He skates his wandering touch farther up until he places his hand right over my mouth and leans against me so hard my breaths turn to shallow pants. Lowering his head, he whispers, “I need my cream,” in my ear. If my lips could move, I would be smiling at his kitten reference, but not even that is possible at the moment.
Gunnar’s free hand hooks behind my knee and jerks my thigh up high on his hip. Without any warning, he nudges his way into me. Being turned on isn’t an issue—my body craves his—but his invasion still burns a little in the best possible way. My eyes slide closed as every bit of tension that was in my body falls away when he’s finally fully inside me.
Assuming my submission, Gunnar starts to loosen the grip on my jaw. I open my eyes and squint at him in annoyance. I don’t want him soft and gentle. I want him to lose himself in me, to use me the same way I plan on using every inch of him.
Gunnar licks his lips, and as he exhales, his shoulders grow while he curls around me even tighter. I feel the slight prick of his fingernails against my cheek. He’s on edge, the monster inside him is fighting to be present, and that’s exactly what I want.
Size-wise, he dwarfs me, but we match perfectly in intensity. My hands feel small on his wide back as I skim them over him, but I make the most of it by clawing my fingers into his flesh. These scars will be mine, mine to lick and nurse until every inch of him is sated, even the Berserker.
When Gunnar opens his mouth to let out a huff of air, I see his teeth and jaw have shifted, the razor points filling his mouth in an unnatural way. In the next second, he pushes himself even deeper inside me, and I claw my way up his back until my arms are wrapped around his neck and my legs are around his waist.
His face alters to a sneer, and he growls before he really starts fucking me. I have no idea why he was worried about me making a noise, because it sounds like he’s going to put me right through the tile wall every time he slams into me. I can’t do much but hold on for the ride, but what a fucking ride it is. Every touch borders on painful, but not enough to actually hurt, just enough to make sure every nerve ending in my body is alive and focused on what might happen next.
“You make me fucking crazy,” Gunnar snarls between thrusts. I shake my head, thinking it might dislodge his hand, but it only makes him tighten his grip to ensure I can barely breathe, let alone speak. There’s not an ounce of fear inside me, and it has nothing to do with the fact that I’m basically immortal. No, it’s because I trust him implicitly. I know he would never really hurt me.
The realization comes as my body tightens around him with an impending orgasm. I trust him, I trust all three of them. I don’t even know when it happened, but the truth is there in my soul, undeniable.
Gunnar makes a grunting sound and his hand loosens. On instinct, I gasp, searching for air. Colors flood my vision that have nothing to do with what I’m actually seeing. My teeth start to chatter as I tip my head back, and the apex of an orgasm hits me hard enough that I have to grit my teeth to stop myself from screaming. A high-pitched groan that I can’t contain escapes me.
Gunnar’s forehead hits the tile over my shoulder as his quick, short breaths pant over my neck and chest. He continues to move inside me, his strokes smooth and deep as he holds me up completely. I don’t know when my arms fell away from his neck, but I’m all loose limbs.
Moments later, it’s easy to feel the tension in Gunnar’s body build. I barely have the energy to open my eyes, but when I do, I see him, avoiding my gaze while simultaneously trying to look at me.
“What’s wrong?” I pinch the bottom of his chin and force him to look at me. Tiny drops of water bounce off his back and splash my eyes, making me blink rapidly now that he’s not completely covering me.
Gunnar swallows, his eyes as big as saucers. He looks so completely human in this moment. I move my grip from his chin and caress his jaw instead. “Are you…” He swallows, and his voice comes out a little steadier when he starts again. “Are you okay?” His brows dip with the question, furrowing into a heavy frown.
My insides go a little gooey, which should be illegal, and I slide my arm back around his neck, cuddling close to his body. “I am, in fact, more than okay. I’m perfect,” I purr into his ear. Gunnar shudders as a shiver works its way up his spine.
“Are you sure I didn’t hurt you?” He sounds so vulnerable.
