The Devil's Crown-Part One: All The Pretty Things Trilogy Spin-Off

by Monica James

  Just when she opens her mouth and I think she’s going to refuse, she charges over and slams her lips to mine. It takes me all of two seconds to catch up to speed before I’m dominating that delicious mouth.

  She stands on her toes to meet my height, but my kisses are brutal, and she stumbles forward. I steady her by digging my fingers into her waist. Her skin is warm and instantly prickles in goose bumps when I touch her.

  She keeps up with my kisses, her tongue matching my strokes as she mewls softly. The feel of her is indescribable, far better than I could have imagined. With all this flesh on display, I’m a desperate man and run my fingers up and down her back, wanting to touch it all.

  When I come to a stop at the back of her neck, I grip it tightly and angle her head so I can dominate her mouth and her lips. She allows me to control her, moaning each time I bite her bottom lip lightly.

  I unfasten the elastic around her hair, and when it tumbles around her face, I’m engulfed in her unique scent. Threading my fingers through the long strands, I pull hard, yanking her head back, our lips no longer joined. A stunned gasp escapes her puffy lips. She peers up at me wide-eyed, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she awaits my next move.

  I bite over her chin before working my way down her throat. She has a cluster of beauty spots, so I kiss each one, liking the way her body yields to mine. I want to take my time with her, I really do, but I can’t. I want her too much to savor my meal.

  She softly places her palms against my chest, trailing her small fingers up and down my slick skin. She wants me as much as I do her, and that fact pleases me more than it should. She hums in approval when she traces over the ridges in my abdominals and gently tugs at the sparse hairs below my navel.

  With one hand still threaded through her hair, I walk the other between us and rub over the front of her pants. She buckles into my palm, a winded cry slipping past her parted lips. She rotates her hips, encouraging me to continue.

  The material of her pants is so thin that I can feel her heat. I can’t wait to taste her sweetness on my tongue. I rub circles over her sex as we lock eyes. She doesn’t look away. She stares back at me, allowing me to see her vulnerability as I work her body without mercy.

  I know she wants me to touch her in the flesh, but she won’t ask, and her stubbornness drives me even wilder. She won’t succumb because that means she still has control. She hasn’t submitted completely…but she will.

  Removing my punishing grip from her hair, I walk us toward the bleachers, sitting and drawing her onto my lap. She straddles me, then slams her lips to mine. I tug at the straps of her crop top, and when I yank the material down and her breasts spring free, my erection nudges against her sex.

  The feel of her breasts pressing against me has me breaking our kiss, only to take one tight nipple into my mouth. She loops her arms around my neck, arching her back, granting me permission to taste her. I cup the other breast, running my thumb over her nipple.

  Tonguing over her areola, I ensure our eyes stay locked as I want her to see it all. I want her to revisit this moment when she’s in her habit, remembering how good it felt to be this utterly wicked and…free.

  She rocks her hips, biting her bottom lip each time she rubs over my erection. I haven’t been with a woman in a very long time, but my stamina won’t be an issue. This is about her and her satisfaction.

  Cupping her perfect ass, I feel she isn’t wearing any underwear. I need to see, feel her without anything in the way.

  Pulling away from her breast, I lift her, switching positions with her so she’s now sitting. Coming to a stand, I take a step back, needing to look at her. The curled strands of her hair cover her breasts, but her pert pink nipples peep through, adding to the perfection of this sight before me.

  Her body is utterly wicked—curved, toned, strong.

  She chews her lip, appearing embarrassed, but we’re way past that.

  “Take off your pants,” I order, relishing the way her stomach ripples with her raspy breaths.

  I can see her weighing my command.

  “That wasn’t me asking,” I say, in case she thinks stopping is an option.

  I know we’re out here in the open, but there is no way I’m leaving here without her scent slathered all over my face.

  Thankfully, she does as she’s told and toes off her sneakers and socks, before lifting her hips and taking off her pants. The sight is utterly enchanting. She shyly crosses her legs, but I’ve seen her, and I’ll never unsee the goddess before me.

