Page 118 of Hellebore

“Are you sure?” I rasp, but she offers no words. Instead, her hands grasp the hem of the shirt and pull it over her head in one fluid motion. She lies back, black hair fanning across the deep purple silk sheets like spilled ink. Moonlight filters through a gap in the heavy curtains, kissing her pale skin and illuminating the bruises that mark her everywhere. Shadows upon shadows, reminders of the monster I had failed to kill sooner.

I lean down, pressing my lips to the bruise on her cheek first, then trailing lower to the cut along her neck. “I will kiss every mark,” I murmur, my voice a low, reverent growl. “I only wish I could erase them from your skin.”

Her fingers thread into my hair, tugging. “You are removing them from my soul.”

The words send a chill racing down my spine.

I keep kissing every mark I can reach, slow presses of my lips against the bruises on her collarbone, the ones along her ribs, the darker ones on her hips. My hands follow, gentle where I know she’s sore, reverent everywhere else. She’s here. She’s real. And after two weeks of hell, I need to remind myself of that with every touch.

“Briar,” I murmur against her skin, my voice low and rough. “Let me take care of you.”

I move lower, settling between her thighs, spreading them carefully. She trembles slightly, and I pause, looking up at her. “Eyes on me, my love. Keep your eyes on me the whole time. I need to see you. I need to know if anything hurts.”

She nods, her blue eyes locking onto mine. I hold her gaze as I lean in and kiss the inside of her thigh, soft and lingering, then higher, tasting the warmth of her skin. Two weeks. Two fucking weeks she was taken from me, and now I’m finally tasting her again. A low groan rumbles in my chest the moment my tongue meets her wet cunt.

“God, you taste so good,” I breath against her as I press open-mouthed kisses along her pussy before dragging my tongue slowly up to her clit, circling it with patient strokes. “My soul, my light.”

Briar’s breath hitches. Her thighs tremble around my shoulders. I stay locked on her face the entire time, watching every flicker of pleasure, every tiny reaction. My hands stay firm on her hips, holding her gently in place while my thumbs stroke soothing patterns over her skin.

I take my time, savoring her, slow, flat licks followed by gentle suction, then soft flicks that make her hips twitch. When her body starts to twist beneath me, arching and shifting restlessly, a quiet moan slips from her lips. Her eyes flutter, starting to close.

“Open, my love,” I pull back just enough to speak, my breath warm against her wet skin. “Keep them on me. I need to see you.”

She forces them open again, heavy-lidded and glassy. “Drystan…” She breathes my name laced with pleasure, soft and needy. It hits me straight in the chest.

“That’s it,” I praise, voice rough. “Just like that. Let me hear you.”

I dive back in, licking and sucking with a little more focus now, but still slow, still controlled. Her moans grow louder, breathier. Her body twists again, hips rolling against my mouth as her fingers tighten hard in my hair. I groan into her, the taste of her making me lightheaded with need and relief. I’ve missed this, missed her, more than I can put into words.

“You’re so beautiful when you let go,” I admit between slow strokes of my tongue. “So perfect. I could stay right here for hours… tasting you, listening to you moan my name.”

Her back arches, another broken whisper of “Drystan—” falling from her lips as her thighs start to shake. I don’t speed up. I keep the same steady rhythm, reading her face, adjusting every time her breath catches or her eyes threaten to close again.

“You are being such a good girl,” I whisper.

She let’s go, her orgasm hits her hard with a long, trembling moan. Her body twists and tightens beneath me, hips jerking against my mouth as pleasure rolls through her. I stay with her through every wave, licking her gently, drawing it out, refusing to pull away until she’s boneless and panting.

Only then do I kiss my way back up her body, pressing my lips to every bruise, every mark, every inch of skin I can reach, until I’m hovering over her, forehead resting against hers.

I brace myself on my forearms, our faces close. My cock is aching, the piercings heavy and cool against her warmth. The worry twists in my chest.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I confess, brushing my nose against hers. “If it’s too much, you tell me. Promise me.”

“I promise,” she breathes.

I reach down and guide myself to her entrance, rubbing the head of my cock slowly against her, coating myself in her wetness. Then I start to push in, one piercing at a time, agonizingly slow.

“My love…” I say softly when her breath catches.

The first barbell slips inside and her lips part slightly. I freeze, heart hammering. “Too much?”

She shakes her head. “Keep going.”

I push forward another inch, watching her face the whole time. My jaw is clenched tight, every muscle in my body fighting the urge to sink deep. I want to bury myself in her, to lose myself completely, but I won’t. Not if it costs her even a second of pain.

“That’s it my love,” I murmur, voice strained. “Relax, I’m here.”

Another slow push. Another piercing. I lean down and kiss her softly, swallowing her little gasp. My hand strokes her hair, her cheek, anything to keep her grounded in me.