I could so easily. I could stop clinging to a life where mania constantly tried to split me in a hundred exhausting ways and slip into one. She could be my cello. I could play her night and day.
The idea grew, billowing like mind-twisting smoke until I choked.
Her hands landed on my stomach, her fingernails pinpricks on my skin. “I’ve never…been on top before.”
A caveman rush came over me. Yet another first I’d taken. There were so many more I could steal. The thief in me sat up in lawless glee. Why did I want to stop at this? Why not teach her everything? Why not steal her every first and be inside her twenty-four seven?
The ceiling lights cast her shadow over me bound beneath her. With her pinning me down, the sensation of being owned scrambled my thoughts.
I didn’t like it. I fought my addictions hard, but how could I fight this new one? The new obsession that’d firmly planted itself into this woman who already had me shackled and prone for her use?
Wasn’t that what always happened? I gave in and became enslaved. I fought, yet I was already tied tight.
And then, she began to move.
The staggering hunger decimated my system as whatever mayhem inside me opened its flood-gates. A thousand things demanded I obey all at once. A million dirty, filthy things all swirling around this woman like a hurricane.
My wrists jerked in the ropes, my teeth ached, and my heartbeat relocated to my cock and fingertips.
I could only think about one thing.
I could only crave. One. Thing.
She rocked again, claiming me, making me goddamn insane.
“Elder, talk to me. Please.”
Her beg unravelled the rest of my sanity, and unspeakable things became the only things I wanted.
Once upon a time, I was addicted to the cries of men in pain as I hurt them for the Chinmoku. I’d shattered knees for pleasure. I’d fought, not for glory, but because I had no choice. I was trapped in my mind and the calling of my blood.
That calling had murdered those I loved.
That calling had caused me to live a life alone and unwanted.
And now it was back with claws and teeth, demanding I rivet myself to a new enslavement.
Her.
Whispers worked their way through me.
I felt it.
I heard it.
I became crippled with it.
I no longer wanted her to end this. I wanted her to keep going to finalize my fall.
I couldn’t talk without snarling. I couldn’t behave without breaking.
This wasn’t working.
I was losing.
I was restless and callous and fixated on the need to drive into her at my pace, not hers.
I was no longer the man I’d diligently groomed myself to be.
I was no longer in control.
No matter how much I’d promised myself, I was back to being the animal I’d tried to slay and never could.
Beneath the thickening welcome of obsession shined the tiniest sabre of light. If I could cling tight enough, I might be able to stop this.
Before it was too late.
“Pim…”
Her eyes turned to shimmering moons at the struggle in my tone. At the conflict tearing my skin from soul.
I couldn’t say anything else.
She studied my face. Her hips rocked of their own accord, believing I wanted her to fuck me when I wanted her to rip herself away and run.
Run!
She moved faster, deeper, plummeting me quicker and quicker into hell.
“Are you okay?” Her pussy clenched around me, keeping me with her while I tumbled and tangled. Her concern was treacherous, her willingness to be my addiction beyond precarious.
No, I wasn’t okay.
I was fucking terrified.
This was what I feared.
My history. My weakness.
A curse had been placed on me from birth, and staring into her sweet, expressive eyes, I knew I couldn’t let it take me again. I paid homage to it when I played the cello. I shook its hand when I practiced martial arts. I would be forever joined with this hard taskmaster, but I never wanted to be its bitch again.
“Pim, get off me.”
The servitude of it ate away at me faster and faster.
“What?” Her body shifted, revealing the tiniest bit of agitation.
My eyes locked on the shadows of her stomach muscles and the globes of her breasts. Language wasn’t going to be my saving grace tonight. Actions were.
Actions I’d tried to fight and lost.
Actions that would solidify everything I’d tried to run from.
I gave up.
My hips shot upward, filling her full, making us both grunt in harmony. And then I flipped her sideways with a move long since mastered from fighting. The moment she was on her side, I rolled again and pinned her beneath me.
The ropes on my wrists tightened. My circulation compromised. But I didn’t care. I no longer cared about anything but her.
Her!
With my arms crossed and bound, all I needed was to rut into this woman, feed the orgasm desperate for release, and end this. I no longer needed substance or light or air. I was no longer human with multiple concerns and responsibilities.
I was hers.
She was mine.
The simplicity of it took my breath away.
My lips slammed down on hers in apology. She’d traded Alrik for me, and I could no longer tell which one of us would be worst. My body locked tight with her legs spread and my cock deep inside her.
I should ask how she was. If she was still with me and not back in her past. But she’d pushed me too far, and I no longer had the capacity to care.
All I cared about was what the disease told me to care about.
And right now, that was ridding the heavy pulsation at the base of my spine. Coming until I couldn’t come anymore. I was itchy for the conclusion and empty at the thought of it. I needed to finish but was ravenous to start again and again.
There would be no rest now.
Once I came, I’d start the cycle all over again with no reprieve. That was how it was for me. I was never satisfied. Never sated. Always chasing something to make the crawling in my blood go away.
I could never say I’d mastered something because I never reached perfection.
Pim would be my instrument of finding that perfection.
We would never be apart. I would forever be inside her because that was the only place that made sense anymore.
“I’m sorry.” The words were acid on my tongue. I buried my face into her neck and drove harder.
She jerked beneath me, her fingers scratching my back. “Elder—”
I didn’t know if it was a beg for me to stop or a moan to keep going. Either way, it didn’t make a difference.
I bit her throat as if I hated her when the opposite was true. I held her with my teeth, fighting the need to consume her while holding her with a warning to let me do this. That there was no other way now. I was hard. I was inside her. It was over.
My mind became hypnotised on the countless ways I could take her. Instead of being excited at the thought of sleeping with this wonderful woman for the rest of my days, I wanted to scream at the moon and beg for mercy. To give me a bullet. Euthanize me. End me.
It was the best thing.
For both of us.
I couldn’t live with this sickness again. I couldn’t be so one tracked with no way free.
It was debilitating. Taxing and tiring and wrong.
Wrong? What the fuck are you talking about? It’s amazing.
I plunged inside her again and again.