by Mason, V. F.
Crooking my finger at her, I say—but it sounds more like an order, “Come here, mi amor.” Her silky gown does little to hide her body from me, her nipples peaking, the tight buds visible through the material and begging for relief. The sight of her desire hardens my dick; it bulges painfully against my zipper. “Look at you, all turned on and in need of your man fucking you hard on the first available flat surface.” The air hitches in her throat, and she fists her dress on her stomach, her chest rising and falling. Removing my shirt and dropping it on the floor, I say, “Strip, mi amor. I bet that pussy is dripping for me.”
She sighs and then determination fills her blue orbs, and she sashays to the side when I try to wrap my arm around her, wiggling her finger at me. “No.”
My brow lifts. “No?” I unbuckle my belt, removing it with a swoosh, and she blinks at the sight, her mouth opening slightly.
Ah, my woman can play hard to get all she wants, but we both know she is dying for me right now.
A reflection of my need for her.
Because the beast permanently residing in me drives me insane, demanding to sink into her and show her how much she means to me. “You don’t want my tongue to soothe the fire burning in you right now, mi amor?” My voice lowers to a sensual whisper, while I push the zipper down and wrap my hand around my length, squeezing it hard, the precum leaking from the tip. “Or my fingers stretching the walls of your pussy, getting you ready for me?”
She scrunches her eyes as if some internal battle is going on inside her, and she shakes her head again, exhaling heavily. “No,” she repeats, then taking a deep breath, murmurs, “I don’t want to have sex tonight.” A beat passes, and she adds, “I want to make love.”
The organ in my chest pangs painfully; the word I never understood and hated sounds incredibly intimate coming from her, and for some reason, it fills me with unknown longing and an emotion I haven’t felt in more than twenty years.
Panic.
“Every time I touched you, it was special,” I tell her, wanting her to know I’ve never felt like this about anyone else and never worshiped anyone’s body the way I did hers. Whatever I did or will do to her in the future belongs exclusively to her. “I have no idea how to make love, mi amor.” Although maybe that’s a lie.
Maybe that’s what I did to her all along?
God, marriage is turning me into a sap. What’s next?
Writing love sonnets to my wife using the blood of my victims as ink, because anything of mine includes darkness and hideous weapons?
What was it that Esme said to me during our two weeks in New York?
Art became her escape from the emotions brewing inside her that demanded to be told or shown; otherwise, they would have overwhelmed her.
“I want to make love to you,” she corrects herself, padding toward me and placing her hands on my chest, gliding them up and down the vicious scars left by one of the clients who loved to press hot metal against my skin, enjoying how he destroyed my flesh while…
My hands fist, my breathing speeds up, and I do my best to control the rage slowly building inside me just at the memories alone, detesting her touch on the scars that always remind me of the worst time in my life.
One of the reasons I never let women see them or touch them, because once the nightmares appear in your psyche, it’s impossible to focus on anything else until the flashback passes.
Her hands move up until she palms my head and tilts it back so our gazes clash, mine lost and hers full of love.
She stands on her tiptoes, meeting my mouth halfway as we lock in a soft kiss that hurts my soul in ways I didn’t anticipate.
Her lips brush gently against mine, her tongue slipping inside as she leisurely teases mine, surrounding me with her lavender scent that tempts me like no one else, wanting to drown in all this. Gradually the old voices in my head tone down, becoming just an annoying buzz in my ears.
All while my woman continues to kiss me, as if putting healing ointment over the invisible wounds existing within me, bleeding to this day, and I hate them so much.
Only in this moment, she makes it almost okay, despite your age, to weep for something you never knew or the crimes you’ve committed ever since then.
Threading my fingers through her lilac locks, I take control of the kiss, deepening it, swallowing her moan.
