And when I find it, my lips part again but this time for incoherence. Words fall from my lips, but I don’t hear them as they do. It’s all a jumble of syllables—consonants stuttering then fizzling out, vowels leapfrogging over each other. But I don’t care.
Nothing makes sense. Everything is clear.
Electricity sparks inside me, jumping across the beads of sweat pebbled along my skin, and the current is too strong to hold on any longer. So I don’t.
I let go, disconnecting from reality, from now.
***
Griffin, unsuspecting and gorgeous and doomed Griffin. His lips parted, just a little, just enough to let me slip my tongue between them. He let me in just enough to soak up the warmth he radiated, to let me bathe in it and steal some for myself. He shared his beauty, handed it over to me, so I could lather it all over myself and grow more of my own. He gave so I could gain.
His quiet voice hummed in my ears.
“I want you.
“I want this.
“I want.”
Each syllable was quieter than the last, more jumbled.
As I pulled away, I left a little pill on his tongue in my absence, as replacement. I gave so he could lose. Then I gave one more. Then another. And another.
And another.
***
As I come down a little, not totally but enough to see and hear, enough to be aware of where I am and who I’m with, somehow it’s even better. With recognition comes even more sensation. Almost too much, almost enough to send my brain back into overload, but not quite.
“Aidan,” escapes from me in almost a gasp. And he grabs me tighter in response, his hands everywhere.
This is what I needed. This is what makes us exceptional, what makes the other things we do even more worth it. This is what burns inside me, waiting to be let free, smoldering until the bomb is set off and explosions ignite each other in a chain of reactions.
My mouth finds his, and I fall into Aidan. I fall to a place that has no end, fall until I couldn’t possibly be found again. I rock into him over and over until his words no longer make any sense either, and we’re surrounded by piles of disconnected letters. The push and pull of the experience sends us flying away and off into space, to a place only we could find, and only together.
Together.
***
The trickle of the water finally faded out. It had been rushing for so long I forgot what the silence felt like. Turned out, it felt like velvet. It felt like sugar melting on my tongue. It felt like standing in a summer storm, dancing along from puddle to puddle.
The silence was steamy and sweet, and just the beginning, I knew.
All I cold hear, all that made noise, was his slow breathing.
“Griffin?” I asked.
But there was no answer.
That was okay.
“Sweet Griffin?”
Again nothing.
Nothing but those breaths, slowing down even more, quieter still.
***
“I love you,” Aidan murmurs with his soft lips against my ear.
“Take me.”
“Say it.”
“You’re mine,” I say. But it only comes out as breath; I’m not sure if words existed in the air as well.
“Ride me. Love me. Fuck me.”
“Yes.” My head nods along to the syllable I repeat over and over.
But it doesn’t matter. Nothing but our connection, our sweat and our tongues, nothing but our bodies pressed into each other matters. I’m not sure anything else will matter again. My skin is flushed, raw and exposed. His is rough and unbreakable, but so, so inviting, and I dive back in.
The time flies by, dragging seconds in the wrong direction. I don’t know how long it’s been, I don’t even know what day it is, or if the pieces of our bodies are still in the right order, the parts still all connected together. But we’re still moving, still rhythmically gliding in and out. We’re still as far away from the rest of the world as possible. And that does matter. That’s all that matters.
That thin, strong, red string connecting us tugs at my fingers, pulls on my organs. The tether that never goes away is strongest when Aidan is inside me.
“Give me what I need,” I say. He understands. He always understands. “Don’t stop,” I whisper.
And Aidan listens.
***
Orchids.
Bluebells.
Calla lilies and sunflowers and fox gloves and goldenrod and tulips and daisies and dahlias and buttercups and forget-me-nots.
But not roses.
No, roses were too plain for this. Too pedestrian, too simple for an ending.
The wild mix of scents filled the bathroom, as the petals floated on top of crystal clear water. There hadn’t been a ripple in the bath in at least a minute. I held my breath, leaning over to hit play.
Then soft sounds bounced around tile and porcelain, skipped across the surface of the water, and soaked into my skin. Gentle notes overlapped, and I swayed along. Dancing felt wrong, but I could sway. I swayed as I drank my glass of red wine.
I swayed as I finished Griffin’s glass too, the one he didn’t have a chance to finish.
And wouldn’t.
The room was so full then. Full of steam and warmth. Full of music and movement. Full of flowers, everywhere. In the water, on the floor, in the sink, filling the room with their magic.
The room was so full there almost hadn’t been space for the final exhalation.
***
“Again?” He laughs, but I’m not joking. “You’re going to break me. Or kill me.”
“Let’s find out if I can.” I say it, and freeze.
I’d never.
Could never.
“You’d never.” His eyes sparkle, and I breathe into him, into us.
“Get over here,” I say. And I grab at his body, trying to make it both of our bodies, ready to be sent to the moon once more, rocketed up.
