by T. L. Martin
All the way through the darkness.”
—A.J. Lawless
With Adam’s hand still locked around my neck, he drags his thumb along the bottom of my jaw, lifting my chin until my head falls back and I’m staring at the ceiling.
My pulse thumps against his grasp.
He slides his palms down my body, his movements agonizingly slow, but there’s nothing teasing about the way he does it. His grip is firm, burning into my skin and branding every curve. From my collarbone to my breasts, to my waist then my hips, he leaves a trail of goose bumps everywhere he touches.
I shudder when he presses his face to my exposed neck. He breathes me in and tastes me with his tongue, a rough groan rumbling through him. He wraps his strong arms around my back, then pulls me in so tightly I have to suck in a breath. We’re flush against each other—breasts to chest, stomach to abs—as he pulls my skin between his teeth. My eyes fall shut because, fuck, I never knew it could feel so good to have someone clutch me like I’m their life support.
A gruff sound vibrates against my neck before he prowls forward, and my back hits the soft rug. I try to lift my head to watch, but his grasp finds my hair, keeping my scalp on the floor. His hand is everywhere, avoiding only the bandages as he travels roughly down my body—squeezing, digging, bruising—and I swear he’s trying to crawl under my skin.
Breathing heavy, I lift my hips, instinctively seeking friction. Giving a low growl, he clamps my pussy with his large hand and shoves me back to the floor. A deep-rooted moan escapes my lips, the raw strength of him making me quiver. He quiets me by sucking on my bottom lip and biting down, hard.
It’s the closest we’ve come to a kiss, the tang of blood hitting my tongue, and I return the favor by scraping my nails down his shoulder blades. He grunts and takes it, his muscles flexing under my hands, and, god, it feels so good not to hold back.
His raw, carnal energy is the match to my flames. In this moment, I don’t care if I’m swallowed up and left as ash scattered in the wind.
At least then I’d get to fly.
His forehead dips, and he inhales my hair, then his fingers are snaking up my ass, spreading my cheeks apart before roaming back down and stretching my slit. He expertly traces both areas with his fingers, like he’s memorizing the feel of me.
My skin is set ablaze as I bite down on his neck. A rough sound climbs up his throat. He plunges two fingers deep inside me, bending and flexing, and my jaw drops.
“Oh, god . . .”
When his thumb presses on my other entrance, I gasp. He doesn’t enter, only teases as his forefingers pump ruthlessly between my thighs, and tingles erupt straight to my core at the combination. Just when I throw my head back and close my eyes, his hand disappears.
I protest through a breathless groan, but he’s already hauling me to my feet.
I only catch his gaze for a second as he moves behind me, but one second is all I need to see it. His expression is clouded over, his hair wild and falling over his forehead, his muscles rippling—but it’s the look in his eyes that makes my heart stutter.
It’s smooth dark syrup dipped in madness, then rolled into a blanket of obsession and pain.
It’s savage.
My toes curl as I soak it in. I’ve never stared directly into eyes quite like his. And, yet, my chest aches like he’s calling straight to me.
I’m spun around and bent over the bed, his hand pressing down on my back. My pulse races when my cheek touches the cool sheets. A glint of silver on the nightstand catches my eye. I swallow, realizing his knife is less than an arm’s reach from us, already open.
Without warning, he shoves his cock deep inside me. A strangled groan rumbles from his throat at the same moment an intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain shoots through my body. He pulls me up so my knees are on the bed, his chest heaving and his breaths blending with mine. Bracing the inside of my thigh with one hand and clutching my breast with the other, he has every curve of mine flush against him while he slams into me, again and again, stretching me to my limit.
My mouth falls open as I take it, my thighs clenching from the addictive sensations rolling over me. It’s primal, the way he fucks me. Like he’s trying to fuck a lifetime of demons free.
I’ll take it all. Everything he gives me.