I lean back to make sure he can see my face when I answer. “Gunnar, you didn’t hurt me. That was…” I want to tell him how much it means that I trust him enough to give myself over so freely, but the words don’t come easily. “That was fucking hot,” I say instead. “I knew you could fuck me like you hated me.”
Gunnar steps back quickly, like I just hit him. “Fuck you like I hate you?” he repeats in a horror filled whisper.
His reaction is enough to tell me I really messed up. “That’s not what I meant,” I rush out, but I know he’s not hearing me. I can see his eyes moving from left to right as if he’s examining something inside his head that only he can see.
“Gunnar,” I say, hoping to pull him from his thoughts. “I swear on everything, I did not mean that in a bad way.”
He yanks his arm away from me when I go to touch him. Recoiling, he asks, “What other kind of way is there?” But it’s not really a question.
I tip my head back and take a deep breath. There is no way I’m letting him walk away from this feeling bad about what just happened between us. Especially not because I stuck my foot in my mouth since I was experiencing real feelings and shit. “Sometimes you touch me like I’m fragile,” I start softly. “Like I might break into a thousand pieces if you aren’t careful.” I lean back against the wall and tap my fingers on the sides of my thighs. I want to cover myself now, which is so stupid. I always feel so much more exposed when I’m talking to them than I do when we’re having sex.
Gunnar’s brows drop again, and his lips turn down in a heavy frown.
“I know you don’t hate me, Kitten. I would never let someone who hated me touch me like that. I would only let you touch me like that, because I trust you.”
Gunnar does a double take, as if he can’t believe what I just said, but his eyes are still narrowed, making me feel like he still doesn’t understand what I’m saying. I reach for him again, and this time he doesn’t pull away. “I want all of you, Gunnar, not just what you think I can handle. Your monster doesn’t scare me. I love all of you.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, my throat feels like it’s about to close up. I try to swallow, but I can’t remember how. I just keep moving my tongue around in my mouth hoping my brain will start sending the right signals again soon.
“You love me?” The suspicion is gone from his face, and it’s been replaced with a wide-eyed look of wonder as he gazes at me.
My insides are feeling kind of jittery, but Kitten doesn’t look so upset anymore, so I can get through it. I nod, or I think I do anyway. “How could I not love you?” is all I can manage to say.
Gunnar makes a noise that is half laugh and half incredulous snort. “I’ve known a lot of people, and none of them have loved me, Dami,” he murmurs, sounding a little self-deprecating.
I reach over and turn the water off just to give myself a few seconds before I respond. I don’t want to mess this up again. “Well, I do,” I tell him, more convinced than ever that it’s true. I can hear the truth in my own words.
Gunnar flips his arm over so he’s now the one holding on to me. He guides me from the shower stall and reaches for a towel to wrap around me. Once he has me enfolded in the white fabric that smells heavily of bleach, he bends his knees until we are eye level and whispers out a demand. “Say it.”
“Say what?” I whisper back, staring right into his eyes. I know what he wants, but I can never make things easy.
One side of Gunnar’s lips lifts in a sneer that might scare other people, but it just makes me smile wider. “I love you,” I tell him slowly, so he can hear every syllable. His mouth opens a little as if
my words are a surprise.
My jaw drops open, too, when he seems to stumble and somehow ends up on his knees in front of me. “What the hell?” I mumble, looking at the ground and wondering how he slipped. Gunnar buries his head against my towel covered chest and squeezes me. He doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t have to. I already know he loves me. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be here with me.
Chapter 7
The bed is empty when I emerge from the bathroom. My steps stall. I sure didn’t notice Calix leaving, I was too engrossed in Gunnar for that. I wonder if he left because he knew what Gunnar and I were doing. Who am I kidding? Of course that’s why he left.
I’ve been able to carve out alone time with each of them for the past few weeks. Gunnar and Grim both still have duties, and Calix always seems to disappear often enough that it’s not an issue, but this is proving that maybe everything is not as rosy as I like to pretend.
