Rose hung against him, lapping at his mouth as more tears streaked down her cheeks, her hunger so deep that it hurt. Hurt worse than his ruthless lashings, worse than the tight ropes binding her aching body. Her pussy was a raging hump hole, desperate to be filled again.
Skriker brought his hands around and gently untied her gag. It dropped to the floor of the tower, draping over the cool stone in damp silken ripples. “I brought you to this abandoned place because I wanted to feel that again. Feel your love and mine filling up this ravaged shithole, making every dead splinter of wood and chunk of stone and shred of glass pulse with it. Tell me you remember, Angel,” he murmured, stroking his thumb across her lipstick-stained mouth. “I give you permission to speak.”
Her voice trembled as she spoke. “Yes,” she whispered. “I remember, like it was yesterday.”
“Tell me that you wanted me then.”
She closed her eyes, and fresh tears skated down her cheeks. “I wanted you,” she breathed. “So much. I wanted you before that, from the moment I saw you. Some would say—it all h-happened t-too fast…”
“It’s never too fast when it’s your One and Only, Rose,” he purred. “Never. Tell me that I’m your One and Only.”
She opened her eyes, gazing up at him with an aching desperation. “You are. You always will be.”
“What do you want, baby?”
“I want you.”
“Say it again. Let me hear it, Rose…”
“I want you. Now please…take me…fuck me.”
Skriker closed his eyes, and she watched his long platinum lashes brush his hard high cheekbones, watched him inhale intensely, almost painfully. God, he was beautiful. And beneath that cocky, chiseled beauty, she could sense his fear, his anxiety.
“You won’t ever lose me, Skrike. I’m trying to show you that.
Skriker opened his eyes and gazed into hers. “Come here. I’m going to untie you, but just for a little while. I’m going to take you like I did that first night…unbound. I want to feel your hands on me, exploring me, like you did in Paradise Hill. Do you understand?”
She nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
He pushed close to her and she leaned on him, her head pressed against the taut flesh of his chest as he untied her, letting the ropes unravel and drape across the floor with the silk gag. Her arms and hands were suddenly free and she began to touch him, her fingers exploring his body, as if learning every hard curve and line of him all over again.
He unzipped her skirt and she worked out of it, feeling the whole of her body become naked to the night. He sat back against the wall of the bell tower and guided her into his lap, where she straddled him, her long lean thighs spreading wide and hooking on either side of his hips. He gripped her buttocks, spreading his fingers wide and cupping the firm perfect twin mounds, lifting her onto his cock.
Rose gasped audibly as he let her slide downward, pushing his rod deep. Her vaginal walls stretched around him and she began to ride him, draping her arms around his neck.
Skriker raised his face to hers, whispering sweetly to her as she worked his inches, bathing his cock in her wet heat. “That’s it, baby,” he encouraged breathlessly. “Let go for me. Let me love you, Angel.” He pushed her onto her back on the stone floor, mounting her fully.
She sighed at the shift of his weight onto her from above. Oh, yes, yes! It was like that fateful night two years before, when she had given herself so completely to him, heeding his promise that he would be hers alone. Her betrayal of her proud lineage had been made complete that night, and she could have cared less if all of Paradise had rained down in screaming fury.
“Skrike,” she moaned as he plowed her like so much tender sweet earth, his tight buttocks churning beneath her gripping hands, slow and deep. Her long strong thighs wrapped around his back, opening her wider, letting him plunge all the more deeply into her gulf. Rose began to cry out helplessly, tossing her head as he made love to her with an aching fury.
“God,” he breathed against her mouth. “I want to eat you alive…”
“Yes,” she purred, and he bit her gently along her neck and throat, nibbling and sucking on her earlobes, the tip of his tongue whispering against the perfect shell-shaped curve of her ear. He sank his teeth into her throat, just enough that she would see a rust-colored love bite mark the next morning, and she cried out shrilly, her heart hammering so hard that she was certain it would explode.