Her body sways toward me as her hands travel back to my chest and slowly pushes me backward. Too lost in her, I comply with the silent request, heatedly ravishing her mouth until she bites on my lower lip and pulls it, sinking her teeth into it and making me hiss through mine. She licks over it, our mouths connecting one last time in a peck before she moves back, escaping my arms once again. “Mi amor.” Warning laces my voice, patience I do not possess wearing thin. My insides urge that I claim her again so I can prove to myself she’s real and won’t vanish at any moment.
My angel who dropped into hell and somehow accepted the devil, even though he showed her all his bad secrets. His soul too dark for salvation, yet he craved it nevertheless, as long as it meant keeping her.
She pays no attention to it though, turning around until she faces my back, and I feel her hot breath right before her lips settle over the scars, given to me by the bull who pierced his horn in my shoulder blade. The vicious mark never healed properly despite the doctor’s best effort. It has remained a hideous sight, a red, angry mark with pale skin, standing up in my tan flesh.
I close my eyes, enduring her study of me, even if I want to cover myself because her presence and touch destroys the walls I built around myself.
And the rawness, pain, and agony hiding behind it might scare her, and she’d want to run away.
The monster inside me roars at the prospect. The one bright spot in his hollow life cannot even think about disappearing, because existence in darkness no longer holds an appeal for him.
“I will never let you go, Esmeralda. Never.” The words come out harsher than I intend, my voice raspy from the tension in me. “You’re chained to me.”
She ignores the threat, and why wouldn’t she? She knows I would never physically hurt her. “My heart hurts at seeing these scars, and I wish I could have taken them all away,” she whispers, skimming her lips to the side where another scar resides. Given to me by a woman who loved to beat me with a sharp belt buckle, its imprint has stayed on me as a souvenir. Esmeralda rubs her lips over it before kissing it gently, her fingers running over my lower back where various whip lines lie, pale from all these years, but still there.
Always fucking there—I stare at the mirror—and maybe that’s why I despise my reflection.
“Don’t.” She shouldn’t be tainted by my darkness or hurt herself thinking about it.
My hideous past should be only my own, and that’s why I’ve never wanted to share it with her. It’s too heavy a burden to carry for her empathy and compassion.
“But as wrong as it sounds, I do not hate them.” She moves farther and bestows a kiss on the knife scar delivered carelessly by one of my captors designed to keep me in line. “You know why?” Her fingers slide to my sides, caressing the lower marks as she slowly shifts her lips over my bicep to my chest, placing several smalls kisses on those scars. “Because they speak about your bravery. To withstand all this… I can’t even begin to understand what hell it was… to live in such a nightmare.” She places her hands on my hips, her mouth traveling lower while her every single touch soothes the pain raging inside me. My self-control slips through my fingers as she continues to talk and kiss me. “Having these marks on your body shows me what makes you uniquely you. And to take any imperfection away… be it in character or anything else…you wouldn’t be the man I fell in love with.”
Ah, my wife wants to kill me, doesn’t she?
Her words sneak into every shattered piece of me, aligning them in blocks ready to glue them all back together with the love she gives me.
I understand why Hades tricked Persephone into staying with him.
What mortal or immortal man would willingly let go of a woman who taught him how to feel again?
She trails her lips to my six-pack, scraping her teeth over the muscles. My dick grows harder, and my hands clench and unclench with the need to throw her on the bed and have her right now.
Yet I do no such thing, because part of me yearns for her love like my next breath.
A rustling sound echoes through the space, and then her mouth fans over my navel, her hands slipping inside my pants and wrapping tight around my length, earning herself a hiss from me.
She takes my dick out and squeezes it in her palm before rubbing it from the base to the tip, scooping the leaking precum with her thumb while a whimper escapes her.
I snap my eyes open, finding her on her knees in front of me, her dress bundled up around her while she leans closer to me, pleading with her eyes, still so innocent despite all the ways I’ve tried to corrupt her.
Mine.
Only ever mine because no man besides me has ever touched her, tasted her, or driven inside her while she moaned from pleasure.
The knowledge pleases me like nothing else does because every pleasure she learns and discovers comes from me.