His lips find mine, but they don’t stay long enough. Only a second and then they’re gone, leaving me cool and trembling. They move on to other skin, kissing trails and leaving wakes of shock behind. I curl into him, moaning his name over and over. And I let him take over. I always let him, because too quickly I’m melting. He takes away my brain power, my mobility, my consciousness. He takes it all and gives me everything back, more even.
And then he’s directing me, moving my hands where he wants them. This I can do. I can make him feel what I feel.
Again our mouths are together, searching for the answer, trying to find where the pleasure ends—how deep it goes. His tongue finds mine, his fingers find mine, his skin finds mine. My back arches, and I’m meeting him halfway. The lights are off, and I can’t see much of anything, but I can feel him. I can feel his heart pounding furiously in time with mine. I can feel his breath, hot in my ear as he narrates what we’re doing.
“You love it, don’t you?”
And I do.
In a swift movement he’s underneath me, pressing himself into me. And I take control. I move us together. Somehow it’s fast and slow at the same time, hot while shivers make their way down my spine. I move on top of him, my head flung back. My hands pin him down, shoulders to the bed, and Aidan grunts.
“Make me come,” I say.
***
One little cut.
Then one more. Each slice stayed small, but they added up until his face wasn’t so beautiful anymore. Until his freckles were gone, and his muscles spilled out. Until he didn’t look like so much like a man, but maybe a party trick.
Crystal clear one moment.
Then not anymore.
As the water turned pink then red, I sat and watched, breathing heavy after painting with metal and blood. My eyes transfixed, my back rigid, my breaths labored. The darker it got, the more my body reacted. Fireworks started inside, the sparks causing wildfires I wasn’t sure could ever be put out, a million little embers fanned by ecstasy until they roared.
&nbs
p; The swirls of color around Griffin, around the flowers—swirls that continued to darken all the time—made patterns and rushed together like the red needed itself, needed to consume everything around it. That demand to take over, to dominate, was a primal need, one I understood.
As I watched, every second took a minute, a week, a year. Time all but stopped as I sat and I thought. Then those moments folded over each other and everything played on fast forward, as I envisioned rotting and decomposing and blackness taking over.
Rewind.
Pause.
I recorded every moment with unblinking eyes so I cold play it over and over and over later, so I could paint it onto myself.
Then the scene was blurry. My vision rippled like the water in the bath until drops of clear added themselves to the red. And then it was over. It was time to let him go. Time to look forward to a new romance with a new stranger.
***
Aidan does make me come.
I yell into the room, into the darkness, my agreement of tonight, of being together, of our unbreakable connection that no one could understand or compare to. I moan his name as he moans mine, and we are fused together. We are hungry for each other even in our exhaustion. Panting and sweaty, unable to move or think, we still crave each other.
But when that fades, after the waves crash and ebb, I worry—for just a flash of a second—I’ll never feel it again. I should be used to it. The same pang of worry, that this will be the last time, happens every time I walk away from a dead body, too.
The anxiety passes before I have time to blink, leaving me wondering if I’d imagined it. Though, I know I didn’t. Then Aidan flops onto the bed, sighing loudly, and generally making a show of how spent he is. Spell broken, my contentment restored, I roll my eyes.
“Thirsty?” I ask.
“I’m pretty sure you drained every fluid I had in my body.” He laughs at his own joke, and that makes me smile.
“Sooooo?”
“So, yes.”
“Wine?”
Aidan nods and I hop out of bed, not stopping to put anything on before walking to the kitchen. My skin still gleams with the sweat we accumulated, and the chill of the air sends electricity down my spine.
“Eat your heart out,” I call over my shoulder. I’ve always been comfortable in my own skin, even when I’d eaten my weight in…well, in everything to cope with my life. With what I do. With who I am. With doing it and being it alone.
Even then, at my heaviest when I met Aidan, I was confident. Because I was always still me.
But I don’t need eating to cope anymore. I used to stuff my face when it had been too long between kills. It became a habit after sex, before killing, pretty much every excuse was a good excuse to eat.
And I’ve worked through that now. Mostly.
Aidan has helped, not that he knows that. Finding someone so like me was huge. Realizing he understood me, that the need in him was as strong as the pull in me, that was what I needed to drop the bad habits and consequently the pounds.
Working out helps too.
But either way, I was always happy to walk around naked, to be inside myself fully instead of just swimming in the fog of my own head. I’m not sure where the confidence originated, but it’s always been welcome.
Grabbing a glass in one hand and the whole bottle of moscato from the counter in the other, I pad back to the bedroom.
The world outside Aidan’s window is irrelevant. Everyone else sleepwalks blissfully, ignorant to the ways of those of us who really live, those of us who exist in the shadows only to satisfy our dark desires. Those happy little families, together out of habit, only seeing half of what’s really happening around them, only seeing what they are trained to see. They move through life with smiles on their faces, not knowing what they’re smiling about.
I honestly can’t imagine.
And with a smirk on my lips I pour a glass of the wine for Aidan, all the way to the top, then keep the bottle for myself.
“Get over here,” he says, patting the comforter.
