Chapter Seven 86

Chapter Seven

Arryn

She’s a ghost. Her pale skin shines, the nacreous glow of her inner fire casting color across the white satin clinging to her succulent flesh.

How I long to add deep purple and red to her.

She thinks she moves silently, slipping like a wraith as she weaves through the elite, siphoning the glittering gold life blood of her victims. She believes her walls are impenetrable, that’s she battened down like an iron hatch, that her will and desires are buried so deeply they can never be mined.

But I see her.

She longs for choice. Every pulpy, bleeding breath she draws over the razors of her mother’s control is stoically inhaled, the pain of her existence suffered without examination, as her eyes remain locked on her end goal.

That focus is what drew me to her. The old cliché of like recognizing like. Failure is not an option. Exhaustion does not exist. She’ll suffer unending torment and abuse, because there is only one path for her to walk. The road that leads to her freedom from Vivienne.

She slips through my open door, gliding through the dark room, her hand up to accept the glass of white wine I hand her. Her eyebrows lift in surprise as she takes a healthy swallow of the surprisingly sweet Moscato.

“It tastes like—”

“You,” I finish her sentence. “When your cunt weeps for me, I taste the heat of the sun rising from rich soil, fruit at the peak of ripeness, and the vitality of nature untouched by human hands. I taste the woman that waits inside of you.”

She laughs. The sound is low, husky, thrumming with an ache that I alone cannot soothe.

“What’s so funny?” I ask, not angry in the least. I don’t know that I’ve ever heard her laugh. I reach over the island, picking up the sweating wine bottle, tipping it over the rim of her glass as she extends her slim arm. Pouring a healthy measure into her glass, I savor the lightness her chuckle brings. Is this levity? This bubble of existence that is so easy to breathe in when she’s near? I’ve always classified any sort of happiness as a distraction, but being in the radius of Vivienne’s ‘daughter’ only sharpens the bite of what I’ve never had.

Is this how Stark felt when Vivienne was near? Could he truly have felt something like this, with the same depth and breadth that I feel for this unblemished goddess with an ancient soul, for that venomous snake that raised her ?

“Can I shower?” she asks, abruptly draining her glass and setting it on the marble counter with the tiniest of clinks.

“Of course. Would you like company?” My cock fills and my mouth waters at the thought of rivulets of water sluicing her. Images of my hand wrapped around her neck, my elbow locked and her back bowed as I bend her backward over my bed and pound her tight, slick cunt raw. My tongue darts out, wetting my lower lip before I can stop myself, as I think of the whites of her eyes, bursting with tiny pinpricks of blood. I hear the scrape of her nails digging the script that will break her free of Vivienne’s control into my flesh, as if my body is her grimoire, and my cum, harvested in the field of swollen sex, the last ingredient she needs before she’s free.

“No,” she answers decisively. She refuses me, but her eyes drop, lingering over every inch of skin exposed by my unbuttoned shirt. She’d come to my door so quickly I hadn’t had time to finish changing. Her hand lifts, her slender fingers rubbing the neckline of her dress. She isn’t consciously trying to be seductive, but the gesture causes another surge of blood that presses the length of my cock into the pants so hard that the bite of pain makes my hips flex. Quickly, I shift my weight, embarrassed that she wrought such a reaction. “I do not want you to shower with me. I wish to scrub the filth of that cesspool and its patrons off my skin.” She lets go of her dress and reaches for my arm, curling her fingers around the muscle I had just fantasized about her shredding to ribbons. “I want to be cleansed. And then I want you to debase me. I want you to choke me with that monster cock you’ve hidden behind your expertly tailored pants. I want you to pull out after I swallow the first spurt, then paint my face and breasts until my skin burns like I’ve been branded. And then I want you to fuck my ass, so that when my brother gets here, you can take him the same way. When you’re fucking him, while he fucks me, I want you both staring at me so I can see him worship me while you try to decide which one of us is Heaven and which one is Hell.”

Fucking hell. Should I tell her I already live in Hell and the only ticket to Heaven I can imagine is the last wheeze of evil that will ever pass Vivienne’s lips? She stares at me as if she can see my neurons firing, as if my indecision is blatantly obvious, even though I haven’t even twitched. Her eyes bore into mine as her hand slips down my arm and her fingers twine between mine. “Whatever you’re debating…” She taps the side of my head with her other hand. “You’re wrong. You don’t owe me any explanations. And there is nothing you’ve done that I would think less of you for.”