Barbaric thoughts?
Yes.
Do I give a fuck?
No.
Lust slides through my veins, responding to her silent call as she rubs her cheek over my hard-on, inhaling my scent. Her nipples stand out more, showing me how turned on she is.
I should have torn that fucking dress the minute we entered the room so her body would be in full view, as nothing turns me on more than seeing how much sucking me off turns her on.
“Esmeralda.” Her name sounds almost like a prayer because she has a very limited amount of time to play and enjoy herself before I take back the reins.
A wicked smile curves her mouth at the need she must hear in her name. She rolls her tongue out, swiping it over the precum, and moans, the sound causing my dick to jerk. My fingers tangle in her hair, tipping her head back slightly while settling her closer. “I love your taste,” she whispers, licking my length and tracing the thick vein with the tip of her tongue, which should be forbidden for all the pleasure she can give me. “It creates this ache inside me, flaring my blood and making me so wet I can’t think about anything but having you inside me.” She reverses her motions, her hands still gripping the base, which only adds to the sensations rocking through me. My hold on her tightens, pulling at her hair, urging her to give me what I want. “At the same time though, I want you as helpless as you make me when you love me with your mouth until I cannot even remember my name.”
Innocent?
Oh, no.
My woman already knows how to drive her man insane.
I growl, my hips thrusting forward, seeking her out, and she sucks on the head hard before drawing me deeper into her mouth. She glides her tongue over me while her hand runs up and down my length.
That’s what heaven feels like for sinners. No wonder all the saints strive their whole life to get there.
The wet heat surrounding me makes me hiss as pleasure fills every cell in my body, urging me to move forward and fuck her mouth, owning it in a way only I’m allowed, but I rein in the desire.
I hold her head in place, sliding deeper as she moans around me, the vibration traveling through me and going straight to my balls. More precum slips onto her tongue, which she welcomes. “Look at you so eager to suck your man,” I say, and she freezes, her eyes becoming glazed, and she resumes her action as she places one hand on my stomach, her nails raking my skin. I welcome the sting, love her marks covering the old wounds as if she claims me in her own way. “One day I’m going to fuck this pretty mouth, teaching it to take me deep in your throat.” She moans again, and her grip on me tightens, her mouth sliding up and then down again, going as far as she can, determined to make me come.
Fuck, just saying it paints a carnal picture in my head where she lies on the bed, and I feed her my cock, fully in control of my beauty who whirls in pleasure underneath me. It’s a wonder I don’t come.
Tugging at her hair, I slowly push her head back, watching my dick slip out of her mouth, coated in her saliva, and she nibbles on the head one last time, biting on her lower lip while her breathing speeds up. “But tonight, I need to fuck that pussy that has probably soaked your panties.” I drag her up, and she gasps when I slam my mouth on her, capturing us both in a hot kiss, and she pushes me back, our tongues fighting for dominance. The kiss becomes more heated by the second as we move blindly toward the bed.
I stop when my calves bump into it, ready to throw her onto it when she steps away from me and pushes me hard on the chest. I fall on the bed in the sitting position, my nostrils flaring at seeing her reaching for the zipper on the back of her dress. “Come here, mi amor. I’ll rip it and end your misery.” I quickly remove my pants and shoes kicking them to the side.
“I like it.” The dress slowly slips down, exposing her gorgeous naked body except for the beige barely visible thong. “It fits me.”
“I’ll buy you a thousand more,” I reply hoarsely, my whole attention on her hands.
She cups her round breasts, squeezing them tight, her thumbs brushing against her nipples. She moans, the sound affecting my dick like nothing else. “This body is yours, Lucian,” she says throatily, and I grip the sheets beside me until my knuckles turn white, barely holding onto my control to not ravish her right away. Hearing her admit she fully belongs to me doesn’t even compare to any other pleasure in this world.
That such a magnificent creature is mine, what else could a man possibly want?
