Page 93 of Hellebore

“Son,” my father says on the other end.

“What do you want?” I ask, the words sharp as I push the car faster along the winding road, the need to reach Briar clawing deeper under my skin with every passing second.

“Just wanted to check how you have been. Are you at the mansion?” His voice carries that practiced calm he always fakes so well, the sound of it grating against my nerves and flooding my veins with fresh irritation.

“No. I am taking care of some things. Why?” The engine growls louder as I take a sharp curve, trees flashing past the windows in a green haze.

“I want to see you. We should talk in person. I have not seen you since⁠—”

“Since I was placed in jail? Since I pled guilty at trial?” I growl, my fingers tightening on the steering wheel until the leather creaks under the pressure, knuckles whitening with the force.

“Son—I told you I did not know that guy committed suicide. If I had known—” Fake concern drips from every syllable, and it ignites the unhinged rage that always simmers just below the surface when he speaks.

“Right. Just do not fucking call me again and we will call it even.” I hang up without waiting for more, tossing the phone back into the console as the road stretches ahead. For years inside that cell I wished one of his many victims would track him down and end him. But no one ever did. The thought still burns.

The tall iron gates of Hellebore finally come into view as the sun begins its slow descent, painting the stone walls and surrounding woods in deepening oranges and reds. I drive through them, stopping only long enough to activate the lock behind me, the heavy mechanisms rumbling shut with solid finality. I pull around to the side entrance, kill the engine, and step out into the cooling evening air, my boots crunching on the gravel as the massive structure looms above me, its windows dark and watchful.

A message vibrates on my phone. “Glad to see you are still alive,” it reads, from Easton.

“Thanks.” I reply quickly, knowing they would have kept careful watch over her while I was gone. We share certain twisted instincts, after all.

I push open the heavy front door and step inside the mansion. Silence greets me, thick and complete, wrapping around the grand foyer with its high ceilings and polished floors that echo faintly under my steps. No movement, no sound except the distant settling of old wood. I pull out my phone again and check the camera feeds, scanning until I locate Briar in our bedroom. She lies motionless on the bed, her body curled under the covers.

My pulse quickens as I move through the halls, boots silent on the rugs. I place the duffel bag in the office first, dropping it beside the desk with a soft thud, then head straight for our bedroom, the familiar corridors guiding me through the growing shadows of dusk. “Briar,” I call her name as I enter the room, my voice low and rough, but she does not stir at all. My heart starts beating faster, a feral thud against my ribs. Please tell me she did not do anything stupid.

I cross the space in long strides, the floorboards creaking softly beneath my weight, and reach the bed. I pull her gently but firmly toward me so I can see her face. She remains limp in my hands, but her chest rises and falls in steady rhythm under the thin fabric of her clothes. Relief floods through me when I spot the paper on the nightstand. I pick it up, reading the words in her handwriting: “I took some sleeping pills. Do whatever you want but film it.” Signed, Briar.

I let out a long breath of relief, the tension that had knotted through my shoulders finally easing as darker hunger stirs deep in my gut, raw and insistent after the long hours away from her. This particular kink of hers will give me a fucking heart attack one of these days, yet it only feeds the unhinged obsession that has consumed me for six endless years.

I lean down over her small frame on the massive bed, my six-seven height casting a heavy shadow across her body in the dim glow of the bedside lamp. I press a kiss to her forehead, my lips lingering against the warmth of her skin as I inhale the faint, sweet scent of her that has haunted every shadowed moment of my existence. “Let’s get you ready, my love,” I murmur against her, my fingers tracing the delicate line of her jaw and down the curve of her neck, the obsession coiling tighter inside me until it feels like it might snap my bones.

The need for her surges through me, urgent and feral, the ache to feel her warm cunt wrapped tight around my cock again. I force myself to the bathroom first, the cool tiles under my feet and the rush of hot water doing nothing to calm the storm raging beneath my skin. I step out naked, water still dripping from my body onto the hardwood floor, and place my phone on the vanity directly in front of the bed, the camera angled to capture every detail. The mansion’s bedroom wraps around us in heavy silence, thick velvet curtains drawn against the night, the air close and intimate with the scent of aged wood and her presence.

I walk back toward the bed, every muscle tensing with each step across the room. I pause at the foot of the bed, my hands gripping the edge of the heavy blanket before I pull it slowly down her body. She lies completely naked beneath it, her hair arranged in a neat braid that rests over one shoulder, her skin carrying the soft floral scent that fills my lungs and drives the feral hunger deeper.

Shit.

My cock hardens instantly, thick and aching against my thigh as I take in the sight of her exposed form. I turn her gently onto her back, her small body shifting easily under my hands, and spread her legs wide open on the mattress. I fasten my gaze on her, drinking in every inch of what is so perfectly mine, the woman I have stalked and protected and starved for years.

I kneel on the mattress between her spread thighs, the bed dipping under my weight as I lean down over her. My finger traces slowly up and down the soft folds of her cunt, feeling the warmth and delicate texture of her. I bring my finger to my mouth and lick it, savoring the sweet, intimate taste of her that floods my senses and pulls a low, guttural sound from my chest. The obsession burns hotter, unhinged and reverent all at once, as my hands settle on her thighs, spreading her wider for me in the dim light.

“You truly have a thing for being used, do you not, my love?” My voice comes out rough, laced with the dark worship that consumes every fractured part of me. I lean in and lick her cunt with long, hungry strokes, sucking her clit into my mouth as her body trembles softly beneath me. Her lips part on a faint whimper that echoes through the heavy silence of the bedroom and straight into my blood.

I will hide every last pill that lets you slip away into blackness like this. You may take them, but only when I am right here beside you, guarding what belongs to me.

I press one thick finger into her entrance, thrusting slowly in and out, then add a second, stretching her open with care while her wetness coats my hand. She grows slicker with every movement, her breasts rising and falling faster in the lamplight, nipples tightening in the cool air of the room. The sight of her small frame yielding to me like this drives the feral need higher, my control fraying at the edges.

I sit back on my heels, the mattress shifting under my weight, and wrap my hand around my hard cock. I spit on it, rubbing the saliva over every piercing until the metal gleams. I position myself at her entrance and push forward, feeling her tight cunt give way inch by inch, stretching beautifully around my thickness as each piercing disappears inside her.

“Fuck, Briar—you are made for my cock,” I grunt, my head tilting back as I sink deeper into her heat, the last piercing sliding home. I pause there, looking down at where we connect, her hole stretched wide around my throbbing length, veins standing out along my shaft. My hands shake with raw, unhinged need as they grip her thighs, fingers digging into her soft flesh.

I lean down over her, my much larger body covering hers completely, and capture her nipple between my lips, sucking it deep into my mouth as I begin to thrust. The movements start slow, savoring every tight inch of her in the shadowed bedroom. “So fucking good—” I growl against her breast, the words vibrating into her skin. I pick up speed, thrusting harder and faster, her body taking every brutal inch perfectly as her moans grow louder in the quiet space.

“Drystan—” she moans, her voice soft and half-dreaming. I look up in time to see her eyes fluttering open mid-thrust.

“Welcome back, my love.” I crash my mouth over hers in a devouring kiss, claiming her lips while I keep moving inside her. She remains soft and heavy with sleep, but I need all of her—every breath, every whimper, every fragment of her soul. “Next time you wait for me to come home,” I whisper against her lips.

Sitting up and grabbing her hips with one powerful arm, I drag one of the tall pillows from the head of the bed and shove it beneath her ass, tilting her body to the perfect angle. I slam deeper now, owning every inch of her as the bed groans loudly beneath us.