I’ve lived this life of a monster for so long that I no longer know where my true desires lie.
Don’t bother coming back for me.
As if that’s possible.
I’ll be drawn to her for as long as I live, because had she been here… the voices wouldn’t be back at night.
Taking another gulp of the drink, I tighten my hold on the bottle, so I won’t throw it against the wall while I think how Caspian took my angel from me too.
“I’ll have no peace in this world until you are dead,” I say, standing in the middle of the room. I have a small circle free of fire where I can lie and soak it all up, concentrating only on the orange flickers and the sound they make in the candle, the wax popping over and over again, melting under its power like Caspian will fucking melt once I get my hands on him.
Destroying him has always been easy, but the truth, torture is an art in which suffering is the main component of success.
What’s the point of having a victim who gets a quick death and no internal pain? It won’t top the one you slash from the outside, chopping the body piece by piece.
There is no advice on how to handle your fucking heart that melts inside your chest like wax when a woman you never expected shows up in your life and turns it on its axis, fundamentally challenging everything inside you, yet you can’t help but crave her.
I’m so lost in the music and the internal struggle that I don’t hear the soft footsteps behind me, and my eyes snap open when delicate arms wrap around my waist, a curvy, firm body pressing to me while she rests her cheek against my bare shoulder.
Callista.
She came back.
Her fingers gently run up and down my stomach, while she whispers, her lips placing a soft kiss on my shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen well.” She sighs heavily, her breath tickling my back. “No one will protect me better than you. I don’t want to run away.” Her lips trail up, up, up, and she must rise on her tiptoes, because she kisses my nape, before adding, “Let me serve my purpose and help you. You don't have to face whoever it is alone.”
Fuck.
She is fucking killing me with these words and how much they are coated with the emotion I don’t even understand or care to examine, for it has the power to break me.
And breaking is one luxury I could never and still can’t afford in this life.
Unlocking her arms from me, I spin around and palm her face, tilting her head back so I have a good look at her emerald-green eyes that are luminous in the candlelight, showing me all the beauty she possess from the inside out.
And I can’t help but notice how serene she looks among my chaos and is unfazed by it, an angel who is not afraid to meet the devil in his hell and even offers him one thing he never knew.
Comfort.
“I can’t let anything happen to you, Callista. Not ever.” I bring her closer, and she wraps her arms around me again, still holding my gaze. “You are too important to me.”
“Florian took us to his private plane in record time. Do you know that?”
I frown at the abrupt change of subject, but listen to her nevertheless. He will pay for it later when I’ve cleared my head to deal with him bringing my woman back here.
“All the way there, he explained to me what my family does and how my life will be full of riches now. And as he was describing all that… I realized something.” She puts her hands over mine, gently rubbing them with the pads of her fingers. “I don’t want any of it without you. Which is so ridiculous, given everything.” A raspy breath slips past her lips before she removes her hands from mine and instead locks them around my neck. “But freedom doesn’t seem that exciting if you’re not in it. I am probably sick to fall for my captor, but that’s what I did, didn’t I?”
The heart I claim I don’t have pangs painfully in my chest for the first time in my life, awakening the lonely boy who used to live inside me and wanting love like his next breath.
Just once for someone to care enough about him.
Just once for someone to comfort him.
Just once for someone to put him above everything and anyone in this world.
And that weak boy?
He desperately wants to believe every word.
She takes a deep breath before announcing—or more like shouting through the rock music, “I love you, Arson. And this time when I choose you… I do it with my freedom intact.”
“It’s your illusion,” I tell her, fisting her hair and resting my forehead on hers. “You can never have your freedom for as long as I live.”
A gentle smile pulls the corners of her mouth and a small chuckle escapes her. “That’s true. Because I decided so today.” But then all traces of amusement are gone from her face and she digs her nails into my chest. “Don’t send me away again. Tell me about this man and how you want to bring him down. I want to help you.”
“No.” That’s all I manage to say before succumbing to temptation and place my mouth on hers, almost sighing in relief when all the voices leave and only her scent and moans remain, grounding me in this moment with her.
She opens her lips, allowing my tongue to slip in and lazily duel with hers, learning her mouth anew, while staking my claim on it all over again. To tell the truth, I thought I wouldn’t get the chance for a long time.
Callista moans, her hands sliding up my chest to circle around my neck as she hugs me close, standing on her tiptoes while angling her head back so we can deepen the kiss, rocking a little forward, lost in this lust-filled embrace that makes my dick hard, wanting to fuck her for hours so no one will have any doubt whose woman she is.
My hands travel to her sweater, ready to hike it up and remove the clothes keeping me away from the body I always fucking crave. But then I detect the slightest tremble of her body in my arms, yet her hold on me tightens, her fingers digging into my shoulders almost painfully, and I break off the kiss, her eyes still closed while her mouth seeks mine. I see her mouth my name but don’t hear it over the music, so I quickly turn it off. “Arson,” she whispers again.
I cup her cheek, brushing my thumb over it before asking, “What are you afraid of?”
