by S. A. Parker
I frown … it really fucking irks me.
“I don’t want to work around them, Dell. I want in. I don’t care how fucked up it is behind those walls, I want it all. I want to know you. I want to help you through it.”
I shake my head, snatching back my hand and buttering that last little corner. Now, if I could just eat it in peace … “I’m fine, Drake.”
He turns my chair around so I’m facing him, making it grind loudly. My wings jump in fright, then settle down in a permanently fluffed up state, enjoying the attention. Fucking hussies.
He takes my toast from my hand and sets it out of reach with his long God arm.
I sigh. He’s on a sure path straight to the sin bin, and that’ll be a real shame. No orgasms for me.
“You’re not fine, and stop fucking dodging me. The others might be accepting of it but I won’t fall for that shit. If you thought by coming here I was going to go easy on you, then you better think again.”
Fuck me, he’s hot when he gets all commanding like this.
“I care about you, Dell, I fucking do. And I will not sit by and watch your mind deteriorate. I know you’ve got a wall up, I know you don’t feel shit the way regular people do and I understand why, but I also know that sometimes shit slips through the cracks.” He’s holding me by the shoulders in a firm grip that’s got my vagina all roused and ready.
“You can’t always wear this armour. What if it gets ripped away suddenly? You’d be fucked. If Kal hadn’t put that happy web on you after—” He looks away briefly, then pulls me closer, gazing at me intently. “I could feel the pain your heart was going through. Kal won’t always be there … we might not always be there. I need you to have the tools to deal with this shit yourself, and I won’t be able to relax until you do.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, sighing deeply. This shit’s too heavy for a lunchtime meal. “You want to know my hard limits? My triggers?”
He pulls my hand from my face and tilts my chin so I’m looking him in the eyes. “Yes, that’s a good start. A mind map so I can understand, and support you through the hard bits.”
Why the fuck did I choose to go with the emotional analyser? I should’ve gone with Sol. I know he really screwed up and all, but I could’ve just set up camp in the kitchen and avoided him altogether. At least he repels the emotional bullshit, just like me. A good pair for sweeping stuff under the rug.
Drake’s got that look in his eye that makes me feel like he wants to conquer me. I remind myself that he feeds off control, and, well … I guess I’m a bit of a loose unit.
“And then you’ll give me orgasms?”
He nods. “As many as you want.”
“Good, because I’m going to need hundreds after this shit. Now, give me my fucking corn toast.”
He lifts a brow, but I just lay my hand out, waiting for my toast to be placed in my motherfucking palm so I have something to do with myself while I talk about this stupid shit.
With a low growl that’s a bit fucking unnecessary, he hands me my toast and I take a small bite, avoiding his eye contact. “I don’t like having my scar touched. I know I kept it and all, but just don’t finger it. I felt everything when that knife went in, when they scooped me out and made me infertile. Touching it makes me feel that all over again.”
I take another bite of my toast, chew slowly, and swallow. “Since we’re kind of on the subject, I don’t like having my toes played with. I know that’s not the sort of shit you’re after, but you asked.”
He nods. “No toe jobs. It’s a shame, but I think I can live with that.”
I almost smile. “And I don’t like feeling trapped, like I have no way out. I spent years trapped in a small dark box where I was fucked into oblivion every day, and now I don’t cope well. Same goes for if I’m being smothered, I get anxious.”
“Okay,” he nods tentatively. “We can work through that …”
“Also …” I look out the window, focusing on the clouds scudding across the azure sky. “I’ve done a lot of fucking, yes, but I’ve never actually had consensual sex. Always brutal, always rough, but never because I asked for it. Or wanted it. So I developed my own way of coping … I had to in order to survive. I learnt to like it rough; the rougher, the more brutal, the better. I even told myself that it wasn’t me having these sick desires—that it was someone else entirely. It made it easier to … well, swallow.”
