“Oh, my God,” she breathed, eyes wide as she lifted her head to watch me remove the cloth and apply shaving cream to her groin. “Why is this so hot?”
I grinned wickedly but didn’t answer, focusing inside on holding her flesh taut with one thumb while I carefully dragged the blade over her lightly furred cunt. The sight of the silver blade against her golden curls, the smooth cream of the skin beneath as I cut away the hair was fucking gorgeous. Having her trust to wield a blade so close to her fragile center sent power and lust reeling through me, my dick weeping in my jeans.
“You’ll be so sensitive,” I murmured darkly as I bent her leg back, waiting until she hesitantly held it wide herself. “Just the scrape of my teeth along the tender skin here…” I ran the edge of the blade lightly over her mound just north of her clit. “Will make you shudder.”
She shuddered then, a light trill of movement I quelled with my forearm banded over her hips. It was a delicate process, shaving her bare without cutting her with the sharp blade. I cleaned it every stroke or two in the bowl of hot water, smoothed the residue away with the cloth, then returned to my task, tongue sandwiched hard beneath my teeth as I study every inch of her pussy.
“You’re makin’ a mess, Bea,” I noted, dipping one finger into her overflowing slit, following the slick from her clit down to her asshole where it pooled beneath her bum. A full-body blush sluiced down her skin, but I hushed her. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean you up with my tongue.”
When I was finished, I cleaned her gently with a clean, damp cloth and put my detritus in the bathroom before returning to stand at the foot of the bed. I loomed over her, the only light in the room tinged red and cast from those coloured lights securing her hands to the railing. She was breathing fast, so aroused by the intimacy we’d shared that her eyes were blown to black with greedy lust.
“I want…” She trailed off, tongue-tied with desires she didn’t know yet how to voice.
I’d teach her.
All those dark things she desired had names, and I intended to teach her the entire fucking alphabet of fuckery.
“I know,” I soothed, only my voice was cold and hard as I undid my belt, button, and fly so I could pull my aching cock into the light. It was throbbing angrily, precum pooling in the head. I swiped the tip with my rough thumb, felt the keen bite of pleasure that brought, then held it up between us.
“You wanna taste me?” I asked her.
I would not go gentle that night. I was a warrior set out to conquer. Every man’s Madonna fantasy was lying spread out and secured to this bed, the angel I planned to turn into my sweet little whore.
Bea swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes, please.”
“So polite,” I noted, but instead of feeding her my thumb, I dipped to scrape my tongue roughly through her folds, bottom to top, her sweet juice collected in my mouth.
I fisted a hand in the bed and leaned over her, my mouth hovering at hers. She watched with wide eyes as I popped my thumb into my mouth, combined our flavors, and fucking hummed because the salty sweetness of us was too damn delicious.
“You wanna taste how good we are?” My voice was a rasp and a whisper, but she heard me.
She was already opening her mouth to accept my communion.
I bowed down to take what she offered, sliding my tongue over hers, painting her teeth and every inch of the inside of her mouth with the taste of us. When I broke away, her chest was heaving, her arms straining at their bonds.
“You like that?” I demanded, collaring her flushed throat in my hand as I straddled her hips again.
She was serene and beautiful, moonlight in my hands. The silver silk of her hair spooling in my cruel fists, so delicate I was sure I’d tear it with my big hands. The light spilling through the windows gilded her flesh, turned the pink of her aroused flush to glittering red, the small, pursed fullness of her mouth a rose limned in morning dew. She was so fragile, so pretty in all the ways a thing can be so that I ached just looking at her. The very sight of Bea made emotions burst in the fallow soil of my soul, giving beauty and fragrance to parts of me I’d long thought dead and gone.
“Touchin’ you feels wrong,” I admitted as I moved my hand from her neck between her breasts to the gentle slope of her trembling belly. Her skin felt like satin, the rough pads of my fingers catching on the spare downy hairs below the whorl of her belly button. “Feels like the purest form a sin to have these man-killin’ hands on such a fuckin’ angel.”