She exhales heavily, still hiding her emerald orbs from me while she replies, shivering slightly. “I hate the fire.” Her voice is husky and scared as if she is confessing to some awful sin. “My dad always hurt my mom with it.” Inside, I roar in rage, wanting to kill her father myself for what he put his family through and made his wife do.
If it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t have ended up in this situation.
But then she wouldn’t have been mine either, right?
Not sure it makes me any better than the bastard who fathered her, to find goodness in her fate, even if I wish she had never known sorrow.
It’s unbearable to live with it; that’s why it’s easier to kill people.
“Look at me,” I order. She tenses under my touch but then lifts her chin, her eyes snapping open with the familiar resolve shining there.
Good girl.
“I could never hurt you with it.” She swallows, stepping back from me but still staying close, giving all the candlelight around us a wary look, her shoulders hunching as she rubs her arms. “With this fire”—I motion with my hand toward the candles— “I thee worship, Callista.” I might not know what love is, but I know worship.
And I’ll worship her till the end of time if she stays by my side.
Callista
Realization of the meaning of his words hits me so hard I almost sway to the side but stay grounded, gaping at him in wonder while the butterflies flutter in my stomach.
With this fire, I thee worship….
For Arson, the equivalent of these words is “I love you,” even if he doesn’t say it.
My handsome, tortured captor has probably gone through hell and back, yet he is still vulnerable to my rejection, if all the candles are anything to go by. Fire gives him solace in his pain, although it scares me so much. As we stand in
the huge circle of pillars of fire, it seems as if I have encountered the devil in his dungeon and decided to let him clip my wings.
Only, all this is crap, isn’t it?
We aren’t an angel and the devil; we are mortals who feel an undeniable pull toward each other that common sense, good and bad, cannot break no matter how much we try.
Mom once said true love is the most beautiful thing in this world and can happen in the span of a second.
What she failed to mention to me was that love has many colors and ways; sometimes it’s born among the dying flowers that have lost any hope of the sunlight casting its light on them.
I give the fire one last glance, in awe of the orange flames, and decide to leap forward, letting go of my past that brought so much suffering, and open up to the future… one that is unknown and might harm me even more.
But I will never know until I take this chance. He might be a serial killer… but he is the only familiar person to me in this whole, lonely world, and I want to share this with him surrounded by the thing he loves the most.
Fire.
With my heart beating wildly in my chest, I grab the edges of my sweater and remove it quickly, dropping it to the floor while his eyes darken, his gaze roaming over me when I unclasp the lacy white bra.
My hands travel to my pants, reaching the button, when he growls, coming toward me to fist my hair in his hand, slamming his mouth on mine while pressing me flush against him. My breasts brush over his muscled chest while the tips of our bare feet touch each other.
He is wearing nothing but sweatpants, the material scratching a bit against my bare stomach, but I don’t care in this moment, concentrating only on how his tongue swirls inside my mouth, engaging mine in a unique dance and driving me wild with a need that constantly burns me in his presence.
His fingers replace mine, unbuttoning and unzipping the jeans before he drags them down, his hot breath on my skin as he slides his lips over my collarbone, to my stomach and navel where he bites harshly, earning a groan from me, because it stings. “Sometimes I want to show everyone just how beautiful you are,” he whispers over my skin, as he tugs my jeans to my ankles. “How this body is made for worship, how it has the ability to make a madman out of a sane man.” His knuckles shift my panties to the side, and he licks me between my folds, his tongue entering me. And I moan—about to lace my fingers in his hair, but he doesn’t let me.
Instead, he pulls me down along with him, and I fall to my knees, facing him, his lips glistening with my wetness, and I blush, suddenly shy from the lust shining in his eyes. His fingers trace the goose bumps on my arms, his light chuckle ringing in my ear. “My beauty is very innocent, isn’t she?” he asks, rolling us on the floor. When my back connects with the hard surface, I barely feel it, my focus on the man looming above me, whose darkish appeal is intensified by the fire.
Possessiveness, ownership, passion—all those emotions shine brightly for me to see and awaken everything female in me that responds to this.
“Not innocent anymore,” I reply, raising my arms up and playing with his hair, feeling him jerk under my touch.
His silver pools look almost molten at this, and he leans forward, nipping and biting my neck, then soothing it with the velvet brush of his tongue, trailing lower to my collarbone, where he sucks hard on the skin, marking me once again. “I want to leave hickeys all over you, so everyone will know you’re mine. Mine and no one else’s.”
I arch my back, placing my hands on the cold floor while the fire heats me from every corner, intensifying the need traveling through me, heightening every nerve in anticipation of the pleasure he can provide for me.
Arson cups the underside of my breast, squeezing it a little, and I gasp but then moan loudly when his lips wrap around a nipple, his tongue flicking it back and forth before sucking on it. His thumb slides to the other breast, pinching the nipple, sending an arrow of heat to my core, making my toes curl.
