The Monster of Farewell (Blacklighters Book 1)

by Catherine Black

  I don't know him and he doesn't know me, but while I was standing under the water, completely exposed and at his mercy, I saw something in his eyes that floored me. It wasn't need or control. It wasn't malice or hunger. I'm not sure what it was, but it was soft and sympathetic and kind. I didn't deserve it, but I clung to him anyway and took what he was offering, and now he's holding me like I am something precious and delicate, and I am staring at a split in his lip which was undoubtedly my doing.

  With one shaking hand, I reach up and drag the pad of an index finger across Kessler's bottom lip. He doesn't move so I rotate my hand, holding it up to the faint light sneaking in through the curtains, and right there on my skin, I see proof of my savagery. Even in sleep, I'm dangerous. Any other day, with any other person, this would not concern me, but I am concerned. And remorseful.

  “It's okay.” Kessler gently takes my wrist in his hand, dragging it out of the light and back into shadows, hiding it away for now. “Go back to sleep.”

  The back of my neck pulses with pain, reminding me why he had to wake me in the first place. But a quick exploration with my fingertips tells me it's not bleeding again and I am fine.

  I am fine.

  Kessler moves away, giving me space, but the second his body heat is gone, a cold rushes through me the likes of which I've never felt before. I've always been cold-hearted, this is a fact, but I feel this chill all the way down to my marrow, and I want nothing more than to banish it forever. So, I do the one thing I've never done to another human in all my life—the stupidest thing I could do in this moment.

  I reach for him.

  It's a simple touch—my hand on his bicep—but when he stalls and looks down into my eyes, I know he understands what I'm asking of him. A slow, timid smile forms on his lips and he nods before crawling up to the empty side of the bed, settling in. I follow, taking up residence beside him, and face the wall, giving him my back.

  I should send him back to his own bed, but right now, after everything he's done for me, that just seems wrong. And cruel, in a way. Not to Kessler of course, but to me. Even groggy from sleep, I'm selfish.

  His warmth settles my racing heart, as well as my mind, and soon I find myself sinking into the mattress at ease, not tired, but content. The old house creaks and groans as it always does, but aside from that, the room is quiet. So quiet, I hear him move before I feel his hand on my arm, lifting the strap of my nightie that has fallen to the side. He drags it back up into place, triggering a smattering of goosebumps down both my arms, then brushes strands of hair away from my neck.

  The tenderness in which he touches me is alien, but I want him to do it again, so I scoot my hips on the bed, pressing my back to his chest so we're lying perfectly in line. It may be odd, this gesture, but I don't care. I want to be close to him, and I'm not going to ignore that.

  Something firm presses into the back of my thigh, and Kessler curses. Before I ever have a chance to react or voice a single word, he clears his throat, breaking the silence, and backs up, removing himself from me. The distance doesn't do what he intended.

  I know what I felt. He's backing away from me so I can't feel it—the evidence of his arousal—but the question is, why? I have no idea, not a single clue, but it's something no one else has ever done. Not once. Throughout my seven years of training, I've sparred with a handful of men, and of that handful, two often had this same reaction. But whereas Kessler is removing himself, they pressed forward, holding themselves to my hip or my back, until I laid them out on their ass. Nothing about their blatant desire captivated me. But right now? In this bed with this man?

  I'm fucking captivated.

  What is it that Kessler has that they lacked? Why did their pawing and grinding have spikes of anger growing out of my spine, yet Kessler's erection and his instant reaction to me coming into contact with it make me feel...powerful—more powerful than any fight or any victory.

  Now's not the time to seek out answers. I lie down on my back and turn so I can see him better. In a pair of sweat pants and nothing else, I see every subtle curve and hard plane of his stomach. I see it, and I want to feel it, so I do. I trail a hand over his abdomen, caressing the shadows, moving over each and every valley and ridge compacted underneath his skin, and finally get a valid reaction as Kessler sucks in a breath.

  Through my touch, I inspect each muscle, every trail of hair, and one singular scar. It's small and jagged, and even without seeing it in the light of day, I know it's my favorite thing about his body.