“I’m no angel, Priest,” she whispered into the close air between us, the words held suspended by our warm breath. “You have to remember that.”
I grunted my protest, too focused on the tapestry of faint lilac veins beneath the translucent, pale skin where her groin met her inner thigh. Her pussy was so pretty laid bare for me, and the knowledge that I’d been the one to shave her clean made my possessive blood fucking soar.
Her little hands dove into my hair over my ears and tugged so I looked up to meet her sombre gaze. She was a painting, just then, some antique portrait of a girl painted by a lusty, older artist trying to reclaim the sweetness of his youth through her nubile beauty.
Desire throttled me. So young, so innocent, so tainted now by my hands, my cock, my conquering teeth. She wore my marks on her otherwise unblemished skin, her lips swollen from my claiming kisses. Her snug little cunt would be full of my cock, then with my seed within the hour.
Mine, mine, mine.
“If I ever was an angel, I chose to fall,” she whispered. “Just as angels fell for Lucifer, Priest, I’d fall again and again for you.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” I grunted, the force of my need to own savaging my inside. There were still faint markings just above her mound where I’d carved my name into her flesh, and the need to carve it once more into her body burned through me.
The switchblade I kept in my pocket was in my hand before I could curb the impulse. The soft snick of the blade loud in the room. My Little Shadow didn’t flinch. Instead, she canted her hips up in offering, wanting the bite of the steel just as much as I wanted to give her the pain.
“Doesn’t matter if you’re angel or girl,” I repeated as I carefully flourished the knife over her thin skin, watching as it split open beautifully, little beads of blood decorating the pale flesh like jewelry. “You’re owned by me now.”
She gasped as I sank two fingers inside her heat and curled them up, stroking that spot inside her that made her squirm. I held her still with the weight of my torso and finished cutting my name into her flesh while I carefully dragged my fingers in and out of her greedy cunt.
“Gonna keep carvin’ my name here until it sticks,” I vowed. “You’re gonna wear my name on your pretty pussy for the rest of your fuckin’ life.”
“Yes,” she cried, head thrashing at the pleasure, as I held her still and made her take it.
Finished with the knife, I folded it closed and pocketed it before I lapped at the wound with my tongue. She cried out at the first lash of warmth against her broken skin, head thrusting back into the pillows, legs shaking.
“This is the kinda beast you got in your bed, sweet Bea,” I growled as I followed a bead of blood into the crease of her hip and groin, then bit down on the tender flesh of her inner thigh. “The kinda man who likes to break you open just to fill you up.”
“Yes, please, yes. Fuck me,” Bea begged, her voice tight with need. “Please, Priest, let go. Fuck me the way I want to be fucked. Ruin me.”
A growl tore from my throat, her sweetness cutting through my control like a blade.
Snip, snip, snip.
I reared up, collecting her creamy legs over my biceps and pushing forward so she was splayed wide and completely vulnerable. She shuddered and moaned weakly as I thrust my cock against her sensitive, slick folds, not fucking into her, just sliding through that wet to coat my shaft in her.
“I love this,” she confessed dreamily in a lustful trance. “I love being so wanton for you. I love
being yours to use.”
A shiver ripped down my spine almost painfully. A moment later, I was thrusting hard into that tight cunt, grunting as she clenched hard around me and tossed her head back to scream.
Yes.
I wanted her screams.
My hand went up to her throat, squeezing just hard enough to feel her pulse throb desperately against my thumb. Her pussy beat around me in time with that rapid rhythm, tight walls sucking at me, forcing me to pump harder and deeper. I was at the end of that snug channel, each hit against her cervix causing her to cry out in pain and ecstasy.
“Yes,” she chanted breathlessly, legs shaking as an orgasm began to build. “Oh, my God.”
It wasn’t enough.
The animal inside me, that beast that ruled my body in the deep dark, reared its ugly head and declared war on Bea’s tight little body. I bent to savage the tips of her pink breasts with my teeth, grunting hard when she tried to thrash against me.