I crook my finger at her, ready to show her what I can do with her body that craves me so much. Instead of listening to me though, her hands travel to her waist and then to her hips. “Do you like knowing that you are the only man who has ever entered me?” Her palm slides down her stomach to her panties, her fingers slipping inside, and she whimpers, her palm gliding up and down. “The only one who makes me this wet and achy inside?” She moans. “My one and only.”
“Come here,” I growl, roaming my gaze over her beauty, a temptation who can seduce even a saint, let alone a sinner like me. “I bet my tongue would feel better than your finger, mi amor.”
She gasps, desire sparking in her sapphire eyes, and slowly she takes her hand out and saunters toward me, her breasts bouncing. She stops between my thighs, places her fingers on my lips, smearing her juices all over them, and her familiar feminine scent penetrates me. “Taste,” she orders, and I indulge her, licking my lips and then catching her fingers, sucking on them, and the sweet taste hits my tongue, my dick springing up and down.
“Esmeralda.” My palms settle on her waist and I drag her closer, kissing her on her flat stomach, and she sighs contentedly.
“Yes, darling?”
“We’re done playing.” With this, I get up, grip her hips, and throw her on the bed. When she lands, her laughter bounces off the walls, sending more warmth through me.
Her lilac hair splays all around her, goose bumps breaking on her flawless skin as she extends her arms to me, wiggling her fingers, ready to welcome me in her embrace.
My woman. My wife. Mi amor.
Putting my knee on the bed, I hook my thumbs in her thong and slide it down. She raises her perky ass, smoothing the way for me, and a second later I drop them on the floor, exposing her glistening bare pussy to my view. “Lucian,” she whispers, her hands clenching the sheet as she arches her back, begging me to end her sensual agony.
Pushing her legs apart, I lift her foot to my mouth and kiss her ankle, sliding my lips to her knee and then move upward, biting the inside of her thigh, earning myself her loud gasp. Satisfied by the red imprint, I settle on my stomach and shift my attention to the other one, repeating my action. “Lucian, please,” she begs, placing her foot on my back and opening herself up more for me.
“Don’t like to be teased, mi amor?”
“No tea
sing.” Her fingers lace in my hair, and she grips me hard, the pain zipping to my dick and hardening it even more, her demanding tone blazing the lust in me. “I want your mouth now.”
Skating my hands under her, I dig my fingers in her ass cheeks and raise her up to my lips. Stiffening my tongue, I stab it inside her as her moan echoes through the space, joining the thunder shaking the sky while rain pours heavily, slapping against the railing on the balcony.
Her sweet and tangy taste hits me at once, more intense than just seconds ago, and I want to bathe in it so her scent will envelop all of me wherever I go.
Groaning into her pussy, I push my tongue deeper, roaming inside her walls, all while she whispers, “Lucian.” Her grip tightens, and she digs her heels into my back, bringing me closer to her as if she’s afraid I might change my mind.
Never.
Licking her from bottom to top, I draw in her lower lips one by one, the sucking sounds mixing with her whimpers as she thrashes on the bed. I trap her clit between my teeth, scraping the tip before sucking it hard into my mouth, and she shoots up in bed. “Please,” she begs. But too addicted to her scent and taste, I slip my tongue inside her once again, pushing in and out of her as a prelude to what’s coming next.
She grinds on my tongue, her nails scratching my scalp and pulling at my hair so hard she might rip it off, but who gives a fuck?
I catch her lust-filled eyes on me as her other hand drifts to her clit, pressing on it hard and in time with my movements. Her gaze becomes glassier as her pussy clenches around my tongue, signaling she’s close.
I will feast on her flesh for hours, not giving her reprieve from her torment, our bodies coated in sweat while our combined scents float in the air as desire consumes us both.
But not tonight.
Tonight I need my wife to come with me inside her.
Slowly pulling my tongue out, I give her slit one last long lick before moving upward, trailing my lips over her navel to her soft stomach, wiping my mouth on it and then reaching the underside of her breasts.