Praying he'll take me.
“Please, Kessler...”
“You'll tell me if I need to stop?” He pulls out slowly, pushing right back in equally slow, and I feel every inch of contact flow through my body, lighting me up from the inside out.
“You won't need to stop,” I insist. Anything to keep him moving.
If it were anyone else, I'd have conditions and ground rules and would be in control of both our bodies. Nothing would be done without my say-so, but this is Kessler. My Kessler.
“Do it.” I arch my back, begging for the briefest hint of friction, but to my surprise, he completely pulls out, severing our connection. “Hey! What are you—”
“Roll over.” Kessler looks down at me from where he's kneeling, his powerful body on full display in the moonlight. His tattoos look like demons swimming just below the surface of his skin, and I can't help but watch, mesmerized, as he runs a hand up and down his length.
Many Keepers aren't shy about exposing their bodies, especially once they have a few drinks in them, so I know Kessler is above average. Long, with a slight curve, but thick, just like the body it's attached to. Broad shoulders, massive thighs, arms that could inflict some serious damage...he's a thing of potentially-violent beauty, and yet, he handles me like I'm breakable.
That ends tonight.
Right now.
I roll until my bare stomach meets cool sheets.
“Up. On your knees.” Kessler urges my hips up with one hand, using the other to press down between my shoulder blades, keeping my chest to the bed. Cheek resting against fabric, I place my hands out beside my head as Kessler nudges my knees further apart.
“Relax,” Kessler whispers. Dragging two fingers through my wetness, he spreads it away from my pussy, up between my cheeks, drawing circles around the tight bud nestled there. My body tenses when I gasp, but his fingers never pull away. Small trembles shake through me as he teases me, and even though this isn't what I expected, especially from Kessler, I want to know how it feels. “Still eager to know what your Keeper wants?”
“Yes,” I say, voice half-muffled by the sheets. I want to know everything. “Show me.”
His finger never stops moving, even as the tip of his dick teases through my wetness. Parting my lips, the head whispers over my clit, promising thick and painful ecstasy. “I'm already close,” he pants, “This is gonna be quick.”
“Okay.” I swallow hard and close my eyes as the stinging pain returns. My body has endured a lot over the years, but nothing—absolutely nothing—has ever come close to feeling this way. It's a pain I want to chase and capture. A pain I want to dissect and preserve.
My hands fist in the sheets and I hold my breath until Kessler is so deep he doesn't have anywhere else to go. We're joined so thoroughly, I feel him everywhere. Even though his finger is gone, putting an end to the erotic massage, I still feel him there—an echo of his touch determined to linger.
“Breathe, Mercury,” he says softly. Gathering all my hair into one hand, he places the other on my spine. He's gentle about it at first, and that allows me to take a few deep breaths, but that doesn't last long. He jerks back and pushes down at the same time, wrenching my head up by my hair while pinning me roughly to the bed, arching my back at an odd angle. “Just keep breathing. And if you want me to stop, just say so.”
“I will,” I pant, reveling in the way my scalp is singing and my throat is suddenly on fire with the force of each breath. “I will. Promise.”
This time when Kessler moves, I feel it all the way down to my bones as he holds me down, completely immobile. There's nothing to do but embrace the all-consuming friction as he thrusts into me, hard, painfully hard, skin slapping skin with a brutality I didn't think he possessed. He moves so fast, so gracefully, I can't tell where he ends and where I begin.
Pleasure burns through me, igniting every inch of skin I own, sending shockwaves of glimmering euphoria from the tip of my head all the way down to my curled toes. I'm breathless. With every slam home, I feel more and more—his steely length stretching me, my cunt growing slick with fluids, his fist tightening in my hair, my over-sensitized breasts smashing into the bed—until it's all too much.
Kessler growls at my back, easing the pressure on my spine as his hand travels down between my cheeks again, until he's resting a thumb against the one place I never thought a man would want to touch me. Tears prick at my eyes when he adds pressure, but not because I don't like it. Not because it's an unwelcome invasion or because of the pain rocketing through me right alongside this overwhelming pleasure.
