He rips my underwear right off of me, splitting the seams, and the noise I make is one not of protest, but of pure unbridled passion.
“Dee,” I gasp, licking my lips as I hitch one of my legs up over his hips, perhaps the only freedom of movement I currently have left.
“You can still talk?” he asks, amused. The thick shaft of his cock rolls right through the folds of my pussy and I moan, eyes squeezing shut tight. “I can take care of that,” he snickers, and with that the first, hard press of his cock right inside me has me crying out. He kisses me, swallowing the noises I make, holding my wrists tight as I shudder and jerk. Although I was wet, I wasn’t quite ready for all of him. But it feels so good. It hurts so good.
He’s all the way inside of me before I can make another sound, right down to the hilt. He stays there a moment, then arches his hips, somehow, some way, managing to work himself deeper inside of me still. I yank hard at my wrists, overwhelmed by every bit of him.
He likes it like this, when I fight him. When he stops kissing me, I go for the neck, biting hard.
He snarls and jerks back. His length moves with him, withdrawing from me, only to thrust back inside me again in a single, almost violent action.
Again, and again, he thrusts, my legs wrapping around his waist as he sets a punishing pace that isn’t quite human and has me gasping with each push of his cock, the drag out just as perfect as the plunge in. The heat is spiralling in my core, prickly in my skin. My pussy clamps down tighter to milk his cock for all its worth as he fucks me hard, his hand rough and like a vise against my captured wrists.
“Dee—!” It’s coming like a wave, like a tsunami, threatening to drown me before I can even stop it. His fingers find my clit and he offers me a little jolt of vibration, just so—
Everything whites out. The ecstacy races through my body, alighting all my nerves one at a time. I shudder through the intense orgasm, wave after cresting wave, as he mumbles in my ear: dark ideas, dirty thoughts, sexy little fantasies that only he knows and have no right being spoken aloud. My cheeks flood with heat and I whine, turning my face away.
My enforcer groans, thrusts a few more times, and then lets out a brief huff of air that sounds like my name, his fingers going extra tight on my wrists. His explosion inside of me is welcome, and my lips find his throat as he works himself leisurely through it.
He can take his time. He’s earned it.
Duncan’s head sags onto my shoulder and he lays there, panting and sweating in a way only this form of physical exertion seems to make him. All of my muscles are trembling. I needed it so badly, I don’t even think I can put it into words. He lets go of my wrists, and my fingers crawl along his huge shoulders, needing something to cling to. I hang onto him, and hide my face in the side of his.
Because it’s true.
When you’re the Captain in the field, you need a pillar of strength in the bedroom. Heck, in every other aspect of your life. That’s the only thing that keeps you standing, keeps you fighting, keeps you alive.
I think I may have finally found my pillar. In fact, I’ve found four.
And, with them, perhaps I can keep the promise I’ve now made not only to myself, but to my father, my brigade, and all of my Magickal kin.
B.L.A.Z.E. will continue to burn brightly: a symbol of hope for us all.
31 Epilogue
There are some things that can make any old place feel like home.
Many change, but so many stay the same. The warmth of a friend as you cuddle into his side at sunset. The titter of harmonized laughter, a sound that’s never not welcome in a brigade that experiences so much pain. The smell of campfire, its smoke caught on the salty sea breeze, twisting and floating up for miles into the bloodied sky.
Oliver’s fingers are threaded through my own, his head on my shoulder. He’s spent most of the night so far playing with my hair, getting used to the newness of it. Since we left the Sun Treasure campsite yesterday, I’ve cut it short and bleached the color out. I partially wanted to change my appearance a tad, and partially just needed a change. After everything, I felt that was a fairly reasonable desire to fulfill.
“How’s your wrist?” he mumbles against my cheek. I smile.
“That’s the thirteenth time you’ve asked me since this morning,” I answer, “and I promise you, it’s still the same. Painful, but not the worst thing I’ve ever had to deal with.”
“I think it was the right decision,” he says slowly, and he draws back to look me in the eyes. His face is solemn and sober despite the two half-cans of beer he’s had, which is more than enough to get him tipsy. “I know it’s kind of gross, but the surgery is simple, and now you can sleep easy.”
“The fact that my surgeon calls it simple makes it less scary,” I tell him, with an affectionate nuzzle.
He laughs sheepishly. “Yeah, I have to admit, I was trying not to freak out. I’ve never operated like that on someone I care so much about before.”
“Well, you did an amazing job.” I glance down at my wrist. Beneath the bandaging, my B.L.A.Z.E. tattoo is probably a mess. But beneath that, there is no more Bit, which means the Sovereignty have no more method of tracking me like an animal. It’s a price I’m willing to pay. For the lads’ safety, as well as my own.
“Oi, it’s just about ready, innit!” comes Alfie’s shout from close to the water. Flames are roaring from our makeshift pyre, licking and dancing their way energetically across the bleed of the setting sun.
Alfie and I haven’t spent time on this beach together since we were kids, growing up not a fifteen-minute walk from this very spot on the stony shores of Portsmouth. It seemed an appropriate spot to do what we needed to do.
Oliver clumsily clambers to his feet, offering me a hand, which I accept despite probably being safer standing of my own volition. Rhys and Duncan are sitting together close to the pyre, entrenched in a conversation I hope will ease the latter’s suspicions about the former. We pick our way down the beach toward them, the wind whipping at our hair and clothes, and nestle in close to the heat.
Alfie meets my gaze through the flames, before crouching low on the ground beside Oliver. Now the only one on my feet, I take the opportunity to say a few words.
I know I won’t be the only one. While Rhys never had the honor of meeting the folk we served alongside, the three other lads are no doubt bursting with stories and recollections about our thirteen fallen comrades, and eleven missing ones. Yet another family that was stolen from us too soon, and another family we must now fight to avenge.
Because family. That’s what makes a place feel like a home, whether it’s a house or a hovel. Or the wide open road.
This is my family. This is my brigade.
We are the British League of Anomaly Zeitgeist Exponents, but we go by B.L.A.Z.E. We vow to rise up, stand tall, and defeat the Sovereignty who threaten to tear us down and tear us apart.
As long as the five of us are willing to fight, and fight together?
This war is far from over.
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About the Author
CIARÁN (n) [KEER-ehn] a funny little British bloke; you probably met him at a con one time
MUCH TO HIS AMUSEMENT, he’s been compared in the past to David Bowie, Tony Stark, Joan Jett, Ramona Flowers, Gerard Way, and Tank Girl – but I.R.L., we all know him as Ciarán James Strange, an eccentric and powerful LGBTQ+ artist who blends pop sensibilities, dynamic rock guitars, and high-energy live shows into his own brand of geeky pop-punk. At seventeen, he left his family, friends, and little English fishing village behind in order to chase his dreams to Vancouver, BC, where he now resides indulging in his passion for many different fa
cets of performance including music, writing, voice-acting, acting, vlogging, and pro-wrestling.
ciaranstrange.com
Blaze of Chaos Page 20