“I’m yours,” I say hoarsely, wanting to close my legs to give some relief to my aching flesh, but he puts his hands on my thighs, keeping them separate as he settles between them, his mouth taking the other breast, repeating the sensual torture and coating it in his saliva, while the wetness in me grows. “Please.” I’m always the one begging in these encounters, but I don’t mind.
As long as he delivers, I don’t mind anything, because I know he will always take care of me.
“So impatient.” He shifts to my stomach, licking a line toward my navel, leaving no skin untouched. I wince as the slide of his five-o’clock shadow makes me itch, only highlighting my pleasure. “Back in the club, I barely resisted doing this.” His hot breath is on my core as his hands slide under my ass, gripping it hard before he lifts me a little and places an open-mouth kiss on my folds. My cry reverberates around the walls.
He licks me from the bottom up, trapping my clit between his lips and pressing it with his tongue, and my hands fist, the nails digging into my palms, but I don’t want to stop him.
The pleasure shakes my body all over, breaking goose bumps on my skin, and the burning need I’ve felt before transforms into something else, where everything disappears and only his mouth remains.
He slides his tongue up, down, stiffening it, and plunging it inside me, going so deep, and this time I can’t help but tangle my fingers in his hair, bringing him closer, grinding on him as he brings relief to my aching core.
My heels push into his back as he continues lavishing my flesh with attention, biting and sucking on it. I feel myself clench around his tongue only for him to push back and go back to licking my slit, not giving me the relief I so seek. “Arson,” I say with annoyance yet desire, too weak to resist the lust enveloping me and demanding satisfaction. Removing one of my hands from his hair, I slide it down my stomach, ending up on the top of my entrance and opening it up wider for him. “I’m aching, baby.”
He growls against me, and his grip on me tightens, almost bringing me pain as he sucks on my clit, flicking it and biting, each of his strokes sending wave after wave, making me almost close to…
I groan in protest when he slides back to my core, slipping his tongue inside me, swirling it around and once again leaving me on the edge. “That’s why I couldn’t ever do it in front of anyone else,” he says, and my brows furrow, for a second not understanding what he’s talking about. But then I remember his earlier words. “You turn from an innocent to a temptress when I eat you up. And this sight is for my eyes only.” He gives me one last lick and then shifts back up, brushing his chest over my body and making me wetter for him. Watching him once again loom above me, his hair tangled and his mouth glistening with my wetness, awakens the craving inside me that I was curious about but didn’t voice during our encounters.
But now I desperately want to.
When he lies down on me, he dives for my mouth, but I choose this moment to roll him onto his back, settling on top of him, succeeding only because he didn’t expect this movement.
He steadies me, his hands patting my thighs while he waits for me to explain, but all I can do is stare at this gorgeous man in my arms.
And for once, I want him to lose his head while he is with me, to see him undone, and to show him how much he means to me.
Arson
Callista reminds me of a Greek goddess with her blonde locks shining above her like an angel’s halo. She is so beautiful, from her full breasts to her pale skin that silently begs me to bite it all over again, for her to flush under my touch.
Her taste still coats my mouth; the primal craving in me to mark her everywhere is rocking me hard, needing for everyone to know who she belongs to.
I never had anything in my life that I could call my own until she showed up on that field, my golden angel.
And I’d die a thousand times before I’d let anyone hurt her or take her away from me.
I’m watching her curiously, awaiting her next move, not doing anything to disturb her show, because by how her emera
ld eyes sparkle, I know it’s important to her.
With a sigh, she leans forward and places a soft kiss on my neck, right on the scars that were inflicted on me by all the collars always digging into my skin with their sharp edges and bringing so much pain. Yet her gentle peck has the ability to erase it from my mind, grounding me in this moment with her, where only pleasure exists in its place.
Her lips travel to my chest, to the angry red scar that puckers the skin, acquired during one of my fire experiments, reminding me to always be careful with it. She traces it with her tongue, leaving kisses in her wake as she shifts lower to my abs, biting each scar before soothing it with her kisses once more, making sure to give attention to each one of them.
And without knowing so, she manages to soothe the ones that are invisible to the human eye, those rooted deep inside my soul that hurt all the same, even after all these years.
As pathetic as it sounds, no amount of killing or power can erase the nightmares that wake me up at night or shut up the constant voices calling for help.
Only her presence and touch.
She slides over my legs, her pussy smearing me with its juices on the way, her fingers going up and down my sides as if she can’t get enough of me before she reaches my hard dick, where it stands at attention for her, the head leaking precum from the tip.
We’ve had sex several times so far, but she has never seen it up close like that, and I expect her to shy away or blush. She is fucking beautiful when she does it, because I love knowing no one had her before me. I don’t give a flying fuck how people look at it or call me a chauvinistic asshole.
My angel is only mine, and I fucking love it.
Callista leans forward and brushes it with the tip of her tongue, swiping the precum and sending prickles through me. Her hand wraps around the base, and she glides it up, keeping a tight enough hold to drive me fucking insane. “Callista,” I warn, wanting to give her this experience but not sure if I can hold off for all her playing.
Arson’s Captive Page 30