On the contrary, my tears are accompanied by a rough cry dragged straight from my soul, because the second he pushes the tip of his finger inside, I'm shoved off a cliff. Tumbling. Careening out of control. Losing my grip on reality the same way I'm losing touch with my body as the orgasm rips through me, robbing me of my senses.
“Kess!” I finally drag in a breath, clawing at the covers. “Fuck, Kess. Fuck! Yes!”
My inner walls clench around Kessler again and again. He speaks my name—or screams it, I'm not sure which—before my head falls forward and I'm completely empty once again.
I collapse, useless but still twitching, as my Keeper pulls out and rains hot come all over my lower back, dragging his heavy dick between my ass cheeks as he finishes with a deep, sensuous growl, making the tiny hairs at the back of my neck stand on end.
Right now, there is no pain. No gravity. No atmosphere. There's a word for this—the state where suffering nor self-awareness exist, where the world can no longer touch you—and according to Buddhists, that word is Nirvana.
I've reached Nirvana.
The bed creaks beneath Kessler's weight when he shifts, bowing over my body to kiss my shoulder. He grabs a scrap of clothing on the floor and uses it to wipe my back clean. It seems my gentle giant is back. He just proved he can fuck like a monster, but now that that's out of the way, Soft Kessler is tracing a hand over the curve of my hip like I'm something worthy of worship.
“Merc?” he asks, his voice laced with sudden concern. “You okay?”
I lift my head so I can see his face, only to find his brows furrowed, eyes alight with shame that doesn't belong there. “Fuck me like that every time and I'll be more than okay.”
“Mercury, I'm serious.”
“So am I.” I'm aware my tone is cutting, but I thought we had an understanding. I truly thought he understood what I needed from him, but now that he's delivered, I can practically feel the guilt pouring off him in waves, and I'm not sure what needs to be done to assure that emotion never enters this bed ever again. “That's exactly what I wanted, Kessler. You don't have to look at me like you broke your favorite toy.”
He smirks, but it's fleeting. “You know, a proper gentleman would have been much more attentive. He would have taken it slow, drawn things out, caressed your cheek and stared into your eyes as he slid into you.” He pauses to trail one finger down the side of my face. “Maybe next time we'll try that. Who knows, you may prefer it that way.”
Now it's my turn to smile. “Do I look like a woman who wants a proper gentleman?”
“No.” He quickly searches my face. “You look like a woman who just traveled to hell and back, only to find herself in bed with the devil.” His thumb brushes over my lower lip which is not only split but now kiss-swollen.
“You're the devil?” It's an honest question. So far, all he's shown me is kindness. I've met demons over the years—men who look at me with the sheen of Lucifer lighting their eyes—but Kessler isn't one of them.
He takes my hand, focusing on the scuffed knuckles as he speaks. “I feel like it right now. You ever had one of those 'it seemed like a good idea at the time' moments?”
“Yes.” I prop myself up on my arms so I can trail a finger over his lips like he did to me. “But right now isn't one of them. I asked you to show me and you showed me.”
“And now?” The way he asks that simple question makes me t
hink my answer bears more weight in his mind than it should, but I do what I've always done and go with the truth.
“Now, I'm thinking it's a damn good thing they paired me with the devil.”
“Oh yeah?” He settles in on his side, propping a hand under his head so he can look me in the eye. “And why's that?”
I lean in close and kiss him right on the lips. “If there's any man who can survive me...I'd say it's you.”
Suddenly, there's a stinging pressure behind my eyes, one I've only felt a few times throughout my life. Kessler caresses my cheek as the pressure spreads, easing out like a storm head rolling over barren plains, and my breath stutters. I've never felt like this before.
I don't like it.
“I didn't know it would feel like this,” I whisper.
“Like what?”
A knot forms in my throat, because something's happening—a shift—and I know what I say next shouldn't be voiced aloud.