I smile, shrugging a shoulder, though I get no response from my stoic Dusk God. I smooth my features, clear my throat and continue. “In the end, I could only orgasm when they were fucking me so hard it felt like I would split.”
I hear the breath catch in his throat.
I know it’s dirty, I know it’s fucked up, but he wanted to know. I’m done with caring if it makes them think differently of me.
“I found a way to enjoy it, to make it all seem better in my mind. If I didn’t, I would’ve died a long time ago. Was I hiding?” I nod. “Perhaps, but I was alone, Drake. I had nobody but myself, with no place to call home, and nowhere to seek shelter from the fucked-up world we live in. All the while I was anchored by a memory that made me feel utterly responsible.”
I look down at my toast, my appetite quickly disintegrating. “For the first four years of my life, my mother hid me. I barely went outside, never truly getting the chance to stretch my wings. She filled me with pure goodness, but then she … hurt me, and was taken from me, leaving me to question what was real and what was not.” I clear my throat to ease the lump that’s building there. “Kroe found me roaming the streets and I was thrown into the darkness, taught the meaning of brutal and mistaught the meaning of love. I grew up thinking there was no light in the world, Drake, though I tried to find it … to fight for it, because I so desperately wanted to believe that what my Mummy showed me was real. That her kisses, her hugs … were real.”
I turn to look him in the eye, ignoring his pale tone and shadowed eyes, because I owe him this final piece. “When I threw myself off that cliff, I was going to a better place. I truly believed that. I thought, perhaps, despite our brutal parting, I was going back to the only person in my life who had shown me true love.”
He looks like I just broke his golden fucking God heart, but I’m not quite done.
“But the most fucked up thing about all this? Women are taught that we aren’t worthy of love. That we’re only worth what our bodies can provide. If you have a vagina, you’re objectified from the moment you exit the womb. What sort of life is that? One where I’ve become so desensitised to men pounding away at me, that I need it rough to get off? One where the only hope for shelter, was to hide in the shaded corners of my mind? One where I clung to the love of a man who sold my body for a living? One where we are slowly hacked away at, body and soul, until all that’s left is the means to fuck us?” I nod, more to myself than to him. “So, yes—I have fucking walls, because I see everything. I forget nothing. I remember the face of every man who tortured me. I remember every instance someone called me a cunt, a whore, or a cum dumpster; and since I was four I’ve known there hasn’t been a goddamn thing I could do to change it, because I’m a female. Because I was a Lesser Fae whore with no uterus and no fucking worth.”
Tossing my toast down, I stand, shoving my chair back.
I need to get out of here.
Walking swiftly towards the door, I ignore the fact that my wings are trying to coax me back to Drake. I don’t know where I’m going, but my heart feels like it’s about to explode out of my chest and I’m shaking all over.
He’s suddenly in front of me, with his golden fucking wings out, breathing so deeply I can hear the blood pumping through his veins.
“What do you want from me now?” My voice sounds whiny, like I’m pleading, but I’ve had enough. I hold out my trembling hands. “See? I have nothing more to give!”
He takes a step closer, brushing his hand past my cheek and around the back of my head; threading his fingers through my c
urls. He jerks me forward, lifting my chin, arching my neck … and locks me into a fierce kiss.
His tongue cleaves between my teeth, seeking dominance over the mouth that just spoke the harsh words of my brutal existence, slandering this pitiful world that’s partly his own.
He doesn’t seem to care.
The realisation is like a trigger, and I arch my body against him, my wings curling around and rubbing his glorious golden ones. I explore the rivets and swells of his pectorals, running my fingertips along to the hollow at the base of his neck, so tantalisingly smooth …
Drake drops his hands to my thighs, parting my legs while lifting me up and wrapping them around his waist. The short shift I’m wearing inches upwards, and he holds me against his body by the blooms of my arse, walking me back to the wall and pressing me against it.
He pulls away from my mouth, careful not to graze me with his lengthened canines, though I wouldn’t mind if he shed a little blood … “I’m going to show you exactly what you’ve been missing out on.”