  “Mercury.” My name is a warning and a question all rolled into one, but I ignore it. I'm on a quest to know more about this creature.

  Unlike the other women here, I've never wanted more than what I already have. Never in my twenty-seven years have I yearned for another person, but there's no denying this new development. It's happening right now in real time as I continue trailing my fingers up and down his abdomen. The stirring is there—deep in the pit of my stomach—and it's a bodily hunger I've never experienced before. I want to know how to feed it.

  My limbs are electrified as I shift, coming to a stop when we're so close we're breathing the same air, and I catch sight of Kessler's face, only to find him watching me. Just watching. Not grabbing or pushing or demanding. I don't blink and neither does he as I dip my hand beneath the band of his sweats, brushing against his hardness. It's hotter than I thought it'd be. Bigger too. As I wrap my hand around it, it twitches in my palm. A second later, Kessler grabs hold of my wrist, stopping me in my tracks.

  I look up, but he's the one who asks a question. “What are you doing?”

  There's no way I can answer that with a nod or shake of my head, so I choose to speak. I find it quite easy to speak to Kessler, actually. “I want to touch you.”

  Five words.

  One simple truth.

  The urge to explore his body is here in my limbs, and I see no reason in denying myself that pleasure. Hard brown eyes stare into me for so long, I wonder if I've said or done something wrong, wondered if this isn't what women do when in bed with a man. It'd be good to know if there are some kind of rules I'm missing—guidelines and steps I'm unaware of.

  “You don't have to do that.”

  Of course I don't. I know that. “I want to.”

  Kessler's throat rolls with a nervous swallow and indecision flashes in his dark eyes, but in the end, he releases my wrist. I take that as the green light it's obviously meant to be.

  Sliding my hand over his shaft, I explore every ridge, every pulsing vein, until I reach the base. His skin is so warm, so soft for something so hard, and one by one, I wrap my fingers around him, making a fist, and drag it all the way up to the end, fluttering my fingers over the tip. I want to do more, push the boundaries, see how much I can get away with here in the dark, but Kessler's head hits the pillow and a deep moan rumbles in his throat.

  That sound does something to me on a primal level—it awakens something that's been dormant and hidden away for so long, I'd forgotten it existed. Much like my rage, this feeling has been sitting quietly behind a locked door, waiting to come out and play.

  “You...” Kessler says, growing breathless, “I think you need to stop.”

  Not what I was expecting. At all. Perhaps I read his body language wrong. I thought he was enjoying this. “Why?”

  “Because...this is a really...fucked up...situation...and I—”

  His words die as I run my hand up and down his dick again, feeling him grow even harder. My knowledge of the male body is limited to what I've heard the other women here talk about in the training room, but I'd like to think I know enough to please a man. At least, that's what I'm hoping.

  Kessler props up on his elbows, presumably to get me to move away, but I don't. I move closer, shifting onto my knees, peeling his waistband back so I can better see what I'm doing. In turn, Kessler drops his head back. “Mercury...”

  I need to know what he wants or doesn't want, because for some reason, I want to pl
ease him. Immensely. I'd like to see this large man crumble, and at my hand, no less. For once, I want to make someone feel pleasure instead of pain, and I want Kessler to be that someone. If he would just cooperate. I don't understand his resistance. “Doesn't it feel good?” I ask, exploring the thick ridge at the underside of his dick.

  “Of course it feels good,” he snaps, bearing his teeth.

  “They why stop?”

  “I don't...God—” I twist my hand and his hips buck off the bed.

  Now we're getting somewhere.

  “Why stop?” I ask again.

  “Fuck,” he breathes. “Because—”

  My hand continues up and down, and I see a bead of liquid form at the tip. His hands fist in the sheets, the muscle in his jaw ticks, and I'm even more confused. I move my hand a little faster, watching and dissecting his reaction. When my thumb brushes along the ridge at the head, he hisses through his teeth.

  “You look like you're in pain,” I observe.