“Like I've spent my entire life with my fists raised, and now that I'm lying here with you I can finally put them down.”
Kessler's giant hands grab hold of my face, forcing our foreheads together, and that is my undoing.
It's a fucking shame. I didn't even see this coming. Tears sprout from my eyes like tiny ninjas and begin doing backflips down my cheeks.
“I'm exhausted,” I sob. Openly. Loudly. For the first time in my whole goddamn life. “I'm so fucking exhausted.”
Where the hell is this coming from? The words won't stop. The tears won't stop. And Kessler—with all his compassion and tenderness and strength—won't fucking stop!
“Shh, I know,” he comforts, kissing my tears away. “I know.”
He doesn't know.
No one knows.
I don't even understand it, and yet, the words keep coming.
“I didn't ask to be this way. It just—it just happened. Every day, a little more, until I couldn't change it.”
“Change what?” he asks. “What are you talking about?”
For the love of God, Mercury, stop talking.
Shut up.
Right now.
“I don't want to be a monster!” The admission explodes through the room, each wall absorbing its impact as the truth is set free. “I don't want this blood on my hands anymore.”
“Okay,” Kessler nods, “then don't fight.”
Don't fight.
Don't fight?
I've forgotten, until this moment, how incredibly naive this man is. How he wasn't brought up in our world. How little he knows about this place.
How little he knows about me.
“You don't understand,” I say, sniffling, gripping hold of his wrists. “It never washes away. It's there when I go to sleep, and it's there when I wake up. It never goes away.”
My heart pounds out an unsteady rhythm. I shouldn't be talking about this. Not with him. Not now. Not after what we just shared. I'll sully something beautiful.
My mother insists I break everything I touch, and although that's a compliment in her world, I don't want to prove her right. I don't want to break this.
“Mercury...calm down. Just breathe. Can you do that? Can you just breathe for me?”
Kessler gathers me in his arms, but not so tight my chest is confined. My lungs heave with every sob I can't keep contained, but when I feel the way our bodies line up side by side, skin to skin, I fall limp. Soul-deep exhaustion tugs at me, making gravity feel ten times stronger than it was before. For once, I don't have the strength to fight it.
“Come on. Come with me.” Kessler rolls off the bed, but I don't move. He scoops me up in his arms and carries me into the bathroom, and I let him.
I'm drained. Just going through the motions, letting him wash my hair, my battered face, my wrung-out body.
After a night of feeling so much, I am empty.
I feel nothing.
It's only when I'm dry and tucked between the clean sheets of Kessler's twin-sized bed that I gather the emotional fortitude to speak.
“Why are you here?”
Kessler stops drying his hair with a towel long enough to glance down at me. “Because someone told me I didn't belong out there anymore.” He gestures to the window. “And he was right.”
I can't imagine Kessler not fitting in anywhere. He's smart. Adaptable. Like one of those air plants that doesn't need soil. They just pop up wherever they're dropped and proceed to thrive. That's Kessler. An air plant...
“Who told you that?”
He releases a humorless laugh. “My brother.”
“Sounds like your brother and my mother would get along well.”
Kessler doesn't say anything, so I don't push the subject. Instead, I take a small detour.
“You were in prison for manslaughter?”
Harsh brown eyes cut to me. “I was.”
“Who did you kill?”
The towel drops to the foot of the bed as Kessler props both hands on his hips and stares at the floor. “My father.”
“Why?”
“Jesus Christ, Mercury.” He shakes his head, turning away. “There are better fucking ways to ask that.”
For the first time in our short relationship, Kessler's voice isn't kind. It's hard. Cruel and insensitive. But it doesn't last long. When he turns back, wearing a pair of sweat pants hung low on his hips and a grimace on his beautiful face, I know he regrets the slip.
“Sorry. That's not exactly my favorite topic of discussion, but for the record, it was an accident.”
“I'm sorry.”
Kessler goes to work pulling the soiled sheets off my bed. “Don't worry about it, Merc. Get some sleep. We'll talk more in the morning.”