“You play with fire,” I breathe. I should contradict her. She doesn’t know anything about me. Like glaciers immune to time or temperature, her irises gleam in the low light of the kitchen, sucking in the light until, like her judgment, it disappears into the black depths of her pupils. She has no idea what my purpose is, but she, too, has made a deal with the devil.

“There’s a selection of things in the third drawer of the armoire you can wear.” I grip the edge of the counter as she turns. An intense urge grips me, to forgo the sex and just take her in my arms. I want her to baptize herself in my shower. An image of her slathering my soap over her skin arrests my brain. My nostrils flare as she slips one hand down her abdomen and hooks two fingers into her slick pussy. She works herself as my soaps slides down her body. And when she’s done, she sucks herself off her fingers. She doesn’t open her mouth again until she slips under my sheets and lines her naked body up to mine and immerses every sense I possess in the heady scent and taste of her heat.

She cocks an eyebrow as I swallow hard. And then she disappears into my bedroom.

***

“Come here.” While she showered, I stripped. As soon as the water shut off, and the heady rush of her hot, wet, skin, coated in my cedar and citrus soap, rolls out of the doorway, I command her to come to me .

She walks out of the bathroom, dripping. Dropping in front of me, she clasps her hands behind her back, lowering her eyes. My cock bobs and slaps against my abdomen, leaking.

She sniffs delicately and licks her lips. Jesus fucking Christ. If she looks up, I’ll blow my load all over her face without ever having touched her.

A part of me wants to. She’s perfection. A Madonna sculpted of flesh and bone, her platinum hair cascading in a sheet down her back, the angle of her jaw, the curve of her neck, the delicate shell pink of her areolas and nipples rosy with her desire.

“Put your hands on my thighs,” I grunt.

She grips my legs, her hands clenching as if she cannot wait to flex her thighs and rise up.

“Do you want to taste my cock?”

“I do,” she purrs. She doesn’t beg. She just waits. The strange mixture of innocence and skill, the paradox of her vulnerability and imperviousness draw another bead of precum to the head of my cock. She knows how to ask for what she wants, yet she still wants to give. If Stark could have come down from the heavens and handed me a woman perfectly crafted for me, it would be this slip of femininity and steel kneeling before me. Her curves have angles, her softness is sharp, her bite tender. Even though she’s been forced to do work not of her choosing, she executes her duties flawlessly. She’s under a microscope, yet she’s found a way to carve out a hidden pocket of time and space for herself.

She’s a marvel. I’m possessed with the urge to drive my cock down her throat and change her chemistry with my cum.

“Do it.” As soon as I grant her permission, she rises, sinuous like a sapling. Without moving her hands, she stretches her body up. One long, slow lick up the underside of my shaft tightens my balls to the point of pain.

“Mm,” she moans. She opens her mouth, drawing my cock in and down as she sinks back, her ass dropping back to her heels as I rock my hips and drive my aching, throbbing dick down her throat. Her breast, small and firm, barely bounce. She moves like a cat, her skin rippling over her rib cage as the scent of my shampoo floats up to my nose. Her eyes lift to mine, challenging and greedy as she swallows me.

Slowly, I begin to thrust, rocking forward in tortuously measured strokes. Each drive forward, I hold, pressing against her until the skin around her eyes tightens. Then I pull back, allowing her a gasping breath after she chokes around my throbbing cock .

Her fingers clench, digging into my thighs as she tries to swallow, the muscles of her throat squeezing my head. She is unlike any woman I’ve ever had. She takes her pleasure deliberately, unhurried, reveling in the power she holds over me.

She moans again and my ass flexes, my body picking up the pace instinctively. My control begins to splinter. I want her. Tonight, tomorrow, next week. I want her in my homes, on my plane, at my side.

Her eyes bore into mine, tears running down her clean face. My eyes skate down her form kneeling before me, and I note the slight tremor in her thighs. A fine sheen of sweat coats my skin, my body shaking from the effort of not jerking myself out of her mouth so I can fully take her. Thrusting harder, I hiss as the nail on her left middle finger punctures my skin. A bead of warm blood rolls down my thigh. Her gaze darts to my leg and she swallows hard.

That’s all it takes. I realize, as my orgasm builds, my brows draw together, my lips peel back over my gritted teeth, the lengths I’ll go to give her anything her heart, mind, or body wishes. Waves of pleasure like I’ve never felt before roll out from my groin as the first burst of my seed spurts against her throat .

Her hands are a vise as a second nail punctures my thigh. I jerk back, grabbing my dick. Her head is thrown back, her white lashes brushing her flushed cheeks, still wet with tears, her eyelids fluttering atop a rapturous expression. Jerking my hand over my slick cock, a second rope of cum sails out and splatters a path across her chin, her lips, her nose, over her eye and forehead into the camouflage of her platinum mane.