“Priest, Priest,” she chanted brokenly, tears gathering in her wet velvet blue eyes as I pounded into her pussy, showing my irrevocable ownership of it. “Please, I, I can’t…It’s too much. I-I-I––”
“That’s it,” I rasped against her throat before I pinned my teeth there, biting hard enough to feel the tang of blood.
That did it.
The sharp, hard pressure broke Bea open beneath me like a Christmas cracker, her limbs shaking, pussy flooding around my pistoning cock.
It wasn’t enough for me.
I needed more.
The total decimation of her sanity.
I wanted her to come apart on my cock and have to beg me breathlessly to stop.
She’d stripped me down to the studs tonight. I owed it to her to do the same.
I flipped her over before she could recover, her hands twisting in the lights, fingers wrapping instinctively around the headboard for balance as I rucked her hips up and back. My cruel hands on her little waist bit into the skin as I thrust her back on my cum-wet cock.
Her head tossed back, haloed hair flying as she grunted and cried out at the depth of me inside her. I wrapped a hand around that hair, using it as reins to pin her head back so I could watch passion contort that pretty face.
With the other hand, I tested the pliancy of her sweet, round ass.
Smack.
A sharp gasp giving way to a whimper.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
Her skin was deepening from peachy pink to vivid red, my handprint stamped into her delicate flesh.
Mine, mine, mine.
I must have growled the words aloud because Bea mimicked back, “Yours, yours, yours.”
I smacked her hard, loving the jiggle of that peachy ass, loving the fierce cries falling from her lips to the bed the way her wet cunt dripped to the sheets beneath my driving dick.
“You’re mine,” I ground out as my balls tightened, the base of my spine clenching hard with the need to blow inside her tight cunt. “You’re mine in life; you’re mine in death. We’re never gonna be fuckin’ parted, mo cuishle. I’ll haunt you, I’ll haunt you, I’ll haunt you.”
Tears streamed down her face, the red rims making her eyes so intense a blue they glowed neon as she looked over her shoulder at me, mouth swollen and blooming open around her harsh breath. “I’ll haunt you,” she echoed.
I landed one last resounding slap to her ass and clutched her hard to me with biting hands, forcing her to practically sit on my lap totally impaled on my cock. She cried out as I started to come deep inside her, palming her throat hard to choke off the cry and drive her higher.
She came seconds after I did, warmth flooding my cock and balls as I filled her up, and for a second, just a moment, all I felt was total peace.
Priest
I held her in the come down, hand still at her throat though softer, thumb stroking over her jugular as I licked a bead of sweat off her jaw and nipped at the slanted bone there. She sighed frequently as she settled, little kittenish sounds that made my spent cock stir lazily inside her. One of her hands stroked over my forearm, rucking up the fabric so she could paint little circles with her fingertips on my wrist. It was a simple, intimate touch that almost rocked me more than my fucking phenomenal orgasm.
Bea wasn’t the first woman who had touched me like this, but it felt as if she was. I hadn’t known such tenderness since I was a lad when my parents were still alive and loving me. Each touch triggered an echo in my chest, sorrowful and pleasant all at once. The contraction was one of many between my Little Shadow and me, our opposite natures contracting into one whole, shining thing that my inexperienced mind wanted to call love.
“Oh, Priest,” she gasped, drawing my attention to her dipped head, to the skin she’d revealed to her gaze on the inside of my arm.
There was a cacophonic clang in my ears as all my shields slammed down within me. I was up, pushing her off, backing up with a growl in my throat, teeth bared before I could think to stop myself.
I was panting even though I’d recovered from my orgasm, my chest tight and growing tighter. Shooting pains arrowed up my arms into my chest, reminding me that this and only this was a reason to feel.
Pain.
That was why I was alive.
To feel it.
“Priest,” Bea called, sitting up on her knees, dishevelled hair curling around her sweet face, a vicious red bite mark marring the long column of her throat, clusters of love bites like red roses on her breasts. So marked by me.