At home, it’s as if they’ve worked out some sort of schedule for sleeping. Most nights I go to bed with Calix and Grim, but wake up to Gunnar and Calix. How the hell are we going to make this work long-term? Will I always have to worry that one of them will get sick of sharing me and leave? I’ve been getting the best of all three worlds, so I haven’t let myself question it too much.
I’m still standing in the center of the room with only my thoughts and the towel wrapped around me when I feel Grim’s portal forming. My stomach sours when the sins waft into the room upon his arrival. A feeling of nausea overcomes me, reminding how I would feel as a child when my mother forced me to eat.
I just manage to keep the gag from escaping my mouth when the portal closes, taking the sins with it. Hot saliva pools in the back of my throat as the urge to vomit continues to climb up from my stomach.
It takes me several long seconds to make sure that when I open my mouth, I’m not going to puke. As I turn, Grim places my luggage on the unmade bed, then he tosses Calix’s large duffle bag into the chair near the window.
“Ah, Grim.” He stops what he’s doing immediately and turns his attention to me. No one has mentioned the fact that I haven’t been hunting sins or eating them, but this new symptom makes me feel like there’s something going on other than just overstuffing myself with souls a few weeks ago. This isn’t the first time I’ve felt off when I thought about eating, but it’s definitely the most severe reaction I’ve had. What if consuming the witches’ souls really did taint mine somehow?
“What is it, Damiana?” Grim straightens to his full height and looks around as if he already knows there’s something wrong.
I wet my lips. “I haven’t eaten since that night at Vanessa’s.”
“Are you hungry?” He rounds the bed, heading in my direction. “I can feed you,” he offers, already forming the portal.
My stomach seizes. “No!” I shout, while waving my hand and covering my mouth with the other. The sins snap back just as quickly, but the feeling of nausea lingers even longer this time.
Gunnar pokes his head out of the bathroom and scowls. “What are you doing?” He glares at the back of Grim’s head.
Grim completely ignores the comment, and observes, “You’re unwell.” He says it as if it’s a completely foreign concept.
“I am right now. Give me a minute.” I groan, waiting for the feeling to subside. Gunnar stalks out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Even fighting the queasy feeling, I still notice the way it splits over his thigh when he walks.
“What did you do to her?” Gunnar tries to nudge Grim out of the way to get closer to me, but the Angel of Death makes a sound that I’m hard pressed to describe—it’s not a growl, but something close. Gunnar pretends not to notice, but he stops trying to wedge his way between us.
“Omnia, tell me what is wrong so I can fix it,” he demands, as if everything is just that simple.
I pull my shoulders back and shake out my limbs a little. The feeling has mostly passed, but the memory is fresh, as are the memories of my childhood. “I think I might have screwed up.”
“No,” Grim disagrees with a quick shake of his head.
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, dude, but something is definitely wrong with me. Can you see my soul, my aura?”
Grim’s gray eyes quickly scan me, his gaze lingering for just a moment at the apex of my thighs. He tilts his head a minute amount, but for him it’s a big tell. Without finishing his perusal of my body, his eyes jerk back up to mine. “Yes.” The one word comes out slow and thick.
I roll my wrist, urging him to continue. “Well, is there something wrong with it? Did eating the witches’ souls screw up my homeostasis or some shit?”
“What the fuck is home… st—whatever you just said?” Gunnar looks between me and Grim.
“Balance in the body,” Grim tells him with disinterest, but it’s a much more simple explanation than I would have given him. Reaching forward like he might place his hand on my hip, he shifts course and cups my exposed shoulder instead. “Your soul is fine, perfect.”
“Then what’s wrong with me? Is it because I ate the soul and not the sin? I don’t remember feeling like this when it happened when I was younger.”
I’m still looking to Grim for answers, but Gunnar cuts in. “Maybe it’s just like eating bad sushi.” He’s holding the towel at his waist with one hand. The long scar over his abdomen from the night he showed up on my floor all bloody is visible, crisscrossed with many others.