“Say you love me,” he whispered. “Say how much you love your devil, Rose.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the tears rising to the surface, and their familiar sting had little to do with the throbbing pain in her freshly bitten throat. “I love you,” she whimpered, “more than time and more than love…”
Skriker paused in his thrusting and smirked down at her. “Oh, baby, Bob Dylan lyrics are a deal breaker. Come here…”
She sighed as he tightened his hold on her and rolled over onto his back, taking her with him until he was fully beneath her and she was straddling him again, her thighs locked around his hips. She lay across him and kissed him sensually, and he responded with a wet relish that made her toes curl.
Skriker gripped her buttocks in his hands and moved her up and down on his rod, the strokes luxuriously smooth and achingly slow. “Oh, God,” he breathed. “Ohh, yeah—fuuuck. You feel so good, Angel.”
Rose pushed upright and rocked atop him, and he gasped hoarsely at every jerk of her hips. Her chain lead clinked between her breasts with every bucking thrust. “How do I feel?” she breathed. “Tell me…”
“Like hot wet silk. Like Heaven on earth.”
“More Heaven talk, Skrike?”
“I’m your Master tonight. I’ll say what I want.” He grabbed her lead and jerked her downward, his tongue running up the length of the chain. She shivered and moaned as he licked her chin and jaw, snaking his tongue up to her ear, teasing the silver ring looping through it. He whispered to her, his voice a breathy puff against her ear, sending sweet shivers down her spine. “I may be called your Master for these three days but in all reality, I’m your Slave. You know that, don’t you, Rosie.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Good.” He gave a few more thrusts and then rolled her onto her back again, letting his cock slip from her with slimy ease; the stone was cool against her skin as she lay back against it. Her hair spread out all around her head, a shadowy stain that gleamed dark garnet in the hot candlelit night.
Skriker straddled her, a long meaty leg on either side of her. She watched him pluck a pillar candle up from beside where he crouched, and the melted wax at the wick’s base shimmered at its edge like a silvery tide. Her breathing sped up, and as he held the candle high above her heaving torso and let it gently tip, she was certain that she glimpsed perfect beauty in that split second that the crystalline drips of hot wax dribbled downward toward her eager skin.
The wax dripped down onto her naked flesh and she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut as the brief but incredible searing sensations rippled through her bare epidermis. She moaned, shuddering as he let the hot wax dribble across her perfect flat belly, leaving pretty white spatters that instantly cooled and hardened.
She spread her thighs and bucked upward, whimpering and moaning as he dripped the liquid down to her pubis, avoiding her pubic strip, letting the dribbles of wax cascade down on either side of her bare-shaven bikini line.
“Holy fuck, you are wet, baby,” Skriker breathed.
Rose closed her eyes and winced in brutal ecstasy as the wax dribbled onto her nipples, stinging and searing the tender flesh; a harmless torment that left her twisting and writhing beneath him. Sweat stood out on her brow in fierce gleaming droplets, and her mind was racing, racing, racing…
Her eyes were still closed when he mounted her a final time, and her thighs went around his hips in a tight, gripping triangle. His body was so hard, so smooth, and as she melted into him and he into her, the vision of a broken churchyard stole across her mi
nd’s eye. Steely grey skies, thunderheads tattooed with lightning, dead gasses bending in the sobbing winds and scraping the broken stones underfoot.
Rose cried his name helplessly, her voice ringing off the cold bronze tower bell looming above them, a hollow wail that echoed into the summer night like a banshee’s cry. She tossed her head as if to shake the agony of that dream that so terrified her down to the very depths of her soul, all the while arching up against the hard muscular curve of Skriker’s body against hers. She gripped him with a ravenous hunger, her nails leaving deep red marks in his taut skin, and it felt so much like flying, feeling his thick proud sex plunge and rear between her aching thighs.
Then, she became aware of him slipping downward, his big hands with their BLACK DOG knuckle tattoos spreading her legs wider as he slicked his mouth and tongue down her torso, his saliva leaving a warm delicious snail’s trail down the flat plain of her belly. It made an unbearably delicate spiral around her navel before dipping lower to taste her hot needful slit and the plump red lips surrounding it.
