and the hunger.
Like he wants to ruin me slowly. And I want him to.
“Beautiful,” he mutters. More to himself than to me.
Then his mouth is on me, hot and demanding.
Staking a claim. His tongue trails down my neck, over my breast, lower still, until I’m arching into him, trembling.
His fingers dig into my thigh, keeping me in place, holding me open for him like he’s unwrapping the most delicate kind of sin.
And when I gasp his name, he groans against my skin.
“You have no idea what you do to me.” He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes glazed with heat and something darker. He parts my thighs, settling between them like he belongs there. “Keep your eyes on me,” he says.
I do.
“I want to taste every inch of you,” he says, voice raw.
Eryx’s mouth is all heat and hunger, ripping moans from me like he owns them.
He pulls back, breath heavy, lips slick.
Then he’s on me again. Not gentle or slow.
Just teeth, tongue, and need. His hands bruise my thighs as he holds me down, tasting me like he’s starving, dragging me toward the edge with no fucking mercy.
He pumps one, then two fingers. Prepping me for what’s to come. His thumb circling my clit.
My back arches off the bed and I cry out his name.
“Eryx—”
But he doesn’t stop. Not until I’m shaking, coming undone beneath him, writhing like I’m being exorcised.
When he finally rises, his lips are slick with me.
He licks his fingers, cleans them, kisses the inside of my thigh, and looks up at me like I’m already his.
“I’m not done with you,” he says. His tongue parting my mouth, to let him in, making me taste myself on his lips.
“Can you taste why I’m so gone for you? Why I’m so obsessed? You taste like my salvation.”
He grips the base of himself, pumping once, twice, as he watches me with dark, unreadable eyes. “You’re still sure?” he asks, voice rough with restraint.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything. I don’t want gentle. I want you. Don’t hold back on me.”
His jaw ticks, tension rippling through him like a dam about to burst. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“I do.”
That’s all it takes.
He grabs a condom from the drawer, tears it open with his teeth like he’s seconds from losing control and when he rolls it on.
He lines himself up, he doesn’t rush, just watches me, waits, lets me feel every inch of him press in.
The stretch burns at first, but it’s so good and so full, that I cry out, fingers digging into his inked shoulders.
“Fuuuck, you feel perfect,” he growls. His forehead dropping to mine.
He bottoms out with a groan, letting us both breathe through it.
His hands cage me in, arms trembling with the effort of holding himself still.
And then he starts to move. Slow at first, grinding deep, like he wants me to feel everything.
Each thrust is possessive. He kisses me between every moan, every gasp, like he’s trying to claim my soul one thrust at a time.
My hands grip his shoulders. My nails digging in. I need to feel him closer. His hand finds my throat, applying a little bit of pressure, just how I like it, a reminder of his control. His thumb stroking my pulse.
“You’re mine now,” he growls. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I pant, voice shaking. I’ve been his for a while now, I’m just finally accepting it. I’m done fighting it. He hikes my legs over his shoulders. The motion allowing him to hit deeper.
“Eryx—God—please don’t stop—”
“Look,” he motions my eyes to look where we’re connected. “Look how well you take me, Nastasya. Like you were made for me.”
There’s a switch in his eyes and he flips me over so that I’m on all fours. One hand fists my hair, pulling my head back just enough so he can bite down on my bottom lip, dragging a moan from me as his other hand slides between my legs.
“So fucking wet for me,” he growls. He pushes me back down so that I’m flush to the bed but my ass remains in the air for him. One hand rubbing up and down my back soothingly while the other grasps my ass and he smacks me. Once. Twice. Three times before soothing it away.
He picks up the pace, fucking into me like a man possessed, like he’s carving me into memory.
His name spills from my lips again and again, and he drinks it in like a prayer.
He fucks me like he owns me. Like he’s meant to ruin me.
Deep, rough strokes that have my hands scrambling at the sheets.
My second orgasm builds fast, sharp and all-consuming, but he keeps me there at the cusp not letting me fall.
“Please—” I don’t even know what I’m asking for. I just know that this feels amazing. He feels amazing and I don’t want him to stop.
“Please what baby? I love it when you beg.”
Another moan leaves my lips. “Please..Ahh..don’t stop—Fu—Fuck you feel so good—Mmnnh…”
“You’re mine,” he snarls, voice ragged. “No one gets to touch you. No one sees this. Only me.”
“Only you,” I whimper. “Eryx—please—” I can’t hold it any more. “I need to—”
“Just like that baby, I want everyone to know who you belong to, who’s got you coming undone so pretty.” His hands are on my hips, the sound of me slamming into him echos in the room, as he thrusts into me. Again and again.
“Mmm…”
He slams into me harder pitching my clit.
“Come,” he commands. And I shatter again. Full-body. Writhing, screaming, sobbing his name as I come around him.
He doesn’t stop. Keeps fucking me through it, dragging a third orgasm out of me until I’m shaking beneath him, begging. The sheets soaked beneath us. This time I’m not embarrassed. He knows exactly what I need, what buttons to push to bring me over the edge like no one has before.
“So good for me,” he groans. “So. Fucking. Good—” And then he slams in one final time and groans my name as he comes, hard, hips grinding against mine like he never wants to pull out.
We collapse together, sweaty, shaking, completely spent. Then devours my mouth in a searing kiss. For a moment, the room is just breath and sweat and static. And then—
“You okay?
“Yeah,” I whisper, voice cracked and cheeks flushed, “I’m perfect.” The aftershocks of my orgasms roll through me.
He leans down, hand caressing the back of my head, fingers threading into my hair, the other hand gripping my waist. His lips move against mine with purpose.
“Wait here,” he tells me then he gets up to discard the condom and returns to the bed with a warm, damp cloth.
He cleans me up without a word. He slips a pair of his boxers on me, along with another band tee, Nirvana, this time.
He runs his fingers through my hair and begins to redo my braid. “I used to do this for my little sister,” he says quietly. “She couldn’t sleep unless someone played with her hair.”
“What happened to her?” I ask, already knowing the answer. The grief in his voice is unmistakable.
“She died.” His voice breaks. “She would’ve been twenty-one now.”
“How?”
“That’s a story for another time. Come on.
” He gets under the covers and waits for me to settle in next to him before wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me close.
His face buried in my neck. We lie there in silence for a while before he speaks again.
“I want to ruin you so perfectly you’ll never forget who you belong to. ”
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to forget.
I want to be ruined by him.
And I want to ruin him too.
Until we’re both ruin.