by Mason, V. F.
Biting gently on them one by one, I put my hands on either side of her and raise my chest up. I lean toward one tight peak and roll it between my lips before nipping it, then sucking it into my mouth. She thrusts her hips up, the tip my dick brushing against her entrance. “Lucian, please,” she whimpers, her nails clawing my nape while I ravish her flesh and then leave a wet trail along the path to the other. I enclose her other nipple, delivering it all the attention it deserves.
She pulls at my hair until her nipple escapes me with a loud pop, and she drags my mouth toward her, our breaths mingling.
My cock grazes her entrance, the head slipping in as her heat urges me to plunge deeper, but I wait, watching the pulse beat wildly on her neck, a droplet of sweat sliding down her collarbone, her skin glistening.
We stare at one another for what seems like forever, and then she palms my head, whispering her demand. “Make love to me.”
And these words finally break all the chains around my heart. The love and lust toward her consume me whole, leaving no place for the darkness calling my name from the other side.
I thrust hard into her, her pussy stretching around my length and her heat instantly clasping me, pleasure rapidly moving through me, and we groan, sharing each other’s breath.
My mouth falls on hers, locking us in a kiss, my tongue dueling with hers while our combined taste mix into one powerful aphrodisiac, which only intensifies the need driving me to push farther into her.
Swaying back slowly, I let her feel my whole length leave her tight heat, and then I slam right back in, shifting us on the bed while swallowing her moan. She wraps her legs around me, her heels burrowing in my ass.
Our lust burns between us, creating a cocoon and blanketing us from head to toe, painting another world where only our needs remain, urging us to find the euphoria our bodies beg for.
Our kiss becomes more sensual; she tilts her head back, allowing for deeper penetration, and our tongues move in rhythm with my dick slamming into her slowly, prolonging the bliss consuming us.
Her hands slide back to my nape, her fingers running through my hair while she hikes her legs higher. My cock is root-deep in her, and fuck… the fire boiling my blood flares with more power, my hips jerking as precum leaks from me.
Snatching her lips away, she breathes heavily and hisses. “More, Lucian, more. Faster.”
Speeding up, I drive into her harder and harder, her nails raking my back while she gulps for breath, arching her neck, and I place my open mouth on her pulse, sucking the sensitive spot.
My hands grip her thighs, opening her wide for my harsh thrusts, each stroke more focused than the previous one. Our slapping sounds rock off the walls, and she whispers, “Lucian.” Her pussy clenches around me tighter and tighter until she cries out, her chest rising and falling. The familiar tingling in my spine alerts me to my own release chasing after me.
She lies still, letting me use her body, her skin flushed from our actions as I thrust in and out. Her pussy still clenches around me, creating tighter and tighter heat that pulls me toward the madness awaiting me.
Loving and wanting her will turn me into a madman.
One stroke. Two strokes. Three strokes.
My sweat slides down my back, my length thickening in her, and she drags me back for a kiss, biting on my tongue hard, and that’s enough to send me over the edge and spill inside her. The pleasure crushes me in powerful waves, knocking me off my feet, because it doesn’t compare to anything I’ve ever felt before.
Every time with her is special; everything I’ve done before she entered my life can’t even compare to what we have and shows me that in every way, this intimacy is new to me too.
Love makes all the difference.
Our kisses gradually transform into softer ones until we only share a few pecks and I roll to the side, taking her with me. She rests above me, hiding her face in the crook between my neck and shoulder while I run my fingers over her back.
We need to take a shower, but I do not break the silence around us.
Instead, we lie peacefully, the rain raging outside, content in each other’s arms, not dreading the nightmares for the first time in our lives.
Why would we?
After all, the princess has the villain who will chase all the monsters away.
And the villain?
He has a princess who has managed to heal him, if not fully then partially with her magic touch, giving him something he never knew before.
Love.
Chapter Fourteen
“Some friends are worse than our enemies.
For they know all our secrets and where to stab their knives.
Be careful who you become friends with.
Or the friend might turn into a snake who you warmed on your chest.”
Lucian
Lucian, 18 years old
Getting out of the car, I throw my keys at Harold and salute him in greeting, then stroll to the house whistling as the moonlight basks the property in glowing light, showcasing once again how gorgeous nature is.
Look at me turning into a fucking poet, but then could anyone blame me?
Just a few hours ago, I enjoyed the cries of my victim, cutting him up bit by bit as his agonizing screams filled my ears and sent satisfaction through me.
Men who feast on the flesh of the weak do not deserve my mercy, so torturing this monster was the highlight of this weekend for me.
Two years ago, Diego introduced me to the art of killing where my canvas was my victim’s body, and the various torture devices became brushes and paint palettes in my hand designed to bring the most pain to the person on the receiving end of my cruelty.
He captured guys who participated in the crimes and thought they’d always get away with it, brought them to his dungeon, and shared his skills.