Rose bucked up, crying out deliriously, and the world spun as her Halfling beloved wove his lover’s spell with questing tongue and lips and hot moist breath. Skriker licked and caressed every soft fold, every soft crease, sucking the tiny pearl of her clit up between his teeth to tease and torment it. Rose humped against his face, drenching his mouth and strong cleft chin with her hot slick fluids. The stubble pricking his chin tickled her pussy and she squealed and cried, her body reduced to a trembling mass as she came, and came, and came.
Just as her orgasm hit its hottest plateau, Skriker bolted upright on his knees and jerked his cock fiercely in his fist, moaning hoarsely as he sprayed her wildly with his thick hot seed. Sweet ropes of his semen spattered across her torso, thighs and breasts, mingling with the cooled hardened wax drips coating her skin, and Rose was certain that paradise itself could have never been so divine.
* * *
“Thank you for this, Rosie. Thank you so, so much.”
“No. I have to thank you.”
“Why? Wasn’t your birthday.”
“Yes, it was. In a way. ”
He smirked playfully. “Is it because I’m the Master?”
“Yeah…but don’t push it.”
Green eyes gleaming in the moonlight, pale Nordic skin like smooth painted alabaster. Setting her heart ablaze with winter fire…January embers that will never die. “Do you worship me, Rose? Like I worship you? ”
“Yeah, and I will forever.”
White smile, husky chuckle. A voice like smoke-roughened silk. “Just forever?”
“Okay…longer.”
“Till when, Rose?”
Her strange eyes rising to meet his, sharp glimmers in the night. “Until Paradise falls.”
EPILOGUE
Rose was dreaming, and as the horrible vision came on, she was helpless to stop it, like a freight train bearing down as she lay chained to its tracks.
Once again, she was walking through high dead grass beneath ebony thunderheads, scudding across a steel-colored sky. She was clothed for the hunt; leather and chrome, her long hair partially bound up, the sword her father had long ago taught her to wield strapped across her long back. A high chill wind moaned like a wounded beast through the blackened skeletons of trees that peppered the bleak landscape, and the air was electric with the scent of oncoming lightning.
The leaning silhouette of a small building broke the monotony of the landscape just ahead of her, and she headed toward it. She drifted through the field, broken yellowed grass whispering against her leathered legs, her boots crunching over dead leaves and blackened twigs.
As she neared the decaying structure, she found herself walking into an ancient churchyard, crossing the threshold through a broken and gaping iron fence; the rotting stone building at its far northern end was what once had been a chapel. Now a leaning decayed shadow of itself, its steeple lightning-twisted and blackened where it stabbed crookedly toward the dark sky.
The wind moaned tremblingly, a mourning lover winding through the high straw grasses, and the bell that still hung crookedly in the tower of the chapel clanked despondently in the dead afternoon light.
Her booted feet passed between crumbling headstones, their names faded beyond legibility; indeed, she barely noticed them. Something drew her here, it was an inescapable a draw as if she had been magnetized. Her limbs felt like live wires, thrumming with the power that had flowed through her tissues like a white hot river since her very birth. She walked slowly through the cold dirt and dead grass, walked among the crooked shattered graves and the souls long forgotten beneath them, her sword clanking softly where it hung against her back.
Her heart cried out wrenchingly, stripped bare as the landscape surrounding her.
There was a great granite pedestal that stood at the center of the churchyard, and as she came to stand beneath it, she could not tear her eyes away from the tall mottled stone figure that crouched atop it. Tears stung her eyes and skated icy-cold down her cheeks. The bitter wind blew past and whisked the wicked droplets away and out into the nothingness that was this dream world.
It was her father, crouching there atop the carved plinth, only he was also made of stone. It was as if every hard muscle, every cascading lock and curl of his hair, every line of him had been carefully sculpted from cold unmoving rock. His wings rose up from behind him, wide carved monoliths that spread huge granite feathers toward the steely heavens. His face, carved and still, was inclined down toward her, and his eyes were closed. As Rose approached the statue, those stony lids seemed to flutter in perfect rhythm with the frenetic pounding of her heart.