  She slips the crop top over her head so she sits before me totally naked.

  “Боже мой, ты прекрасна.”

  Oh my god, you are beautiful.

  She arches a brow, hinting she has no idea what I just said. Which is why I reverted to my native tongue. I don’t want her knowing how absolutely smitten I am by her. I shouldn’t feel this way, but it’s not simply her looks that leave me a bumbling fool.

  From the first moment we met, she has tried to understand me, to help me because she’s seen the darkness inside me. She’s seen it because it’s inside her too.

  And that depravity sings to mine.

  Walking toward her, I do something I haven’t done since Willow—I drop to my knees slowly. Her surprise is clear as she peers down at me, her flushed flesh adding to the need to consume every inch of her. Wrapping my fingers around her waist, I drag her forward so her ass rests on the edge of the bleacher bench and bury my face between her legs.

  I don’t take her into my mouth. I merely rub her pussy against my face, spreading her arousal all over me. She tastes and smells how I imagined—like honey.

  With my fingers still fixed to her waist, I angle her hips, coaxing her to open up to me. She leans back on her hands, using the bench behind her for support as she spreads her legs. Her offering is too much.

  “A gentleman would ask if you’re sure…” I start, looking up at her.

  She gasps, eyes wide. She is terrified, but I can smell her desire. Her yearning overtakes her morals.

  “But I’m not a gentleman and don’t ever mistake me for one. I have no qualms about breaking your solemn vow when I bring you to orgasm with my mouth and tongue.”

  Hardly graceful but I want inside her, and if I give her the option of saying no, she can change her mind. But this is happening—right now.

  Lowering my mouth to her sex, I lick along her entrance in one long stroke. She whimpers, opening her legs wider to offer me more.

  “о блядь!” I curse, every part of me demanding I make her mine. She is warm, so warm, and so wet.

  She moans, bucking against me. “Oh, my God,” she whimpers, shuddering. “Forgive me.”

  Never loosening my grip on her, I hold her prisoner with my hands, mouth, and tongue. Her bare sex is like fire on my tongue as I devour her without mercy. With Ella, this is effortless.

  I want to please her, have her screaming out my name.

  She reaches down, tugging on my hair as she forces my tongue deeper into her. I comply, humming when she bucks on my face as the moans slipping from her feed my soul. I tease her, purposely evading her swollen clitoris. I want her writhing uncontrollably when she comes.

  Hooking my arms under her knees, I drag her forward, deepening the angle as she leans farther back. Her legs are thrown over my shoulders, and she grows lax as I add a finger to her pussy. The bleachers behind her prohibit her from leaning all the way back, but she uses her foot to hold me captive against her heat.

  “Just like that,” she gasps, rolling her hips as I give in and circle her clitoris with two fingers. I kiss my way from her sex to her inner thigh and bite her—hard.

  She cups my cheek, running her fingers through my beard. The gesture is that of a lover’s caress. This means more to me than just a casual fling.

  Needing her all over me, I match the speed of my fingers to that of my tongue as I flick it in and out of her. She is slathered all over my face, and I never want to
wash away her sweetness. I am addicted to her taste, to her pleasured whimpers because I elicited each one.

  I spread her sex open with my fingers, sinking and twirling my tongue around and around. She shudders, gripping my hair as she rides my face. I reach up, cupping her breast, rolling my thumb over her nipple. I want to imprint myself on every part of her.

  “Alek,” she whimpers, her voice drenched in nothing but hunger. “I’m going to come.”

  I bite her clitoris and knead her breast, which seems to set her off because with a muted scream, her body shudders around me wildly. Her sweet arousal floods my mouth, and I am so rock hard, I’m terrified I’m going to come in my pants like a pubescent teen.

  Her spasms match her untamed cries, and when I peer up and see her biting her fist to mute her screams, I growl in gratification. I want her mouth, so I tongue over her sex one last time before biting her inner thigh and then crawl up her body, slamming my lips against hers. She kisses me fiercely, gripping my hair desperately, the pain a shot of adrenaline.