“Bad sushi?” I blink.
“Yeah, feels like your guts are going to fall out until you get rid of it… one way or the other.” His lips twist in a sympathetic pout.
“You’re suggesting I shit out the witches’ souls?” I roll my lips in to keep myself from laughing. I know he’s trying to help.
“Is there some other way you can process them?” Gunnar glances at Grim, including him in his question.
“You haven’t released them?” Grim’s eyes change as he examines me. “That would explain it,” he mutters to himself.
“Explain what?” I watch the rivers in his eyes widen until there’s not much gray left, only burning flames.
“Why you’re not feeling well, why you haven’t eaten. You need to release them, Omnia, or they will cease to exist.”
“Are you telling me I have two witches’ souls decaying inside me?” I suppress a full body shudder, but the disgust in my voice makes it clear I’m disturbed by the thought.
Grim drops his other hand on my shoulder and runs his palms over my upper arms in a soothing manner. “Not decaying, dissolving. You need to release them before there’s nothing left.”
“How the hell do I do that?” I gather the rough fabric of the towel over my stomach. All I can imagine is two black souls swirling around in my stomach. “Please do not tell me I have to shit them out.” I glance over at Gunnar, wondering if he was somehow right.
Grim makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “No, I will help you. I’m sorry it never occurred to me that you would be able to contain them in such a way.” Grim pulls me in and places a chaste kiss on my temple before releasing me. Turning to Gunnar, he inquires, “Have you found us another residence?”
Gunnar’s face falls. “I’ll take care of it right now.”
Grim nods once. “Good, where is the Nemean?”
“Calix,” I correct. I’ve been trying to get them to address each other by their names instead of their monsters. “I’m not sure, he was gone when we got out of the shower.”
“I’ll find him.” Gunnar drops the towel without hesitation and grabs the pants he wore yesterday, sliding them on without his boxers—they’re probably a wet mess on the bathroom floor anyway.
“Find us a place to stay first. I want to make sure Damiana is comfortable,” Grim orders, and moves over to the bed before unzipping my large suitcase.
“My service is shit.” Gunnar holds up his phone, showing the web browser trying to load. “I’ll have better luck using the hotel’s compu
ter. Calix—” Gunnar looks at me, wanting approval for using the name. I give him a toothy grin, even though I’m freaking out on the inside. “Is probably down at the restaurant anyway.”
Grim ignores him. “What would you like to wear, Omnia?”
“Whatever, anything is fine.” Grim looks over at me then abandons the luggage and steps closer. He runs his elegant finger down my forehead and over my nose, stopping when he reaches my lips, lingering there.
“Stop worrying. I said I would fix it,” he insists.
“I’m not worried.” The lie turns my stomach. Grim cocks one eyebrow, it’s a very human expression for him. I lower my head and peer up at him. “Okay, I’m a little nervous. What if I can’t release them?”
The door to the room clicks shut softly, telling me Gunnar left. “You will release them,” Grim replies, making it seem like there is no room for argument. “We can do it now if you don’t want to wait.” He looks around.
“What do I need to do?” I look around too, wondering what he’s thinking.
“A light meditation. You need to be able to focus so you can concentrate on what we’re doing. That is why I was going to wait until later,” Grim tells me like it will be the simplest thing in the world.
“You said you didn’t know I could contain them. What does that mean exactly?” I drop onto the bed.
“I assumed you stripped the souls and released them. There aren’t many who are able to hold on to it. The natural process is for it to be disbursed, to move on to the next place.”
This probably isn’t the best conversation to have while in a strange hotel room dressed in only a towel, but here it goes. “What exactly am I?”
Grim tilts his head like I’ve confused him. “You are you.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not having an existential crisis here, Loverboy. I’m asking what I am. What kind of monster am I?” I clarify.
Some Kind of Monster Page 5