I bring my hands up and behind me to clutch his shoulders, and he somehow pumps faster. Our skin is slick with sweat, my damp hair tangled between us. He drags his hand from my thigh to my clit, his fingers working as hard as his cock, and I can’t stop the mewls from pouring out.
I release one of his shoulders to tease his bicep and forearm, getting high on the delicious ripples of muscles flexing as he rubs my clit.
“Fuck,” I moan, dropping my forehead as pleasure rakes over me.
A deep rumble vibrates from his chest to my back. His thrusts become violent as he loses control, then his hand disappears from my breast and curls around my neck, squeezing. I stiffen, but his fingers only continue to sink into my throat.
“Adam,” I pant, gripping his arm.
He fucks me harder, the hand between my thighs grasping as firm as the one on my neck. Shit, he feels so good, even as his growls become so animalistic they’re unrecognizable. I breathe through tight lungs, inhaling the darkest parts of him.
So this is his freedom. I wonder what it tastes like.
My gaze slides back to the open knife beside us. The smooth silver that yields so much power. I want to feel it—the power. I want it for myself. My heart pounds against my ribcage as he pushes me closer to the edge.
“Adam,” I half-breathe, half-moan, a faint thread of reason trying to break through, warning me against the sinful creature I am. But a stronger voice latches on too; one that lurks so deep I’m not sure I’ve ever really met her. And she urges me not to resist it—the burning longing that swells inside me whenever I taste Adam’s darkness.
I don’t want to resist. I don’t want to be good or bad or spared or cursed.
I just want to explore whatever’s inside me.
I want the freedom to be.
When he squeezes so hard a choked cough escapes, I stretch my arm as far as I can and reach for the knife. My fingertips graze the handle, then a thrill courses through me when it’s finally in my grasp.
For a second I stare at it, soaking in the way his rough thrusts blend so perfectly with the power in my palm.
I gasp when he snarls and frees my neck, suddenly pulling out of me. He spins me so I’m facing him, his gaze darting to the knife, and I swallow.
His eyes are crazed with lust and darkness, his breathing heavy, and a vein pops in his forehead. Possessive or possessed, I don’t know the difference right now.
The longer he watches me, the more his breathing calms. His expression clears slightly, and his brows crash together when he glimpses my neck. I still feel the invisible weight of his hand clutching me, and I know it’s red—or worse.
His jaw ticks, his lips thinning, and he closes his eyes for a minute.
When he opens them again, his gaze flicks back to the knife in my hand. Shadows flit across his expression. “What are you doing?”
I clench it tighter, absorbing the strange feel of the weapon. For so many years I’ve painted the colors it draws from our skin. I’ve closed my eyes and been flooded with them—reds and blacks, mangled bodies and broken bones. But I’ve never stood and held in my own two hands the tool that spills the blood. Not like this.
I’m teetering on the edge of unfamiliar territory, and somehow I sense the rush is greater than the fall.
Cartwheels go off in my stomach as Adam watches me brush the tip of the weapon from my hip bone past my bandaged wounds and up to my ribs, like it’s a feather.
His nostrils flare, his grip finding my waist. I almost groan when a heavenly zing surges up my body. The tormented way he’s looking at me, the dangerous weapon in my control, the freedom of just being—the combination is toxic, and I’m drunk on it.
/> “What are you waiting for?” I coax softly, moving the knife’s point in slow circles around my belly button. “Fuck me, Master.”
A deep grumble fills his chest. I grow warm at the raw beast inside him. The beast that calls to me and soothes the bleakest parts of my soul.
I place my free hand over the ridges of his abs, then slowly slide up his hard chest until my fingers curl around his neck. Moving the knife to my lips, I dart my tongue out and drag it from the handle to the tip.
A long tremor rolls through him, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
When I lower my mouth back to the base of the knife, he dips his head so our noses almost touch. Waves of heat fill the gap between us, and the room goes so still all I hear is our breathing and my throbbing pulse. I gently bring the tip of my tongue to the smooth, flat surface of the blade. My breath hitches when he does the same on the opposite side. His eyes are locked on mine as we run our mouths from one end to the other, finding the same rhythm. When we reach the top, our tongues brush for a mouthwatering second before he drags his along my jaw and down the side of my neck, tugging my head back by my hair. My eyes flutter shut, and a long moan bubbles from my core.
