by CoraLee June
When he pulled away, he stole my breath. I was nothing but gasping need.
“But when I saw you, Little Spider, I felt nothing but understanding.”
I didn’t understand, but I didn’t need thoughts. I needed to feel. I felt the connection between us, something timeless and precious and so unpredictable. I knew what we were. My spider knew. We’d met somewhere in the middle of our existence and accepted this undeniable pull.
Despite how new it was, despite Spector breathing down our necks, we found a tether connecting us. It started as fine silk but was fortified over time, becoming something stronger. Sometimes connections were bred from tragedy. People were scuffed, torn, and branded with pain. This connection I had with Tomb and Crow was like fine polish, making me new again. We found each other in the clutches of evil.
I grabbed the waistband of his boxers and slowly slipped them down. His cock sprung free and brushed against my trembling hands as the soaking wet material fell to the tile with a sloshing sound, scattering water like fireworks over my shins. He stepped out of them with a smile, our eyes still locked on one another in a delicate dance of boundaries. If we crossed this, there would be no coming back. If I fed from him, I could kill him.
“Your demon came for me,” I said in awe.
“And I stayed for you,” he added.
I dropped to my knees and winced at the hard tile that met my achy bones. There were no webs spilling from my fingers. There was no impulsive, famished spider pulling haunted, tantric words from my lips. She wasn’t directing my yearning body or my dripping pussy. She had slipped into the back of my mind, as if letting me feel like me again. For this.
For Crow.
“You going to put me in your mouth, Little Spider?” he asked.
My eyes were met with his hard cock and the silver piercing poised directly on the head. I wanted to feel the metallic taste on my tongue. I wanted it inside of me. “Yes,” I whispered before dragging my lips along his shaft, whispering prayers and salacious little nothings in my mind as he twitched from my delicate touch.
“Taste me,” he pleaded. “I want to see that fierce mouth consuming me, Motley.”
Thrill spurred me forward. I wrapped the lips he seemed to love so much around the head, sinking and sinking, inch by delightful inch, until his thick dick was poking the back of my throat—until I was gagging on cock. Until I was drowning in his smell and moaning at the way he twitched.
“Fuck,” he rasped. “You were made for my cock, baby.”
I’d felt power before. My sex life had become an exchange of control since Spector possessed me. I’d come to expect my deadly prowess, but right now, I was able to appreciate the power I had of simply being responsible for his pleasure.
I loved pumping his cock with my mouth. I loved feeling him slide all the way down my throat. I loved taunting him with my tongue and watching the way his muscles rippled with tension which each command of my body.
I didn’t need my spider to be in control. This was all me.
I thrust against him with broken whimpers, hollowing my cheeks and tightening around him as I did. He tasted good—salty and sweet. He tasted like divine magic meant only for me.
“I want to feel that tight little pussy clenching around my cock, Motley,” he urged while pulling my hair and guiding me off of him. His hardness slipped out of my mouth with a pop, and I licked my swollen lips for the remaining taste of him while looking up at his hooded eyes from under my lashes.
“Are you sure about that?” I asked. The darkness of my spider was easing her way back to the surface. She’d given me my time. She’d allowed me to take back my power for myself.
But she was the ultimate conductor. She’d taken my body as her own, and now it was time for her to take Crow.
He yanked me up and slammed me against the tile again. That cock—that perfect, hard, thick erection poked at my most sensitive point. Each press, each angry demand of his body, made me writhe.
“Come out to play, Little Spider,” he moaned before wrapping his hand around my neck and squeezing.
My pulse roared against his grip as he devoured my mouth. I felt utterly consumed. Treasured. Wanted.
His teeth nipped at my lips, and I parted for him, lapping up his tongue and taste with decadent strokes.
“I need you,” I said against his mouth.
“Then you’ll have me.”
He hiked up my leg even higher and then placed the head of his cock at my entrance, before slipping back down, coating the length of him in the wetness gathered at my slit. I rocked my hips against him, as if my body was demanding his entry, making him smirk.
“You like that, Little Spider?” he asked with a grin, bringing the head of his cock back up.
“I want you inside of me.”
Crow groaned, reaching up to run a hand through his wet blue hair. “Hearing you say that is the sexiest fucking thing in the world.”
In true Crow style, he started pushing into me, just the head, before slipping back out and doing it again. And again. And again. Never giving me more than an inch or two, never rushing.
I was panting, writhing, trying to gyrate my hips to get more of him, but he continued to tease and take his time.
“Crow!” I finally demanded, hearing the desperate whine of my voice.
“If I could, I’d tease you like this for hours,” he said, bracing a hand on the wall beside my face, his arm muscles bunched and dripping with water.
I whimpered, picturing in my mind all the things he’d do to me. I needed to come so badly. I needed to feel him deep in the recesses of my body, coaxing out the pleasure I so desperately wanted.
Taking pity on me, he finally started to push more of himself inside. It was slow. Torturous. Reveling. I felt every miniscule movement as his thick cock grazed against my sensitive walls. His piercing stroked my insides in a stimulating caress, the metal grinding into my pleasure points and making me groan. Until finally, finally, he was all the way inside.