Aidan looks half asleep, half exhilarated—it’s my favorite look on him—hair sticking up everywhere and eyes half closed. I slide next to him, and tuck my feet under the covers, letting them slide into his lap. I wiggle my toes, but he doesn’t get the hint. “Pleeeeeeeeease,” I croon.
His eyes spark, something lighting behind them, and he smiles. “Fine. But only because you fucked me cross-eyed. I think I passed out at one point.” And he starts to rub my feet with one hand, while the other brings the wine glass to his wet lips. “You know. This isn’t even real wine. It’s like alcoholic sugar. It’s basically a cocktail.”
I let my eyes go wide, in mock shock. “How. Dare. You.” Separating each word, more offended than I’ve ever sounded before, I let the corners of my mouth turn down, my mouth dropping open afterward.
“Oh, shut up,” he says, making us both laugh, and I drink from the bottle—no glass required.
“It tastes better than your nasty whisky.” I wriggle my toes down to his crotch and try to pinch him in retaliation, but he takes a strong hold on my ankle, stopping me. Our bones press together, his strong and steady, mine almost flexing, and it doesn’t hurt but I can feel his power, can feel him holding back.
“You take that back.” His hands, his fingers are so controlled. He could break my ankle in a moment if he wanted. But I’ve never been scared of him, never felt unsafe, and really the idea is more exciting than anything. I squirm a little thinking about it now.
“Why, will you spank me if I don’t?”
“Any time, any place.” Aidan lets go, and my feet are suddenly cold as if he took the blanket and the warmth along with his fingers. He stands, setting his glass onto the nightstand, and he stretches just a little.
I watch every muscle ripple beneath his skin—defined, definitely there, but not overdeveloped. To me, Aidan is everything, but to others I think he blends in. He’s not tall, but not short. Not heavy, not thin. He doesn’t come across as domineering or loud, or overly aggressive. Nor is he remembered for being shy, quiet, or awkward. He’s everyone; he’s no one. And that’s exactly why I love him so much—because as the invisible man he’s able to do what he does, in the dark of night, with his playmates. But to me, he shines brighter than any other.
“Hey…” I start, but then lose steam.
Aidan turns to me, sleep in his eyes, and a yawn on his lips. He’s not good with waiting, and I watch the struggle on his face, debating whether to push me or not. So I save him the trouble.
“Can you bring me on a playdate? Your next time? Can I come along?” I let the words fall out, like raindrops tumbling from the clouds. And I can almost hear the splat, splat, splat of each on the floor. Nothing else, though. It’s silent.
Aidan’s frozen to the spot. His chest moves, faster and higher than normal, but there’s no sound from his breathing.
“We were just talking about the merits of different alcohols, and spanking, and then…” he trails off without finishing.
“And then…” I echo.
“Then you drop a bomb to change the subject.”
“A bomb? Really? We’re engaged. I’ve killed in front of you, for you.” Aidan stands, changing the feel around us. Then he takes two steps and drops onto the chair in the corner of the room. It’s big, overstuffed, and no one ever sits there, so it’s pristine. But he’s sitting there now. He sits there, waiting for me to go on, and I swear I can see every muscle in his body, tense, wound tight, and ready to take action. “And you know,” I start.
“Yeah, I know.”
But I hate being interrupted, and he knows it. So I close my eyes, before holding his for a long moment without continuing. “And you know I’ve watched you before. I knew. I know. I love it. I love you. I’m with you all the time, and I love every part of you. I want to be a part of this too. I want to do it together.” I take a breath, tired from so much confession. Exhausted like some must feel before a priest.
Dropping my eyes, I feel too vulnerable. I feel open, with my heart beating against my breasts, dripping crimson down past my navel, instead of nestled inside my chest where it should be—beating out in the open, no protection, defenseless.
I feel weak.
“Never mind. I shouldn’t have asked.” I give up.
I expect Aidan to stand, to come to me, to comfort me. Only he doesn’t.
Again, there’s silence filling the room, stretching the walls outward, pressing into my eardrums and compressing my lungs. He fidgets. I resist the urge to sigh.
This is torture.
“This is stupid,” he says.
“Oh.” It’s all I can say. There’s nothing else in my brain. No room for anything else but stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid.
This is stupid.
I’m stupid.
Aidan moves to me so quickly then. His skin on my skin. His eyes searching for mine, I can feel them but I’m not looking at them, not willing to search for them. So he takes his fingers, slow and gentle, to pull my chin to him, forcing me to look.
“It’s stupid that it freaks me out. I am stupid. I should want you to come too. I should be excited. But all I feel is scared.”
I’m not stupid. I’m not.
I’m not sure why, but tension in his body migrates to mine. The words he uses are right, they’re technically soothing, intended to be at least, but I’m not soothed. His hands fist into tight balls, packed and ready to fight. His gorgeous, golden eyes screw shut for just a moment. He buries the impulse to shout no. I see it. I see him bury something—a feeling, a burning anger…I’m not sure. But it was something. He took a shovel, dug a grave, and sunk it down below, deep enough not to show anymore.
Deeper into Darkness Page 4