Holy fucking Dusk babies …
“Put your hands above your head.”
“Like this?” I raise my hands, fingers entwined.
“Perfect.”
He presses into me, using his hips to hold me in place, and I mould my body against the massive, throbbing erection placed conveniently between my legs. My vagina’s so damn excited, she’s pretty sure she’s about to get the chance to give him a gold vagina star right on his penis. Maybe she’s being presumptuous, but a vagina can hope.
He rips the dress from my body and his hungry gaze drops to the place they tore my uterus from me—an ugly red scar, crooked, thick and long, owning the entire lower half of my abdomen. “I’m glad you kept it.” His eyes roam back up my body in a slow, languid stroke, settling on my gaze, both hooded and carnal. “That scar tells the story of a woman whose beauty goes far deeper than her skin’s surface. It tells the story of a woman whose perfection lies within her imperfections.”
I’m holding my breath, torn between running away or devouring this man whole.
“I’m going to fucking worship your body.”
Well … fuck.
Devour him it is.
He pulls his top off and lets it fall to the ground, his steady, sizzling gaze teasing. I crave to touch him, to run my hands down the exquisite, chiselled length of his torso. I lower my hands but he grasps them in his own, returning them to their place above my head.
He lowers me, hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his pants, and with a small sultry smile, tugs them down. Stepping out of them, he moves closer—our breaths shared and gazes locked. His manhood strains between us. I look down and …
Fuck me.
The sight of his oversized erection almost makes me go floppy.
“Dell, look at me.”
I gulp. “I am.”
“Not there.” He laughs and tilts my face so I’m looking into his eyes. “Here.”
“Okay,” I whisper. “But …”
“You’re okay, Dell. Everything is going to be okay. Just don’t stop looking at me. Do you understand?”
I nod.
He runs his thumb beneath the seam of my panties, at the sensitive part of my hip and I gasp, biting my lower lip.
“Can I remove your underwear?”
“Yes,” I groan, aching, desperate to take his hair in my hands … to grind his face against my throbbing bud that’s practically screaming with anticipation.
He tugs and my panties shred like tissue paper.
I’m entirely exposed to this man … to the heat of his cock, the smell of his desire, the urgent beat of his heart meeting my own.
He leans into me, bringing his lips to my ear, his breath hot against my quickening pulse. “I can smell you. You’re so fucking wet for me.”
I gasp, arching my head back, desperate for his touch, my hungry gaze falling to the throbbing vein on his neck, just below his ear …
I run my tongue over my lips and swallow.
“Hungry, babe?”
“Starving.”
Smirking, he picks me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. He dips his head, looks up at me through thick lashes and flicks my nipple with the tip of his tongue. I cry out from the sensual tickle.
He retreats, smiles, then returns … this time taking my nipple into his mouth, gently sucking and flicking the peak with his tongue, sending warm jolts of pleasure straight to my love bud.
Heat gathers, the beginnings of an orgasm … a quivering flame brightening. Again, he retreats, watching me, holding me in orgasmic limbo as he shows my nipples the attention they deserve.
“Not yet baby, not yet.”
He lowers his mouth to my other breast, licking and sucking while he massages my exposed nipple with the pad of his thumb. I grind my hips, seeking friction and brush against his pulsing manhood, gasping as waves of heat wash over me.
He takes my hands, kissing each palm, and places them on his shoulders while edging me higher so that his cock is positioned at the aching entrance to my wetness.
Shifting my hips, I press my opening against him, hissing a sharp gasp. “You’re … you’re huge …”
“It’s okay, babe … you’re ready.” His face is all hard lines, voice serious. “I won’t hurt you. If you want it, it’s yours.”
Rubbing against him, I caress the beautiful ache of my clit against his shaft, closing my eyes, the fire building as Drake tantalises me with gentle wisps of his magic.
“Look at me, Dell.”