“Yes.”
“Fuck, Motley, you feel godsdamned amazing.”
“Move,” I demanded, needing that erotic friction to take me higher.
In reply, Crow reached down and gripped me by the ass, suddenly lifting me up completely. Both of my legs curled around his hips, and then he began to move.
He slicked in and out of me, continuing his slow tempo, and yet his movements were hard, his cock thrusting in and out of me in his rhythmic movement that sung to my soul and harmonized with my pleasure.
His mouth latched onto mine, his tongue fucking me in the same sensual strokes that he was using with his cock. I watched as shadows scattered off his skin, rising around him right along with the steam. I could feel the energy of his demon as my spider latched on and began to feed, could hear the softest call of his crows like they were a whisper in the vapor around us.
I was filling up, not just of his essence, but of him. Every thrust of his cock, every swipe of his tongue, every press of his hands was like sustenance to my spirit. My hips rocked with every movement, my moans swallowed down by his mouth. I touched him everywhere I could reach, swiping both water and soap suds across his skin.
“You feel that, baby?” he asked. “You feel how perfect I fit inside of you? You feel how good I pound that dripping cunt of yours? Take it all.” Each dirty word that spilled from his lips was accentuated by his deep invading thrusts. I could feel it, how perfect this was, the complete rightness of it all.
It felt so good that I didn’t think of the monster in my chest when I threw my head back and came with a hiss. I didn’t think about my deadly body sucking from his deep pool of life. His grunts and moans were a pleasant cadence to my roaring orgasm, and his pleasure followed after mine. The fullness within me twitched and jerked as hot cum spilled into me from his cock.
“Fuck,” he growled.
For the first time since joining my demon, I truly felt in control enough to stop, but I didn’t want to. Something within
me wanted to see this to the very end. I wanted to snap his essence and drink every last drop until my mark was branded on his neck. It was a territorial necessity. I couldn’t end this until he was mine.
My spider yanked on the last of his offering, shadows and feathers erupting out of Crow’s body like lava spitting from a volcano.
Only with my vampiric strength and reflexes was I able to catch him before he fell to the tile. Only with my supernatural hearing was I able to hear his heartbeat stop over the spray of the shower.
My spider was satisfied, my body still sang in the remnants of our love making, and I’d killed another man I cared about. All because that relentless drive to finish what I’d started had forced my hand and taken the rest of his life essence.
And yet, as I sat naked with his head in my lap, his blue hair tangled over my thighs, and my skin pebbling under the cold spray of water, I didn’t panic. I didn’t mourn.
Because there, beneath the shadow of his jaw, was a blood-red hourglass mark on his skin.
Chapter 11
I was sitting in the common room, sipping on blood and trying to ignore Cheryl’s constant talking. It was proving to be difficult because on a good day, Cheryl’s voice was annoying. On a hangry day? It was making me downright murderous.
My reserves were running low. It had been a week since my time with Crow, and though feeding from him had been as satisfying as Tomb, my spider was anxiously waiting for another meal. I would’ve been able to preserve my energy better if I weren’t being constantly forced to train. I was dreading the moment Spector realized I was hungry again, so I did everything I could to keep my face fixed in a pleasant smile and not reveal the roaring hunger barreling through me.
But I wasn’t just hungry. I missed Crow and Tomb. I wanted to see them so badly it hurt. After Oz had found Crow dead in my lap, Spector had put two and two together and monitored him, watching as he came back to life. Meanwhile, they’d forced me to keep going through rigorous trainings, plus strict eating and sleeping regiments that left me exhausted.
“I’m not saying you’re a bad friend, I’m just saying that not once have you checked on me since we got here,” Cheryl went on.
She’d been talking for a good twenty minutes. The moment I entered the common area, she swarmed to me like shifters on shit. I wasn’t really paying attention, though. I was too busy worrying about Tomb and remembering Crow’s lips on my skin to really focus on her shrill voice and self-importance, but her last statement caught my attention.
“Wait, what?” I asked, looking over at her. “Are you seriously mad at me for not checking on you while I was locked up in the tank?” My voice was incredulous. Cheryl had always been selfish, but this was getting ridiculous. It wasn’t my fault I couldn’t hold her hand.
Cheryl let out an exasperated sigh. “Well, yeah! I mean, I get that you’ve been busy with training and whatever, but I thought we were friends. You came in here and just sat down. You didn’t even say hello to me.”
I frowned and studied her. She was wearing a sequined shirt, and her blonde hair was sleek and smooth, like she wasn’t a miserable mess in here like me. She had an overstated pout on her perfect face, but there was a sense of authenticity to her words. I didn’t get it. Our entire cohabitation consisted of her telling me that I wasn’t good enough to be in her friend circle. I kept to myself, and she kept up the pretense that she was being forced to live with me. We didn’t really like one another. So why was she upset?
If I were being honest, I was too busy worrying what other test Spector was going to do to me to really concern myself with her. Not to mention, Crow had been noticeably absent since our time in the shower. I’d barely gotten a few glimpses of him since, like Spector was purposely keeping us apart, and I still hadn’t seen Tomb either. I was distracted and worried, but I didn’t expect Cheryl to care about me being distant.
