“I want…” She trailed off, tongue-tied with desires she didn’t know yet how to voice.
I’d teach her.
All those dark things she desired had names, and I intended to teach her the entire fucking alphabet of fuckery.
“I know,” I soothed, only my voice was cold and hard as I undid my belt, button, and fly so I could pull my aching cock into the light. It was throbbing angrily, precum pooling in the head. I swiped the tip with my rough thumb, felt the keen bite of pleasure that brought, then held it up between us.
“You wanna taste me?” I asked her.
I would not go gentle that night. I was a warrior set out to conquer. Every man’s Madonna fantasy was lying spread out and secured to this bed, the angel I planned to turn into my sweet little whore.
Bea swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes, please.”
“So polite,” I noted, but instead of feeding her my thumb, I dipped to scrape my tongue roughly through her folds, bottom to top, her sweet juice collected in my mouth.
I fisted a hand in the bed and leaned over her, my mouth hovering at hers. She watched with wide eyes as I popped my thumb into my mouth, combined our flavors, and fucking hummed because the salty sweetness of us was too damn delicious.
“You wanna taste how good we are?” My voice was a rasp and a whisper, but she heard me.
She was already opening her mouth to accept my communion.
I bowed down to take what she offered, sliding my tongue over hers, painting her teeth and every inch of the inside of her mouth with the taste of us. When I broke away, her chest was heaving, her arms straining at their bonds.
“You like that?” I demanded, collaring her flushed throat in my hand as I straddled her hips again.
She was serene and beautiful, moonlight in my hands. The silver silk of her hair spooling in my cruel fists, so delicate I was sure I’d tear it with my big hands. The light spilling through the windows gilded her flesh, turned the pink of her aroused flush to glittering red, the small, pursed fullness of her mouth a rose limned in morning dew. She was so fragile, so pretty in all the ways a thing can be so that I ached just looking at her. The very sight of Bea made emotions burst in the fallow soil of my soul, giving beauty and fragrance to parts of me I’d long thought dead and gone.
“Touchin’ you feels wrong,” I admitted as I moved my hand from her neck between her breasts to the gentle slope of her trembling belly. Her skin felt like satin, the rough pads of my fingers catching on the spare downy hairs below the whorl of her belly button. “Feels like the purest form a sin to have these man-killin’ hands on such a fuckin’ angel.”
“I’m no angel, Priest,” she whispered into the close air between us, the words held suspended by our warm breath. “You have to remember that.”
I grunted my protest, too focused on the tapestry of faint lilac veins beneath the translucent, pale skin where her groin met her inner thigh. Her pussy was so pretty laid bare for me, and the knowledge that I’d been the one to shave her clean made my possessive blood fucking soar.
Her little hands dove into my hair over my ears and tugged so I looked up to meet her sombre gaze. She was a painting, just then, some antique portrait of a girl painted by a lusty, older artist trying to reclaim the sweetness of his youth through her nubile beauty.
Desire throttled me. So young, so innocent, so tainted now by my hands, my cock, my conquering teeth. She wore my marks on her otherwise unblemished skin, her lips swollen from my claiming kisses. Her snug little cunt would be full of my cock, then with my seed within the hour.
Mine, mine, mine.
“If I ever was an angel, I chose to fall,” she whispered. “Just as angels fell for Lucifer, Priest, I’d fall again and again for you.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” I grunted, the force of my need to own savaging my inside. There were still faint markings just above her mound where I’d carved my name into her flesh, and the need to carve it once more into her body burned through me.
The switchblade I kept in my pocket was in my hand before I could curb the impulse. The soft snick of the blade loud in the room. My Little Shadow didn’t flinch. Instead, she canted her hips up in offering, wanting the bite of the steel just as much as I wanted to give her the pain.
“Doesn’t matter if you’re angel or girl,” I repeated as I carefully flourished the knife over her thin skin, watching as it split open beautifully, little beads of blood decorating the pale flesh like jewelry. “You’re owned by me now.”