I watched and learned with awe as every killing calmed the screaming voices from my nightmares, letting me rest at night and be more normal each day.
Maybe I could sleep because I knew that each time my hands took a knife in them or a drill, I eliminated one more person who could strip someone of their childhood.
Diego also showed me how he found all these people and signed me up for boxing classes. According to him, I never knew where I might need to rely on my hands only. Plus he made me run six miles a day.
A hunter who cannot chase his prey is destined to lose at some point.
His exact words.
We met strictly on weekends, twice a month, and he forbade me seeking my own prey, but I’m starting to get restless from all these lessons.
I need independence.
Not to mention, Diego got married six months ago, and it has affected his actions.
He’s less ruthless and lately started all these speeches about not dedicating my life to all this “shit’’ as he called it.
Love changes people, apparently even killers, so I see myself building my own dungeon in the near future and controlling my own tortures.
This is also one of the reasons I will never get married. Who needs to drag a woman into such a life, and besides, why subject her to such an existence where she has to be touched by a monster?
Diego said that certain obsessions have a tendency to sweep over you and hold you tight, making you unable to see anyone but this woman.
I just laughed, finding the idea of being attached to one single woman like that unbelievable and stupid.
I discovered sex almost two years ago. I indulged in it rarely when physical needs overshadowed anything else.
Countless faceless women, who gave me a clear head after particularly intense tortures, grounded me in the present and reminded me that I could never drown in the hell of my creation.
I had a few set-in-stone rules though.
Never kissed them or stayed the night. Sure as fuck never cuddled or dated anyone.
Anything other than sex required emotions, and I would never give it to any woman, so why give them hope?
My hear
t died at the age of seven, and I have no desire to bring it back to life.
Besides, any woman would be a weakness, a liability, and I worked too hard to do what I want for some woman to ruin all my plans.
Life generally became almost perfect. During the weekdays, I studied at home, preparing to enroll in business school while Grandfather dearest finally accepted me as heir apparent, starting to share his wisdom and proudly showing me to his friends at the various golf clubs he invited me to.
My relationship with Dad though took a sour turn, when two years ago, he once again refused to speak about my mother, which resulted in a big fight, and afterwards, our conversations were strained.
We discussed the weather, my academic accomplishments, my summer abroad to see the world outside America, but anything deeper than that?
Nada.
He wasn’t even interested in where I was going, just nodded at me whenever I came back home and that was it.
I guess on some level, I should be grateful for his semi-indifference. Jacob always bitched how his father was breathing down his neck, demanding perfection in his designs, and reminding him about his responsibilities toward the family name.
My dad though?
He shut up Grandfather any time he tried to preach this shit to me as his eyes blazed in anger, telling me to follow the path I wanted but to keep the family name afloat, because a lot of people who worked for us depended on us.
After all these years, I still don’t get what their beef with each other is.
Harold runs after me, taking two steps at a time to catch up with me, and asks me, “Are you hungry?”
“I could eat,” I reply, pushing open the door, and then my brows rise when Harold jumps in front of me and points at the stairs.
“I’ll bring you food.”
“I’ll go to the kitchen and grab something for myself.”
He stands still though, blocking my way and rubs his hands, which alerts me to his nervousness.
Harold might act like a helicopter parent over me sometimes, but even for him, this behavior is out of character.
“Qué está pasando?”
He winces at my question and says again, “Please, would you go upstairs, Lucian?”
And that’s when I hear a loud crash reverberating through the walls, coming from the living room, and Harold closes his eyes in defeat. “He’s drinking again?”
Not sure why my butler feels the need to hide the fact from me. Even though Grandfather sent him to rehab, he was drinking again as soon as he came back home.
Clearly, love for alcohol trumps everything else for my father.
I take a step toward the stairs, not in the mood for his drunken slurs and hugs when I hear my grandfather’s harsh voice.
“Cuando terminará esto?”
When will this end?
Pushing Harold away as he tries to grab my elbow and stop me, I march to the living room, pausing in the doorway as I watch the two men facing each other, unaware of my presence.
Grandfather wears his suit as always, while my dad is barefoot, in sweatpants and a T-shirt, and a five o’clock shadow covers his chin.
Well, this means he is on day three of his drinking all right.
The shattered glass pieces scattered over the floor and the liquid slowly spreading in different directions lets me know they broke a few bottles of tequila judging by the smell floating in the air.
“How much longer will you drive yourself to an early grave with all this?” Grandfather waves another bottle of tequila in his hand and then throws it at the wall where it drops on the marble, cracking in several places and spilling the liquid once again. “I raised you better than that!”
My father’s hollow laugher echoes in the air, and he wipes his mouth while looking at his father in disbelief. “You raised me better than that?” He digs his fingers into his chest. “I’m exactly what you raised me to be. I extend the legacy and exist in the high society you wanted me to be part of. All this—” He motions his hand up and down his waist. “—is your doing.” He snags a new bottle from the bar and flicks it open. “Don’t worry, papá, no one knows about my dirty little secret. After all, we Cortez men know better than that, right?”
