This was familiar.
He glared down at her, piercing cerulean eyes that seem to glow in the darkness. His jaw trembled as his free hand pressed up against the bottom of her chin. “Tell me. What did I want to do?”
Her scarlet gaze was an abyss. And he sank into it. The rain stuck to their skin and their clothes were absolutely useless against the downpour. The torrential storm making her dress become sheer and stick to her skin. He can see the flesh underneath, goosebumps raising from between her breasts and along her collarbone.
Yet her skin burned and the heat spread throughout the muscle and veins pulsing just below his flushed skin. Her thick lips, painted with a shimmering ruby, parted. He pressed his thumb against the center of those curvy lips, secretly admiring their softness, before he swiped to one side and then another. “What did you think I wanted to do with Evie?”
Ira pressed her tongue against the tip of his thumb. Heavy lashes, clumped together by water, fluttering over those blood red pools, “What you want to do to me.”
He tensed, his fingers leaving deep trenches into the bark. He must’ve been digging so deeply cause he felt a POP from his index finger and knew that he lost a nail along the scratches. The stinging pain mixed with the blistering warmth, and he released a soft groan that quickly changed into a hiss as he ground his teeth together. His thumb, painted red from her lipstick, slid along her jawline, smearing ruby against the umber flesh. “What do I want to do with you?”
A heavy piece of stone clogging his throat, slowly sunk into the pit of his stomach.
This was wrong.
The blow job was nothing but a test. A measurement of the power they had over each other. An examination of two opposing wills, one desperate to find common ground while the other only wished for opposition.
This wasn’t that at all. This moment was the accumulation of ignored touches, of dismissive glances, of isolation; The result of nightmares that consumed his mind every night and made him so goddamn hard.
When he thought he had finally reached the bottom, the abyss pulled him down further.
The abyss was the rain, pressing against him, tightening its thick, iron-scented hold. The abyss was the blood, boiling in his veins and pooling between his legs and surging him forwards and upwards. He trapped her against the tree, her stiff nipples rubbing against his chest while he ground his throbbing, hungry erection against her hips.
Ira was the abyss that he wanted to sink into.
Yet he held back, desperately fighting against the push and pull Lust. How long has it been since she touched him with her tongue, fingers, or nails? How long had his addiction to the mind-fucking agony she gave on him been denied?
He was going crazy.
“What do I want to do?”
She moaned, then chuckled, a purr underneath that deep sultry tone. She tilted her head, nuzzling against his arm, running her smeared lips against the wet, ivory flesh.
She was marking him again, leaving deep red blotches on his skin. His jaw was firm, his pants achingly tight. It was almost painful.
Like a snake eating its own tail, the dull ache of his straining length fed into his numbing desire. When he felt her teeth gently close over an unmarried spot on his arm, his fingers curled back, splinters digging underneath nails (if he had any left). She didn’t bite, instead her lips closed over her lips, sending tingling shivers up his spine.
Finally, she whispered, her breath scalding, “You want to fuck me.”
His senses cracked apart.
I’ll give you everything…
His hands moved to the front of her dress, and he tore it open. The deep peach fabric, thinned by the rain, parted easily and he groaned, looking over her body. He could see her steel muscles hidden underneath taut skin. She was rage, passion, and strength encased in glistening bronze.
All that power, and he wanted to ruin it.
Ira gasped, her head leaning back as he ripped her dress. Her lips parted, but before a sound could be released, he grabbed her limbless shoulder. Her eyes widened as his grip stunned her. She winced, remembering the old wound before he spun her. His chest pressed against her back as her breasts rubbed against the coarse, soaked bark. She hissed, a growl in her throat, before his hand gripped her neck, just under her chin.
“You’ve spent so much time torturing me.” His breath stroked her ear and his voice sunk into her mind, “So much time beating me” His other hand ran down her sculpted core, the streams of water splitting at his trail before his fingers moved between her legs, “I have so many fucking scars on my body.” He groaned, feeling her sticky, damp folds. As her thighs quivered, he ran his teeth along her ear. “You turned me into a monster and almost killed me. Twice. Did that turn you on, Ira?”
“I have hurt, I have killed, I have destroyed many. I do it because I enjoy it. I enjoy it because it FEELS good.”
He shuddered, his eyes watering, salty tears mixing with the icy rain. “Did you get off on hurting me?”
“Tristan-” She gasped, her eyes rolling up as his fingers rubbed against the swelling nub just above her leaking folds, her toes digging into the grass and mud. Her hips arched against his, her ass, covered only by black satin panties and a sheer dress, rubbing against that pulsating bulge.
He kept toying with her soaking valley, massaging that stiff clit so that nothing but hitched squeaks and vibrating moans escaped her lips. “Then, after all of that, after you got on your knees and swallowed my cum…you just left.” He heard her voice climb another octave, and her thighs went taut. At that point, his fingers moved away, denying her release and leaving her gasping in need. He gripped the hem of her panties and tugged them down, continuing his whispered rant. “You don’t hit me. Don’t mark me. You don’t even touch me.” He clenched his teeth, closing his eyes as he recalled the many times he slapped her hand away. The times he spat at her words and jerked his body away from her.
That wasn’t his fault.
He didn’t want her touch.
…what the fuck was he doing?
Once the soaked and lace fabric tied her knees, he moved his hands to her hips, sliding up the skirt of her dress to expose her bottom. His eyes twitched as he remembered how she felt the night before this Hell began. Her chiseled body bent, her curvy thighs spread and her nether lips puffy and dripping. He couldn’t help but think of how fucking beautiful she was.
She fucked him up.
He needed to do the same.
Check out Gothic tale of Intrigue, Classiscsm, and a bit of Magic. Where the nobles of Vista wear masks and pay the highest price to hide their dirty little secrets, utilizing the green thumb of The Honorable to keep their skeletons underground.
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