I groan, open my eyes and stare at him, barely able to focus.
He shifts his hips and pulls his dick away from me, the warm tickle of magic disappearing from my tender bud. “What are you doing?” I pant, outrage staining my words.
He lifts a brow. “Do not close off from me, understand?”
“I …” fucking hell. “Okay.”
“Eyes open,” he says, wrapping his hand around the side of my face and stroking my cheek with his thumb.
Our gazes locked, he gently pulls me back onto him so that I’m straddling his shaft, my folds slick with desire. He takes my face in both his hands, caresses my lips, my neck. “When you’re ready, ease yourself onto me.”
I’ve never been asked to ease myself onto anything, let alone a penis.
My beast cracks an eye open. Perhaps she likes the fact that this man is relinquishing some of his control to me …
I drop my hips slightly so that the head of his cock is perched at my wet, throbbing entrance. I ease forward and the tip of his shaft enters me, sending waves of pleasure up my channel, causing me to cry out; wanting, needing to take all of him in.
“I don’t want to miss a single fucking moment of this,” he groans, twisting his fingers through my hair, holding our eye contact. “Do you know how fucking perfect you are?”
I relax, whimpering, open myself to him further, feeling the firm press of his length as he fills me entirely, the base of his shaft pushing against the sensitive outer shell of my woman cave.
“Fuck, Dell …” His lips crash into mine, claiming my mouth, sucking my lower lip between his teeth and holding onto it.
Slowly, carefully, he begins to move—gently at first, gaining momentum until he’s thrusting his full, delicious length into me. I tangle my hands around his neck, through his hair; running them across his back, his ass, and around his cock that’s wet with my arousal.
I take his fingers, slick with my desire, and slip them in my mouth—slide my tongue across them and watch his eyes ignite, glazed with lust.
My fire’s building … I can taste it.
Sense it.
Smell it.
I’ve never felt so free, never needed anything as much as I do this.
It’s not forced, it’s not a desperate plea for survival.
It’s certainly not a lie.
It’s raw.
It’s real.
It feels right.
I lunge for his mouth—kis
sing, sucking, exploring every luscious curve. My beast gains a little purchase and nips at his lip … it’s not enough to draw blood, but intentional, even so.
“Fuck …” I lash her back into her confines and stare at his lip, at the small swelling, wanting as much to split it open as to lick and suck and kiss the redness away.
My beast snarls, thrashing against my restraints.
Drake has paused, seated inside me, watching me with dark, smouldering intensity. “It’s okay, baby.” He pushes the hair from my eyes, tilting my head with decisive power. “I want her ... I want all of you.”
I shake my head. “You don’t know what she’s capable of. She might hurt you.”
He thrusts again, plunging into me with force. I let out a strangled groan, relishing the feel of him so deeply embedded; the full length of him swathed in my pulsing cocoon. He pulls out slowly, then renews the action, again and again, watching me with a heated gaze. “I’m hoping she does,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, heavy with desire.
My beast licks her lips, ready to pounce.
And yet I hold her back.
“Let her go.” He thrusts again, his throbbing cock, thick and hard, filling me entirely.
My beast is screaming, clawing at the air …
“I want all of you, babe.” He nips at my lip.
“The dark ...” thrust.
“The light …” thrust.
“Every shade in-between …” thrust.
“Let her fucking go!”
With a feral roar my beast pounces.
We lunge at him—pulling him harder into ourselves, working our body up and down his shaft in perfect harmony to the rhythm of our own fucking symphony. We take his hands, pushing them onto our breasts. He tweaks and pulls, drawing them into his mouth one by one, sucking and flicking until they’re hard, flaming peaks, tingling and aching at once.
Harder and harder we thrust, the pulsating bud of our clit perfectly positioned, sliding along the full length of his cock.
He pulls us from the wall and we throw our head back, arching our neck and revelling in the feel of his canines sliding along the base of our throat, feeding our swelling orgasm.