  He's panting, chest moving up and down with exertion even though he's lying still, and I realize something odd: He's at war with himself. He thinks he shouldn't get to feel this way—he shouldn't be pleasured—and there has to be a legitimate reason for this. I'm not well versed when it comes to the male species, and I don't know how a man's mind works outside the cage, so maybe this is wrong. Maybe I've overstepped some kind of imaginary boundary.

  Just when I'm about to stop, Kessler opens his eyes. Suddenly, I'm pinned with a look that speaks volumes, and in his dark stare, I see reluctance, but also, I see desire. So much fucking desire it's consuming him, just as it's consuming me.

  “Why deny yourself something if it feels good?” This is perhaps the longest sentence I've ever spoken in one breath. I need answers that bad. “What's the point?”

  “The point is...some things are...there's a way...fuck!” He curses when I squeeze, and I purse my lips together to keep from smiling.

  “Do you really want me to stop?”

  “Of course not!” he snaps.

  This time, I allow the smile to take root. “Then stop talking.”

  Again, I move, shifting so I can take a seat between his legs. Looking up the length of his body—his large, magnificent body—I grow the tiniest bit self-conscious. “Is this right?” I ask, stroking him from base to tip. He nods, breathing heavily, and that emboldens me.

  With my free hand, I jerk his pants down to his knees and I don't hold back one bit as I explore his powerful thighs, noting how muscled they are, how the hair feels beneath my palm. Kessler's breathing accelerates, and the next time I catch his eye, he's opening his mouth, furrowing his brow, about to speak, but I shake my head. This is just as much for me as it is for him.

  “I just want to touch you,” I whisper.

  My hand quickens, and I watch Kessler's eyes fall shut. His hips lift off the bed, but I don't stop. I keep going. His body is so foreign to me but so beautiful. So powerful and capable. Before long, I realize the heat in my stomach has transformed into a tingle between my thighs, and for once, it's more than a mere suggestion. I've never wanted a man to make me feel this way—to touch me and look at me with kindness in his eyes. I've only ever wanted their aggression and hate, so this is all new.

  Kessler's eyes are still closed, so I take advantage and lick the very tip of his cock. He curses like I've shocked him, and I do it again. He tastes salty, like skin, but there's something else there as well. Like heat in taste form. I can't identify it, so I drag my tongue along his shaft, stopping only when a hand grabs hold of my hair.

  “Merc...”

  My heart pounds fast. I like the sound of half my name on his mouth, but also, I love the way he's holding me, restraining me the slightest bit. Just to be evil, and to see how far I can push him before he snaps, I lick him again. Thoroughly. Digging my fingers into his waist, I explore with my mouth. Kissing up one side, licking down the other. Swirling, tracing, even letting my teeth skim over him once or twice.

  “Mercury, fuck...fuckfuckfuck!” Kessler's entire body tenses when I close my lips around him. He slides over my tongue, touches the roof of my mouth, and two hands fist in my hair. I let him pull me forward, let him fuck my mouth until my scalp is singing with pain and it's hard to breathe.

  With one last jolt of his hips, I feel it—hot liquid shooting against the back of my throat, and I know without a doubt that we'll be doing that again.

  Fighting to keep the smug look from my face, I swallow and sit back, brushing stray hairs off my forehead. Kessler's still breathless, but he reaches out, lazily trailing a thumb over my bottom lip. “Sorry about that.”

  I stiffen. An apology? Right now? After that? That doesn't seem right... “About what?”

  He grins, still staring at my lips, but it's pained. “The whole...coming...in your mouth...thing.”

  I smirk, damn proud of myself, and I don't bother hiding it this time. It's been a long time since I've smiled in the presence of another human, but with Kessler, I feel like it's allowed. Like I'm free. Like I can be myself. I can let go. I don't have to be cold and distant and dangerous and composed every second of every fucking day. We may not know much about one another, but this I know as fact: Kessler is a safe place. He's proven that and more in such a short amount of time, I'm actually relieved and somewhat grateful he was named my Keeper.

  “I didn't mind at all,” I say. “I liked seeing that. I liked watching you. And tasting you.”

  His expression no longer holds the foggy, drunken look it did before, but now he seems a little lost, like I'm a puzzle and there are pieces of me missing and he's not sure where everything goes. “When you speak...you say exactly what you're thinking, don't you?”