Strong hands grip my ass and squeeze. With his lips attached to my neck, he pulls me up and paces across the room, my legs wrapped around his waist as he lowers me onto the dresser. He glides his palms against my thighs and spreads me wide open. After curling one hand around my fist so we’re holding the knife together, he fucks me deep and slow.
Jesus.
Tangling my free hand in his hair, I clutch him as I meet him thrust for lazy thrust. Goose bumps prickle along my body, his breath skating over my throat. Quivers run through his muscles like he’s never felt anything so satisfying, and I finally understand.
I finally get why it’s the act of sex people seek, not just the blissful ending. Why people drag it out instead of claiming their release right away.
This. This is everything.
Bodies melting together as you set each other on fire. Peeling back your mask and baring your soul. Surrendering yourself to another while owning every part of them.
His teeth skim my jaw, crossing over to the other side of my neck. His hand grips my shoulder as he goes deeper, drawing a shiver down my spine as he fills me.
God, it feels so good.
I dig my nails into his back with my free hand, and he groans as he releases the knife, leaving it in my grasp, to lift me off the dresser. My legs curl around his hips before he strides across the room and shoves my back against the wall.
Bracing the wall with one hand, he drives into me faster, harder, pulling mewls from my throat with every thrust. Panting, I wrap both arms around him, clawing and gasping as I grind, clench, and quiver.
“Oh, fuck.” My eyes flutter shut. Pleasure pulses through my core and squeezes. “Adam . . .”
A growl rumbles through him as he bites my collarbone and grips me harder. He fucks me with everything he has. My jaw drops, spasms spreading like wildfire along my limbs. Rough grunts vibrate against me as he loses himself, his whole body trembling like my own, and it unravels me. My muscles seize from the pure intensity rocking through me. Shit. Wave after wave hits, and he clamps my face between his fingers and thumb, forcing my eyes open so we’re staring straight into each other as we come apart.
The look in his eyes steals the breath from my lungs. His eyelids are lowered, his face twisted—almost pained—as a deep shudder tears through him. My chest heaves when I finally start to come down, and warm liquid spills over my fingers from behind his back.
What the hell?
With my bones heavy and spent, I slide my hands up and over his shoulders so I can see them. My eyes widen as red cloaks them, the knife still in my grasp.
Oh my god.
“Adam . . .”
He just stares at me, clutching my waist like he might never let me go as the darkness simmers. Something unfamiliar, warmer, seeps into the deep blue of his irises.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, dropping the knife and bringing my shaky, blood-stained fingers to his cheeks. “I-I don’t know how—I didn’t realize—”
He leans in and sucks my bottom lip between his teeth, teasing me with his tongue. Even as confusion clouds my eyes, delicious sparks explode inside my chest. My entire body is still shaking with need for him. When he releases my lip, my shoulders slump, and I inch closer, silently begging for more. Instead, his arms squeeze around me, as though being flush together isn’t close enough, and he drops his damp forehead to mine. Heavy breaths pour over me as his eyes fall shut, and for a moment, he just holds me.
I can’t quiet the thumping of my heart, and I don’t want to. My head spins with bliss. I want it to last forever.
Just as I start to sink into him, his hands curl around my legs, and he lowers them, sliding me down his body until I’m on my feet. Coldness scatters along my skin at his absence, and an unpleasant shiver chases my spine.
I’m not ready.
His eyes darken while they roam over my body—skin flushed, coated in his sweat and blood. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. I step forward, but he turns away and swipes a hand down his face.
My gaze rakes over his shoulders and back, across the blood marring his muscles, and I gasp. The coat of red hides the depth and width of the cut, but I can see enough to tell it’s not superficial like my wounds. He’ll need stitches.