His eyes opened, and Rose swallowed back a cry of horror and pain.
They were the empty eyes of a stone cemetery angel, blank and frigid, and yet they conveyed of more emotion than the Nephil huntress could have ever imagined. As the blank orbs focused impossibly on her face, two thin lines of crimson began to gather along their rims, slipping in viscous ruby rivulets down the statue’s chiseled cement-grey cheeks.
Blood…
Rose blinked fresh tears away, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip.
Above the broken churchyard, silver-white cracks of lightning stabbed across the leaden sky, flickering across the stone figure who wept blood, illuminating the crimson streaks and making her father’s carved face appear imbrued. It was as if the blood were eating into the stone, destroying Alexius’ beauty even as he gazed plaintively down at her from his frozen perch. Impossibly, his stone wing feathers seemed to rustle in the wind, and the sound made her want to scream.
This is my grief. It eats me alive, even as I cannot die. I cannot be freed from this misery…
Rose screamed then, tearing the sword from its scabbard where it hung across her back. She swung it in a glorious arc, the blade catching the light of another streak of lightning, briefly turning to white fire. The blazing weapon struck the statue across its neck; hard stone was demolished, sending chunks of granite spinning off into the grey shadows of the churchyard beyond.
Alexius’ carved head was struck from his shoulders; the heavy chunk of rock tumbled to the dead grassy earth beneath the pedestal and shattered into a thousand sharp, carmine-stained fragments.
Rose destroyed the statue that was her father, scattering broken pieces of stone among the already broken headstones and patches of dead grass, her eyes a blind welling of tears.
…Rosie!
She lashed out again and again, desperate to free her father, free him from the cold rock that entombed him…
…Rose!
Exhaustion was taking over, and cardinal-red blood was pooling at her feet, so much of it that it was an utter impossibility…
“Rosie! Baby, stop! Stop!”
Skriker’s anxious voice cut into her reverie, and suddenly everything was gone, like a scrap of flimsy paper torn away by a gale-force wind. Rose cried out, thrashing, and she found herself not clothed for battle in a rott
ing churchyard but naked in a tangle of red and grey sheets.
Skriker was fighting her wildly thrashing limbs, trying to calm her as she tore about in his bed.
Finally, she quieted, finding herself warm and safe and in that instant, she collapsed against his chest, sobbing so hard that she thought she might break in two.
“Rosie,” he breathed, stroking her sweat-damp hair back. “It’s okay, baby. Shh…I’m here. You’re okay. You were dreaming, but it’s over now.”
Rose shuddered, quaking in his arms like a terrified child, her body wracked with sobs. When she finally found her voice, it was weak in her throat, barely audible.
“Terrible,” she whimpered. “Just terrible—oh, God. He was weeping, bleeding from his eyes, and I was trying to f-free him…”She began to sob again, her eggshell-smooth shoulders jerking.
Skriker hushed her gently and eased her back on her pillow; he encircled her in his arms and laid his head against her breast, listening to her heart hammering against her sternum. “You were shouting your safety word,” he said softly. “Who was bleeding in your dream?”
She was silent for a moment. “My father.”
Skriker cleared his throat softly and thoughtfully asked. “Okay. You said he was crying blood?”
“Yes. He was a statue, like the ones you see in cemeteries—”
“A cemetery angel.”
Rose closed her eyes, her face trembling, on the edge of a breakdown again. “I told my father I hated him, right before I came over on your birthday.”
Skriker raised his head from her breast and gazed at her in the silver-blue moonlight filtering in through the bedroom window.
She turned her face to gaze at him, the tears on her cheeks shimmering like jewels. Skriker’s eyes were pained, and she saw in him what she had always loved: despite his bad-boy exterior, he felt for her genuinely, and that deep care shimmered in his gaze as surely as the moonlight danced through the window and chased the blue-black shadows away.
Slave To The Demon Page 10