  What a silly question. “Of course.”

  “Huh.” A line forms between his eyebrows, and I smooth a finger over it.

  “Is that bad?”

  “No,” he says. “It's just, that's not as common as you'd think.”

  I nod as if I care, but I really don't. “So that felt good?” I really, really want to hear the answer.

  Kessler tips his head back and laughs, shaking his head even as he pulls his pants back up to cover himself. “It's been almost nine years since a woman has touched me, but I don't recall it ever feeling like that.”

  I replay his answer again in my head and curse myself when I feel my face flame. I don't fucking blush. But I am. Right now. A hand comes down to cover mine, squeezing.

  “Relax, Mercury, that was a compliment.”

  I look away, smirking. Again. “Oh...”

  “You should get some more sleep.” He taps the empty space next to him, beckoning me up. “You had a rough night.”

  It's true, I did, but I am beyond wired. Physically, I'm strung as tight as a bow, ready to snap with the slightest hint of tension, and my head is trying to work through everything happening with my body, so there's no way I can close my eyes right now.

  “What if I don't want to sleep?”

  He cocks his head to the side. “Well, what would you rather do?”

  The answer to that question isn't simple at all. In fact, it's desperately complicated. Suddenly, I break away from his eyes and look down, hoping he can't see the way a cloud of heat is making its way from my neck to my cheeks. It's hard to put into words, but after mulling it over, I realize there's maybe a reason women don't speak openly about their desires.

  “Mercury...”

  I look up through my lashes, finding Kessler's eyes sparkling.

  “You almost killed me. I washed you. I've seen you naked. And you just had my dick in your mouth. You're not allowed to get shy on me now.” He grins, showing a row of bright, straight teeth, and it is fucking breathtaking. This man's smile...it's the best thing I've ever seen. Hands down. The most beautiful thing I've ever witnessed. The sight makes me want to smile with him and never stop.

  “Tell me.” He nudges my leg with his. “Give me some more of that truth. What do you want, Mercury?”
>
  So much. I want so much right now.

  With the same confidence I had in the cage, I crawl up Kessler's body until we're eye to eye. Wisps of dark hair fall around us, framing us in, and I cast my eyes to his mouth, inspecting the split lip I gave him. I know what his skin tastes like now, but I want more. One lick is all I take, and he allows it. He sits perfectly still, watching me, never making a sound. When I try to pull away, satisfied for the time being, he does the first smart thing he's done all night.

  He doesn't let me go.

  Time slows as Kessler takes my face in his hands, staring at me with reverence in his eyes, and pulls my lips to his. Skin on skin, he tenderly, and with a level of gentle care I'm surprised a man of his size can possess, he kisses me.

  It's my first kiss.

  My only kiss.

  The room tilts, and I'm drunk on his scent—mint and blood. High on how he feels beneath me—powerful and unyielding. I'm out of my mind as he pushes up close then scoots back until he's resting against the headboard of the bed, sitting upright. I think he'll take this opportunity to break away, but he doesn't. He tugs me closer, chest to chest, until I have a knee on each side of his waist, straddling him, pressing up against him in the most intimate way possible.

  Licking his tongue along my lips, he tastes me as I grind against him. It's so dizzying, so mind-melting, that I gasp for a breath, and the next thing I know, the heat of his mouth invades mine, and a wave of sensation crashes over me, threatening to drag me under.

  Nothing compares to this. Nothing at all. Rough hands trail down my shoulders, my arms, slide around to my waist, and he pulls me down against him, grinding his hips up against the apex of my thighs, where a small fire seems to be raging.

  “Does that feel good?” he asks against my lips. I can feel how hard he is; how his body is ready to break down all my barriers, and I know I'm seconds away from losing myself.

  “Yes,” I nod. “Very good.”

  An arm winds around my back, keeping me still, but I'm not going anywhere. You couldn't rip me from this embrace if you tried. A palm slides between our bodies and, before I sense his intention, his hand dips low, brushing against where I'm hot and slick, pulsating with need.