“Mm,” she moans, low and throaty, her tongue darting out and licking my ejaculate off her lip. She rolls the bottom one under teeth, biting down to scrape every last drop into her mouth. I groan, unable to contain the primal energy that sizzles through my body as she laps me up.

Over and over, I come, my fist milking my cock, emptying my testicles onto her face until she looks like a filthy whore. My whore.

I exhale. But the urge to possess remains lodged in my lungs. My whore. My dirty little girl, who longs for me to debase her with sweat and cum while she makes me bleed.

She opens her eyes. I offer a hand. She lifts hers, placing it atop my palm like a lady. I pull her up, my pupils blowing wide as she drags her other index finger down her face. She swirls it around her breast, coating her nipple and areola. I kiss the back of her hand, bowing as I do so. Letting go, I grasp her face, squeezing harder with my hands. Her body relaxes, her face tilting a bit in my grip as she leans into me. Slanting my face over hers, I kiss her gently on the mouth, pressing my lips flush with her. When her lips part, my tongue darts in, curious to experience the taste of myself on her tongue.

My hands slide down her neck, over her shoulders, and stop on her upper arms. I bend down and suck myself off her breast, washing my tongue back and forth over her nipple.

A slow clap fills the air and I jerk back, my teeth scraping along her breast, biting her nipple harder than I meant to. My cock bobs as she hisses. A tall blond, his hair golden like a sunflower in sunset, leans against my bedroom door. “I let myself in since the door was open,” he announces cheerfully. He wanders over, clucking. “Cleeee-ohhhh,” he whistles through his teeth. “Oh, baby girl.” He drags a finger across her cheeks and pops it in his mouth, his pupils blown wide as he sucks me off his digit. “You’ve got it bad, sister. And you haven’t been sharing.”

“Webber,” I snarl. He touched her. He fucking touched her.

She senses the angry, possessive energy emanating out of my pores and lays a cool hand on my chest. “You’ve only given me half of what I asked for,” she reminds me .

Webber tuts. “That’s not very nice. Cleo asks for so little. But she deserves everything her heart desires.” The roaring inside of me subsides a little when his face softens. He truly loves her. He turns to his sister. “What did you ask him for?”

“I asked him to fuck my ass, then take yours while you pound me to a pulp. I want to see you both until I come so hard I’m temporarily blinded.”

“You think he’s got it in him? The cum on your face is still warm.” She lifts an eyebrow, pointedly staring at my crotch.

Webber follows her gaze and whistles. “I’m in,” he grunts, shrugging out of his jacket. He’s just about to rip his shirt over his head when he pauses, arms up, his rippling abs exposed. “Are you in?”

I consider. He’s finely sculpted. His skin is golden, the rich gleam crafted the same way the sweet grapes Cleo and I drank were. He’s tall, well built, his body so symmetrical that him residing on a Greek island is a pun of mythical proportion.

“We understand if you aren’t,” they say in unison, smiling secretly at one another.

Now that was downright fucking creepy .

I’ve never been drawn to a man. But the way she melts for him…I want that. The utter adoration, the worship in his gaze when he beholds her…I want that too. Standing outside of their universe, in the dark looking in while the gravitational force of their bond pulls even the light from the stars leaves me no choice but to face the inevitability of my choices.

Stark has been dead a long time. I’ve spent the entirety of my adult life without him. Planning our revenge, so consumed with hatred that there was no room left for anything or anyone else. Vivienne went on living her life as if Stark never existed.

Cleo turns from me. She presses palms, still warm from the heat of my body against Webber’s chest, smoothing them over his skin as she pushes her shirt up. Hesitating to make a decision will soon become one. I’ll find myself in Webber’s shoes, playing the voyeur, shivering while their lovemaking draws the heat from my soul.

I cannot have Cleo without Webber. I watch her unbuckle his pants, slipping her fingers down the front of his boxer briefs, over the impressive ridge bulging out the front. What would it be like to command him to push her down on the bed., to grasp his narrow hips and enter his body while he feasts on her sweet wine? Would she taste differently on his tongue?

Webber steps out his pants, then bends again and removes his underwear. His cock springs free, hard and proud, his shaft thickening in the middle, narrowing slightly before the wide flare of his head. Sweet Mother Mary. Just like the rest of him, his cock is a perfect anatomical specimen, so pretty I bet Cleo hears a choir of angels when it slides inside of her.