“Is that so?” I asked, prodding her more.
“Yeah. I mean, we lived together for five years, Motley. I thought I meant something to you,” she huffed while toying with a bracelet on her wrist. The vulnerable slump of her shoulders made me pause. Maybe I’d misunderstood our relationship.
I cleared my throat and put down my drink on the cafeteria table. “I’m not trying to be an ass, but I didn’t think we were friends, Cheryl. When we first were placed in our dorm room together, you told me I wasn’t good enough,” I replied while giving her a pointed stare. “You never went out of your way to hang out with me and were always reminding me that we didn’t run in the same circles. Forgive me for not wanting to check on someone that claimed to not care.”
There was an added bite to my words, but I stuck to them. I didn’t appreciate the double standard, and since I no longer had to share a room with her insufferable ass, I didn’t mind being transparent about my feelings.
Cheryl’s eyes turned bloody with unshed tears, and she blinked them away as her lip trembled. “I know I haven’t really been nice to you. I don’t make friends easily. But you didn’t make it easy, either. You think I don’t notice your underhanded comments, but I do. Plus, you’re so stuck in your own world, I didn’t even bother.”
“Fair enough,” I began. “I’ve always kept to myself. It was easier that way.” I never really socialized, outside of the random one night stands. I didn’t see the point, no one would have accepted me anyways.
“I get it. You’re the loner, and I’m the amazing socialite you’re jealous of,” Cheryl replied with a sniff. I opened my mouth to tell her to take a hike, but she cut me off before I could. “But I’m really freaked out. You’ve always been so smart and tough. I couldn’t handle half the shit people have said to you, and I know if anyone could get us out of this”—she paused to look around as she leaned closer, dropping her voice so only I could hear—“it’s going to be you. So I’m here. I’m sorry for what happened in the past, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get the hell out of this place. They...they’re making me hurt people, Motley. Have you ever tried getting blood out of cashmere? It’s, like, impossible. They’re so primitive.”
I pursed my lips so I wouldn’t smile. “So, what are you, anyway?” I asked while taking another sip of my drink. I was definitely hungry and was certain the blood sloshing around my stomach was no longer enough to sustain me. “You stopped Tomb and me from attacking the guards before they took us to the tank. I’m not blaming you,” I quickly added when I saw her gear up defensively. “I know they forced you. I just want to know what you are.”
Cheryl sat up straight. “I’m a Siren! Well, kind of. I just sing and everyone kind of passes out from the pain. Sometimes they die if they make me sing for longer than a minute.”
My brow shot up in surprise. Her voice killed people? How...appropriate.
“Oh?” I asked, trying not to laugh at the irony of her demon. I’d been saying for years that her voice would be the death of me, and now it could actually come to fruition.
“Yeah. They make me sing. A lot. They just cart humans in, then wheel them away. It’s awful, Motley. A lot of them d-die.”
My mouth dropped open in shock. I’d been so caught up in the evil, violating things Spector did to me and the guys, that I didn’t stop to think about what everyone else was going through. I looked around and observed my peers. When we first got here, there was a sense of pride and excitement. But slowly, the numbers thinned, and people had clearly lost their enthusiasm. I hadn’t even noticed the silence of the room or the dull way people stared at their food.
I reached across the table and grabbed Cheryl’s hand, giving it a friendly squeeze. “I’m really sorry they made you do that. Are you okay?” I asked.
She swallowed before looking at where our hands connected before shaking her head. For once, Cheryl was speechless. She had nothing to say, but the regret and sadness was written on her perfect face. She pulled her hand back and wiped her eyes, somehow strategically smoothing her blurred makeup in the process.
“Anyway. What do t
hey do to you?” she asked, changing the subject and making a pit of shame fill me up.
I debated on telling her a lie, but ultimately settled on the truth. After all, she’d told me about her demon, so it only seemed fair. “It’s complicated. Basically I fuck people to death,” I replied, though it felt like a hollow explanation. What I did was far more gruesome than I could ever really articulate.
Cheryl’s eyes widened, and she let out a puff of air, as if debating on how to respond. “So let me get this straight. Your vagina kills people, and my voice makes their ears bleed. We’d make one hell of a porno, spider girl,” she teased before taking another sip of her own bloody drink.
I let out a short chuckle, relieved that she was making light of our conversation. I had expected her to gasp and tell me how terrible I was. Maybe Spector had matured her some.
“So you’re not scared of me?” I asked. For some reason, I needed her acceptance. I’d been so worked up over my demon that I was clinging to anyone that didn’t run away screaming. It was nice not to be feared.
“Why would I be scared? It’s not like I have a desire to fuck you. I mean, maybe if you made an effort with your appearance.” She looked me up and down with a frown. “But even then, it would take some serious alcohol before I could even consider it. I still think you should give bangs another shot. I really liked that look on you. It was so chic. You should let me give you another makeover,” she said decisively.
“A makeover? You cut my hair in my sleep, Cheryl,” I deadpanned, cringing at the memory of that terrible haircut I had my first year at Thibault.
“And it looked fabulous,” she replied with a smile.