Dragging his fingers through his hair, he stalks toward the bathroom.
I follow after him, my hands shaking. “Adam—”
He stops at the door, tensing, but he still won’t look at me. “From now on,” he rasps, “you’re mine. In every sense of the word. You’re not to leave my side. Tell me you understand.”
My heart stutters, and I whisper, “I understand.”
“It’s rather easy to shine in the light,
but to glow in the dark—that’s mastery!”
—Rick Beneteau
(Fourteen years old)
“No, but really,” the sixteen-year-old with no name says, a devious grin on his face, “what would you do to her?”
I shake my head and lean back against the wall, closing my eyes.
“Come on.” He nudges my elbow. “Don’t tell me you haven’t fantasized about hurting the bitch. Killing her. Burying her alive.”
My lips twitch, because he has no idea.
Before I came here, I’d seen four deaths. Two at gunpoint, one a fist fight gone wrong, and the other a heroin overdose—all people like me on the streets. I thought those were gruesome at the time. Normal, but gruesome.
After a year and a half in this cage, I’ve learned a lot. About death, murder, art. About people: no matter what their differences were outside these walls, once they’re strapped to that table, they’re not so different after all. I’ve learned about reality—the lies we tell when we’re trying to convince ourselves any reality exists at all. Fuck that. There’s only what we think we see, and even that fantasy doesn’t last.
Mostly, though, I’ve learned about myself.
No one ever tells you how far you can fall inside your own head.
Opening my eyes, I turn to face No Name beside me. He’s still dirty as fuck, and his eyes and cheekbones are sunken in. I’m probably worse off, but at least up until last month, when I was alone in here, I could pretend I wasn’t.
“I’ve thought about it,” I mutter, my gaze flicking to the empty table on our right, then to the little girl across from us coloring on a skull. “I think about it every day.”
No Name smirks, something dark dancing in his eyes. He’s a crazy fucker, but then so am I. His crazy is just a little louder. I think he’s lucky for that. Probably feels a helluva lot better than the crushing weight of keeping everything in your head.
“You wanna know what I do to her when I close my eyes?” He leans in even though it’s just the three of us here. “I tie her up. Naked. Then I pour gasoline on her body and toss in
a match. Burn, bitch, burn.”
I watch as Sofia glances at him. She continues coloring, but I know she’s listening.
I’ve been talking to her more, trying to get her to talk back. It never works. Sometimes, though, when I say stupid shit to see if she knows how to laugh, her lips quirk. I like it. It reminds me of when I was her age and I used to laugh with my mom. It didn’t happen much, but maybe there’s goodness in that. This way, I’m able to remember every single time.
No Name shifts beside me. “Well, I thought burning was a good one,” he continues. “Heard from some of the other crate kids that that’s option three.”
I arch a brow. “Option three?”
“Yeah, you know. Option one: become an art display. If that doesn’t work out, then Murphy pulls you for option two: sex trading. But then there are the kids who are too fugly for option two and they won’t sell for enough to be worth the trouble. That leaves option three: burn the body.” He clicks his tongue. “You know. Evidence and all that.”
I grit my teeth, but continue watching Sofia. Sometimes seeing there’s a little kid here helps remind me to chill the fuck out, because little kids aren’t supposed to listen to shit like this. They’re not supposed to be here at all.
“Really? That’s it?” No Name shakes his head. “Man, I really thought you’d be more into this, now that I see what you sit through every day.”
“What are you drawing?” I nod toward Sofia, ignoring him.
She jumps, then looks from me to the other kid. After a second, she continues coloring like I didn’t say a word.
“Why you talk to the devil’s clone, I still don’t get,” he grunts.
“She reminds me of something.”
“Yeah? What?”
I shrug, not really sure myself. It’s more of a concept, really. An idea of what could be. What should be. Something he and I lost our chance at ever having a long time ago. Sometimes I think she’s lost it too. That Katerina has already sucked her dry. But then her lips quirk when I do something stupid, and I know she hasn’t.