  She tastes herself on my lips and licks me without caution. I’m so desperate to bury my cock where my mouth was, but not here. When I take her, it won’t be rushed. This was just a taste of what’s to come.

  The tremors continue to rock her body for minutes before eventually, her breathing slows, as do our kisses. The passion is replaced with something more. And that more is why I pull away, rubbing my nose against hers.

  My labored breaths brush the hair from her flustered cheeks. I sweep the locks away, needing to see that beautiful face. She opens her eyes slowly, and I watch as what we just did sinks in. I wait for regret or self-hate, but I don’t get it.

  Instead, she reaches between us and begins to work over the bulge in my pants. But I grip her hand, stopping her.

  “Not here,” I hoarsely command.

  She seems embarrassed that I don’t want her to reciprocate, but I lift her chin with my pointer finger.

  “It’s not your hand or mouth I want wrapped around my cock.”

  Her already flustered cheeks blister a deep red, and she nods. “So, what happens now?”

  And that’s the question on both our lips.

  “I suppose we both pray for forgiveness,” I offer because once she leaves here, the outfit she will put on displays her pledge to God, the pledge which I just broke when she came on my tongue.

  I’m not naïve. I know she’ll need time.

  My truth seems to remind her where we are, and that she’s very naked. She quickly reaches for her discarded clothes and gently pushes me off her so she can get dressed. She does so, refusing to look at me. Guilt has now settled in.

  “Don’t regret what we did.”

  Once her sneakers are on, she combs her fingers through her hair, tying her hair into a messy bun. “I don’t,” she replies, and just when I think we’re on an equal playing field, she hits a home run. “I just regret it was with you.”

  I stand dumbstruck, watching as she shoulders her bag and walks away.

  It was far easier for her to leave, so I assume she stuck true to one vow—her words aren’t heavy with deceit. She meant them. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to read you another story?” I ask Irina as she sits on my lap, flipping her favorite book to page one.

  “No,” she replies, stabbing her little finger to the picture of Thomas the Tank Engine. “This.”

  “Okay, цветочек.”

  She bounces happily, clapping her hands in excitement. I’m glad I’m able to make one person happy today.

  I’m seething after my encounter with Ella. She tricked me at my own game. I thought there was something more, but it appears I don’t know anything at all.

  She’s kept herself scarce, which is a blessing for both of us because I won’t be held responsible for my actions if I see her. I can still taste her sweetness on my tongue, and I hate it. I hate that I allowed myself to get wrapped up in a fantasy.

  I won’t make that mistake again.

  Just as I’m about to start reading, Renata enters the living room. She looks quite striking in a green dress with her hair curled around her shoulder. When she notices me staring at her, she blushes and averts her gaze.

  “Ski!” Irina scolds, annoyed I’m not on page three by now. She has every right to be mad.

  Focusing on the story I know by heart, I start reading, laughing as Irina squeals in excitement. Renata takes a seat next to us on the large sofa but doesn’t say a word.

  Just as I’m about to turn the page, Irina’s small fingers stop me. She turns to Renata, and says, “Уйди.”

  Renata has no idea Irina just told her to go away and just smiles and nods in response.

  “Irina, that’s not very nice,” I reprimand in Russian. “Why do you want her to go away?”

  Irina grumbles unhappily, but this part of her behavior needs to be curbed. She needs boundaries, and telling people to go away is one she needs to obey.

  “Irina?” I press, but it backfires, and she jumps from my lap.

  Before I can stop her, she rips the book from my hands and throws it at Renata’s head. She thankfully dodges it but gasps in confusion.

  “Hey!” I raise my voice, bending forward and gently grabbing her tiny arm. “Say sorry.”

  “No!” she screams, yanking from my hold. “Bad woman! Пожар.”

  I have no idea why she thinks Renata is a bad woman. I also have no idea what fire means in the context of her sentence. I don’t have a chance to ask her why because she’s running from the room in tears.

