Curious, I roll over to face him. Rupert’s eyes are closed, and his nose wrinkles as I move about, but he stays sleeping. His cock has fully emerged from its sheath, however, and now stands pink and at attention, pressed against my belly.
I wriggle my way down the bed until I’m under the blankets, and then I gently guide that blunted head between my lips. Rupert lets out a huff of air, but still remains asleep. I bring even more of it into my mouth, caressing the pebbled tip with my tongue. Rupert’s hips rock, and he lets out a muffled grunt as I slide him back out again, and then fully encase him—as much of him as I can take, anyway.
“Peony?” Rupert interrupts himself with a groan. “Th-that feels amazing.”
I snicker to myself as I slide my head back, glancing up at him from under my lashes before sinking him back into my throat. This time I’m rewarded with a moan, and I grab his furry balls to massage them while I continue sucking at a leisurely pace.
It’s not long before Rupert is twitching and seizing up under me. He grips my head with one clawed hand as he moans, “I’m going to come, I?—”
And then he unleashes, and it’s all I can do not to choke. There’s so much that I pull my mouth off his cock, and the rest of his cum gushes down my chin to my chest.
Rupert is apologetic until I remind him that I’m the one who woke him up with a blowjob.
I thought it would be a chore to take a shower, but I’m shocked to find that the wound is now a solid dark pink, andthe stitches they put in him have already come out on their own. I stare openly as Rupert steps under the falling water, doing just fine holding himself up.
“That is crazy,” I say, echoing the nurse. “How is it possible?”
Rupert shrugs. “The one advantage to being a monster. Who knew?”
We soap one another from head to toe, and I’m simply happy to be in his presence, to know that he’s alive and safe and sound. I’ve never felt such terror like I did when they wheeled Rupert away from me and into that emergency room, not knowing if he’d come back.
I wrap my arms around him while I’m all lathered up in suds, and, surprised, Rupert hugs me back.
“What is it, my little flower?” he asks in a concerned voice.
“I’m just so grateful.” My tears of relief mix with the hot water coming out of the showerhead. “I’m so grateful that you’re here, that you’re alive, that Andy didn’t?—”
I can’t finish the sentence, so I bury my face in Rupert’s wet fur. He rocks me from side to side, nuzzling my head.
“It’s all right. I’m here. And I’m not planning on going anywhere anytime soon.”
rupert
It’s only another two days before I’m well enough to be up on my feet around the house. Then it’s another two days before I feel comfortable stretching out my body fully and using the muscles that were damaged by the bullet.
“Wow,” Peony breathes as she examines the scar. “This is unbelievable. You’re almost right as rain again.”
And I do wish to be “right as rain” again so I can throw her legs over my elbows and fuck her until she’s screaming my name.
I have carefully avoided watching the news because I couldn’t bear to see myself on it, but the phone calls are nearly unavoidable. The landline rings at all hours of the day and night with reporters trying to get in touch with me.
I am an anomaly. A wonder of the world. And everyone, including the big talk shows, wants a piece of the action. A few cars have even appeared outside the gates to the manor, but Kellen refuses to let them inside.
“No interviews,” he answers the speaker frequently. “Go away. You’re trespassing.”
Ignacio has visited a few times since our race to rescue Peony, joining us for dinner. He seems mostly unaffected by my monstrous nature, and I enjoy how he brings out Kellen’s more playful side. It seems my butler smiles much more often now, and Ignacio knows how to enjoy a good meal.
“You’re all over my social media, Rupert,” Ignacio says one evening. “They’re fascinated with you. Are you going to speak publicly?”
I grit my teeth. There’s nothing I want less than to speak directly to millions, if not billions of people. All I’ve ever wanted is my solitude.
“No,” I answer firmly. “I am not some curiosity on display for their amusement.”
“You have a lot of fans,” Ignacio continues. “Someone did a brilliant painting.”
I frown deeply. “A painting?”
He takes out his mobile and searches for a moment before holding it up to me. I take it and look at the tiny screen. Sureenough, it’s a marvelous, detailed oil rendering of me holding my arm as blue blood streams out.