A muscle tics in Grandfather’s cheek, and his voice drops. “It all comes back to her, doesn’t it? Always about her.”
Dad straightens up, fury washing over him as he squeezes the bottle harder and snarls at Grandfather. “You don’t get to talk to me about Camille.”
I freeze, my pulse speeding up at my mother’s name and step closer, needing to hear whatever they say next.
Because apparently my father’s drinking problem is somehow connected to her.
“I did what was right,” Grandfather grits through his teeth, and Dad gulps tequila, scrunching his eyes as his Adam’s apple bobs. Then he slams the bottle back on the table. “You both were young, not even out of high school—”
“You did what was right for you! You didn’t think about me. About us! About our baby!”
Harold wraps his hand around my elbow again, pulling me away, and I glance at him. He must read the warning in my cold stare as he lets go, wiping away his tears.
Our baby.
So my parents were high school sweethearts who loved each other?
He knew about my existence and never searched for me?
No wonder he didn’t want to share!
Reining in the fury sliding into my veins and burning my blood, I stay in the same place, listening to their conversation so no fucking secrets will hide my past from me again.
“She was the daughter of my enemy. He practically delivered her to this house on a silver platter, and you fell for the trap. What did you expect me to do?”
“We loved each other!” Dad screams, tugging at his hair while his body vibrates in anger. “I wanted to marry her! She was mine. Mine! You didn’t let me!”
Grandfather huffs, loosening his tie while continuing to talk. “You were seventeen, almost eighteen! Your whole life was ahead of you. I couldn’t let you waste it on her. She would have ruined you and any future my heir could have had.”
I never knew my mother, but him speaking about her in such a manner makes me want to punch him so hard he would hit the wall.
What in the fuck did he do to her?
Dad laughs again, slapping himself in the pecs. “Look at me, Dad! Look at me! You ruined me. You ruined me when you sent her away pregnant while I was in Europe. You destroyed my life!” He grabs the bottle again, shaking it in front of Grandfather’s face. “You know why I drink? It’s because this gives me a temporary reprieve from this fucked-up reality where the woman I loved is dead and my son was subjected to living on the streets!”
“I didn’t know she was pregnant!” Grandfather yells, covering his face and groaning in his palms. “Do you think if I knew about my grandchild I would have sent her away?”
“You didn’t just send her away. You gave her a fake letter where I broke up with her and told her to get lost. When she needed me the most.” He gulps more of his drink, swaying a little to the side, and grips the top of the chair, steadying himself. “Camille believed I played with her. Her own father kicked her out because she decided to keep the baby. My woman is dead because of you.” Grandfather shakes his head in denial, but my father has no mercy for him tonight.
Ironically, I don’t have any either. A child might lose or never know his mother, but the pain in his soul does not become any less at her absence.
“And you know the most devastating part about all this?” He picks up the red journal he always reads. “I had to find out about it all from the diary she sent me. Even about Lucian!” He screams the last part, pressing the journal to his heart. “My heart lies in it. I will never forgive you, Father, for taking my woman and child away from me.” He breathes heavily, his chest rising and falling while they stare at one another for what seems like an eternity.
Finally, Grandfather sighs heavily. “Lo siento,
hijo. For hurting you.” My father smirks, clearly not accepting the apology. “I tried to protect you. That’s all I did.” A beat passes. “You have a son now. You’d do anything to protect him. You should understand me. Please stop this madness and live normally.”
“When he needed me the most, I wasn’t there, Papá. My child experienced a nightmare. Because I believed you when you told me she left me. I have to live with this burden for the rest of my life.” He hangs his head, rubbing his chin on the journal. “So fucking let me. At least alcohol makes it bearable to look at my reflection in the mirror.”
“He’s with us now. The minute we found out about him, we searched for him relentlessly.”
“And it was too late, because the orphanage lost him after she died. He was just three! Thirteen years, Dad. Thirteen years. I see this hell in his eyes, and I hate myself even more.”
Well, I finally have all the answers to my questions.
Somehow, to my astonishment, they soothe the wounds inflicted on me because at the end of the day, my parents wanted me.
I was an unexpected surprise, but a surprise they kept.
Not disposable trash, but a love child of a couple of teenagers whose parents were too selfish to just let them be.
And as a result, they ruined not one but three lives.
Harold mutters, “Lucian, please.”
The men freeze, shifting their heads in my direction, and their eyes widen in an identical manner, realizing I’ve heard everything.
Grandfather sighs, removes his tie, and gives me a long look in which I think he tries to convey all his remorse, but right in this moment, I have nothing to give him.
If he had been more understanding…
But then Grandfather did what he was taught to do.
Family name above anything else, and if something stands in its way?
We conquer and destroy it.
What did Shakespeare say in his play Henry IV?
Heavy is the head that wears the crown.