  “Fuck,” I curse, running a hand through my hair. I can’t do anything right today.

  “I’m so sorry,” Renata apologizes, appearing mortified she did something wrong. But she hasn’t.

  “It’s not your fault. Irina acts out sometimes. She’s hasn’t had a very good start to life, but that doesn’t excuse her behavior.” Her shitty upbringing angers me beyond words.

  “I can’t blame her.” I arch a brow, confused. “For wanting you all to herself,” she confesses in a whisper.

  I don’t know what to say with her openly confessing something like this. Her mixed signals are confusing to say the least, but they’re not reciprocated. I shouldn’t have kissed her, and I understand that. But I’ve been up-front since that mistake.

  Thankfully, I see Mother Superior walking down the hall and excuse myself. Renata doesn’t hide her disappointment.

  Mother Superior is distressed, which isn’t like her. “What’s wrong?” I ask, chasing after her.

  She didn’t even realize I was following. “Oh, Aleksei. Please forgive me. I was miles away.”

  “I could see,” I reply, walking beside her. “What’s the matter?”

  She scans the hallway, ensuring we’re alone. When we are, she softly reveals, “Some paperwork from my office has gone missing.”

  “Could you have misplaced it?” I question even though I know the answer.

  “Not these documents. They’re the orphanages finances, as well as a list of the benefactors over the years.”

  She doesn’t need to spell it out. I’ve been the main benefactor. Is this a personal attack? But no one knows I’m here.

  “No unexpected visitors have been by?”

  She shakes her head. “No. I’ve checked the security tapes. And asked the Sisters. No one has been here without reason. I’m certain I had these files on my desk yesterday as I was logging your last generous contribution.”

  This is bad. We have a mole in our midst, but the question is, who?

  “I hate when you get that look,” Mother Superior says, side glancing me. “Do you think you could look in the basement in case I filed them away by accident? The box will be labeled in three-month increments for the first half of this year. There should be two boxes.”

  “Of course. I’ll do it now.”

  Her urgency is apparent, and right now, I need to also get to the bott
om of this. Mother Superior is meticulous with her paperwork, so I know someone is snooping.

  “Can you check on Irina? She left quite unhappy with me.”

  “Yes, of course. There must be something in the water,” she says, shaking her head. “Sister Arabella behaved quite strangely moments ago when it was her turn to go into the city to set up the soup kitchen for the destitute. She refused and was quite unhappy when I insisted she go.”

  I try not to let my guilt show as I’m sure her bad mood is because of me and what we did. “Did she go?”

  Mother Superior shakes her head. “No. Maybe she’s just having a bad day?” she offers as a plausible explanation.

  But I know the truth.

  “Yes, maybe,” I reply, feeling horrible lying to Mother Superior. I bid her farewell and make my way to the basement, intent on finding something, anything. I want to help as it may lessen the guilt I feel for what I’ve done.

  Once down here, I look at the stacks of cardboard boxes and exhale. This is going to take longer than I thought. There is no order to this madness, so I roll up my sleeves and get to work.

  Everything and anything you can think of is stored in these boxes, except for what I’m looking for. Cracking my neck from side to side, I reach for the next box. It isn’t labeled, so I flip open the lid, fanning the dust away.

  As I flick through the documents, one piece of paper catches my eye. It’s a letter from the Holy Mother of St. Michael’s—an orphanage in Savannah.

  The letter is short, but it’s from the Holy Mother to Mother Superior, recommending Ella for the exchange program. The Holy Mother is clearly fond of Ella using adjectives such as kind, caring, and compassionate…which I discovered this morning is a load of shit. As did Mother Superior when Ella refused to feed the needy.

  My mood is soured because of her. I just can’t get the way she aloofly left out of my mind. She just broke her vows and didn’t even seem concerned. This person the Holy Mother speaks of doesn’t sound like the Ella who was yanking at my hair and riding my face.

  Something seems off about this entire thing. I thought she’d be happy to spend a few hours out of the orphanage and away from me.