“Curse!”she whimpers, shoving at the top of my head, her sensitive pussy trembling and convulsing, her thighs shaking like she’s been running for miles.“Ican’t!”
“You will,” I growl before diving back in, grinding my teeth on her clit, curling and thrusting my tongue, gripping her hips with bruising force.I’m being fucking ruthless and I know it.She’s the only thing I’ve ever really treasured, and I can’t even show her mercy now.I don’t know how.
But she reacts to it, this merciless destruction of us both.She pulls my hair, her spine bowing, breasts shaking with the force of her rapid breaths.
“Again…No…I…Oh, God-”
She climaxes again, and I feel it in her like a storm breaking.A massive, wet, electric frisson of energy cracking wide open inside her.Her voice echoes off the bathroom walls, a shattered, shouted prayer, a hymn too holy for someone like me to grasp.But I listen anyway, stealing the sounds for myself, memorizing the ragged lilting of her voice as she comes and screams and bleeds for me.Only me.
Somewhere in the house, I hear a door slam shut, and I’m dragged from her sacred spell.I hurl myself away from her, reeling, alertness spiking through my head, my limbs.It’s probably just Leo returning from his errands.But I have to be sure.
“Stay here,” I tell her, stalking away.Before I slam it shut I tell her to lock the bathroom door behind me.
Chapter10
Aurora
Istare, panting, at the shut bathroom door.Even though Curse told me to lock it, I don’t have the energy.My limbs feel like freshly-stretched pasta.My pussy feels swollen, sore, inflamed beyond all reason.It’s wet down there, and when I finally muster up the strength to take a look, my skin is shiny with my own arousal, his saliva, and the pinkish tinge of blood.
I lift a shaking hand, running my fingertips over the sensitive flesh, then flinch.I’ve never liked touching myself down there.I avoid it as much as I can.
Why doesn’t it bother me when Curse touches me there?Licks me.Makes me come.
He’s the only one I’ve ever wanted there.The monster who’s probably murdered more than ten times the number of people that he’s fucked.Go figure.
Once I have some steadiness in me, I get back in the shower to clean up a bit.Letting the water run over my skin, I replay our conversation.He’s only had sex with two women before me, both of them prostitutes.I can’t figure out why he’d need to pay someone, though.He’s the most beautiful male I’ve ever seen in my entire life.Occasionally, over the years, I’ve wondered if the distance between us, and my own besotted feelings for him, had exaggerated his physical perfection.But they didn’t.He could have anyone he wants in his bed.At any time.So why the need to hire professionals?
It’s probably fucking pathetic, but a foolish part of me is glad he’s only ever been with pros, assuming he was telling the truth, anyway.It means that he’s never had a committed, sexual relationship with anyone else.He’s never really dated.
He’s never been in love.
It’s unlikely that he’s even capable of that sort of emotion, in all honesty, so it’s completely stupid that this makes me even the tiniest bit happy.I’m happy that he’s never wanted to fuck someone outside of a coldly clinical business arrangement.
Except me.
My skin flames.My pussy pounds between my thighs.
He’s gone down on me.More than once.
And he fucked me before he needed to for the legality of our marriage.
Could I have simply taken the place of one of his whores?If his words are to be believed, he hasn’t had sex in more than a decade.For a man who looks like he’s got enough testosterone in him to take down an entire gym full of weight-lifters, he has to have had some pent-up need building in him over all those years.I’m here, I’m convenient, and obviously, for some messed-up reason, I’m willing.I came twice on the counter just now, even though I didn’t mean to.Even though it hurt.
I grit my teeth against the memory.Why do I keep letting him do this?Why do I keep letting him in, when I should be doing everything in my power to push him away?Why does it feel like he’s teaching me something about myself, recovering something vital, every time he touches me, every time he makes me come?
Why does it feel like, behind the glass walls of her cage, the little girl I keep locked inside me is fucking singing after years of nothing but silence and screaming?
These questions batter me while I finish up in the shower and then emerge.I left my towel behind on the counter, so I pad over to it, dripping all over the floor, and wrap it around myself once more.It’s cold and damp now, and there’s a reddish stain on it from where it was beneath me.
I’m going to need another pad from my bag.It’s just as I’m considering venturing downstairs in my towel to get it that it appears, carried by Curse, who strides through the door.
Just the sight of him again makes my heart twist beneath my ribs.He’s so beautiful.And so cold.Not a trace of what he just did to me remains in the flat shadow of his gaze.
Except…
Oh, God.
“There’s blood on your face!”