Nuzzling into the pillow, which smells of Kessler, I close my eyes. I'm going down fast, losing the battle against consciousness one long blink at a time, but there's one last thing I need to say.
“I know a little something about accidents and fathers, too.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Kessler
I know a little something about accidents and fathers too.
Mercury's proclamation runs through my mind over and over again as I sip my coffee the next morning, staring at her sleeping form in bed. More than once, I've been warned of Mercury's body count, but I've never been given an exact number, although I think it's safe to assume Mr. Havenworth is on the list.
A soft knock sounds at the door and I ease out of the chair to open it. Outside in the hall, Eric is leaned up against the door frame, rolling an unlit cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other.
“C'mon,” he says, jutting a finger over his shoulder. “Breakfast duty.”
I cast a look back, checking to make sure Mercury is sleeping soundly, then slip out.
By the time we get to the kitchen, it's already full. Ice is sitting on a counter next to a steaming pot of oatmeal, Jordan is frying bacon, and a few other men are tending to various other tasks. Eric hands me a bag of oranges and a knife.
“Get to slicin'.”
I set up shop at a side table and open the bag. “Men always do the cooking here?”
Eric takes the seat across from me and opens a carton of strawberries. “Cooking. Cleaning. If we had uteruses, we'd be bearing them sons.”
“Quiet.”
From across the room, Ice stares us down after giving the order, cell phone in hand. Eric sighs heavily but follows the command until we've filled the fruit tray.
“Come on.” He nods toward a door and after wiping my sticky hands on a towel, I follow him out.
The door leads to a quiet alcove, surrounded by high brick walls and ankle-high weeds. Cigarette butts litter the ground and bitter smoke fills the air when he lights up. “Want one?” he asks, offering me the pack.
“No thanks.” I take a seat on an overturned bucket and thread my fingers together. “Can I ask you something?”
“Depends. Are you taking notes for Griffin?”
“Fuck off, dude,” I snap. “You and I bo
th know exactly how I feel about that dickhead.”
“Fair point.” He shrugs. “You can ask. Doesn't mean I'll have an answer.”
At least Eric's playing nice...for now.
“Where's Mercury's dad?”
Eric takes a long drag, then exhales slowly. “Gone.”
“Yeah, I got that much. Where is he?”
“In the ground. Why?”
I shrug. “Just curious.”
“A word of warning?” Eric points his cigarette my way. “Don't bring up Daniel in front of Ice.”
That sparks my interest. I can see why approaching the subject with Mercury would be unwise, but Ice? What does he have to do with it?
“Why?”
“Just don't. They were friends. Best friend, actually, and I think his death still stings a bit.”
“Huh...it's weird trying to picture Ice being friendly with anyone.”
“It is, but they were as thick as thieves. Daniel was actually the one who gave Ice his name.”
“What's his real name?”
Smiling, Eric peers around the corner to make sure no one's listening. “Sherman.”
I chuckle. “You're fucking with me.”
“Nope. Sure ain't.”
“Sherman,” I repeat, laughing along with Eric. “Wow.”
“Yeah. Speak that name aloud and he'll castrate you. Just sayin'.”
“Noted. So, her dad's out of the picture but Ice seems pretty attached to Blair. What'd he do, just step up? Fill in?”
Eric squirms, the action not at all in line with his character. “It's a little more complicated than that.”
“I'm a smart guy,” I insist. “I'm sure I can follow.”
There's a long pause as Eric fills the air with smoke before he speaks. “Blair was alone for years. This thing between her and Ice is new. Less than a year, I'd say.” He shakes his head. “I don't know how that fucker got so lucky, but he did. He had the best damn Blacklighter. She was amazing. When she died, rather than turn Ice away, like I've seen her do with a few other guys without Blacklighters, she invited him to stay. With her.”
The skin at the base of my neck prickles and I have to consciously avoid shivering. “Ice's Blacklighter died?”
The Monster of Farewell (Blacklighters Book 1) Page 21