Marked as I was marked, but so different too.
Her marks would fade.
Her marks were made from whatever love I could dredge up inside me to give to her.
“Priest,” she tried again. “It’s okay.”
It wasn’t.
She’d seen only a glimpse of the tapestry of history I wore on my skin, but it was too much.
Without saying another word, I turned on my heel and went to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. I hammered my hands down on the porcelain, fighting to breathe, but my eyes caught on the raised hem of my shirt, on the mottled skin at my wrist.
My vision went red, then blinding white.
I crushed my forehead into the already broken mirror, felt pain slice across the skin and warmth flood down into my right brow.
It wasn’t enough.
The blade I’d used on Bea lay on the back of the sink. My clumsy, numb fingers found it, gripping it so hard the handle cut into my palm.
I sliced my left palm, then my right, sighing in relief at the crystal-clear pain.
I breathed, fisting my hands, the blood seeping through my knuckles.
Drip, drip, dripping into the sink.
The door opened behind me, Bea’s pale head slowly slotting inside the gap. Her bottom lip was between her teeth, but her chin was tipped defiantly. She was scared to disturb me yet determined to bring me comfort in any way she could.
My brave Little Shadow.
I blinked at her, the only concession I was capable of giving, but of course, she understood. We watched each other in the reflection of her broken mirror as she moved to me and gently, so gently her touch was just a whisper, wrapped her arms around my middle before taking my big, scarred hands in the palm of hers. The tears that pooled in her eyes were not the kind of tears I liked to make her cry.
“You do this when you remember, don’t you?” she asked in a whisper I felt through the cotton covering my shoulder. “You need the pain to forget?”
“No.” I fisted my hands again, her little ones cupping my knuckles. “I need pain to remember.”
“Can’t you tell me what happened to you?” It was a question without pressure, floating between us in a way that defied gravity.
She would let me ignore it, maybe, but the question would linger under her fingernails, a splinter she couldn’t get out. She was a curious girl, one of the more brilliant things about her, and I was the most monumental enigma she’d ever come across.
Of course, I fascina
ted her.
But how did I give words to things that no vocabulary could properly express? To speak of them was to belittle them inherently, to get it wrong in the telling was a cross I couldn’t bear.
So, I just stared at her in the webbed glass, my blood pooling in her palms.
She studied me, lip between her teeth, for a long moment.
“Self-harm isn’t the answer, Priest,” she murmured finally, curling her hands over mine so my fingertips pressed into the slices on my palms. I shuddered from the pain, but I liked it, and she knew that.
She sucked in a sharp little breath, steeling herself. “Would you…would you at least let me hurt you, instead?”
I arched a red brow at her, watching as she blushed that fine wine-tinged flush. “How would a little thing like you hurt big bad me?”
She bit her lip, hiding briefly behind my shoulder before finding the courage to say. “I think I know something that might help?”
Desire moved over me like a shadow.
“Oh?” I taunted, unfurling my fists to bring her fingers, wet with my blood, to my mouth. I sucked at the pinky with the pink nail, licking off the metallic slick of red. “My angel wants to play the devil, does she?”
“If it helps you. If you’ll stop cutting yourself like this,” she whispered in a raw voice as she watched me suck her fingers clean with dark eyes.
“I’m a monster, Bea,” I reminded her. “You play with me, you gotta remember, I don’t play nice with others. I’ll try to give you some control, but in the end, you gotta know, I’ll wrest it back.”
“Oh, I’m counting on that,” she agreed with an impish grin before pulling away to lead me back into the bedroom. “Lie down, let me get what I need.”
Sinking into the rumpled sheets that smelled of sweet peaches and sweeter pussy, knowing that Bea wanted to torture me made my cock half-hard again. It arched obscenely from my open jeans. When my shadow returned, she had a black satin ribbon in her hand and a flickering pink candle in the other.
Dead Man Walking (The Fallen Men, #6) Page 30
