Page 96 of Nocturne

That intoxicating, ravishing and bewitching taste of the woman who had me doing the unthinkable. I wanted her to be mine. The words were out of my mouth before I even gave them a thought. In front of Axel fucking Morvain, no less.

What did being mine entail anyway? I would own her, but was I ready to direct my well-honed anger towards anyone who would dare come near her? The answer comes soon enough as I recall the bodies I had Eero throwing in a pigsty. I will spend a lifetime killing bastards who would dare sully the air around her.

My eyes leisurely roam around her half-naked form, taking every inch of her velvety smooth skin into my mind. I would have never pegged Ara to be one of those women who loves to sleep naked, and I suppose if she was alone without a kid, she would have done just that. Even in her sleep, I notice her pulling on her thin white panty and bra. She wants them gone, and I can’t help but think how much I would enjoy helping her tear those flimsy materials just so I could see her bare in front of me.

She is perfection and seduction personified with her full, pink, pouty lips that are slightly parted as she sleeps. Her perfect tits rise with every inhale, the fullness of them trying to come out of the thin bra and the nipples straining upright into the material from the cold. Her waist dips down with one sexy roll that I want to dive my fingers into, plunge her holes and fuck her into oblivion. Her thick, long legs are bare, allowing me to see the fullness of them. Her creamy thighs are parted, and I cannot think of anything else except for wanting them on either side of my head as I taste her. Or draped around my hips as I ram her with my cock, her full lips screaming my name as she shatters around me.

It indeed is a shame that Ara doesn’t feel the need to showcase her sexiness and covers herself in loose clothes. But in hindsight, thinking back to the day I followed her home after the shitty fucking date and night she had, it is a safe thing she did not usually prefer to wear tight clothing. I will have to spend the entirety gauging every man’s eyes who looks at her.

She isn’t one of the women who starves herself to achieve the world’s standards of perfection. Ara looks well-fed and healthy, and everything I spent my thirty-three years of life denying and believing did not exist. She is the wet dream, personal hell hand-crafted by the devil himself to break the control I never let loose. She is in my thoughts more than I would like to admit, and I knew she would stay in my mind until I did something about it.

But what?

Fuck her? I’m not foolish enough to think that one taste of her will ever be enough. One kiss, and I’ve already gone from the shadow following her to the man who breaks into her house, settles into her armchair, and watches her sleep.

The need to want more than a single lay from her is warning enough to stay away. I did not reach this position by stopping and giving into every addiction my body craved. Sure, I’ve fucked. But they were all a means for a release. To give my body what it wanted so that I could concentrate on what needed to be done. Just like eating because my body needed the nourishment and sleeping just enough so that I wouldn’t drop dead.

But this damn woman has me behaving like a lunatic ever since I met her. What is so fucking special about her that has me behaving in a way that I have never entertained?

I spy the sleeping pills on her bedside table and note that she needs drugs to sleep. Why?

Is it because of her eating disorder? Or does it have something to do with those fucking four months that are unaccounted for?

Cast in the moonlight shining through her bedroom window, she looks like the innocent angel that she portrays to the world. In a way, she is an angel, only tainted by the darkness of her anger she fights hard not to show. My gut says that she refuses to acknowledge the fire behind that fury, sensing it to be a bad thing like the rest of this world.

Contrary to useless public opinion, anger is the purest and most loyal emotion of all. It surfaces when it senses its owner being denied the respect they deserve, rearing its head, ready to strike down anyone who dares to cross the line. Anger worships us in its own dark, fierce, and unapologetic way. Master it, and there’s nothing you can’t conquer—just as I have.

Despite the eternal fury burning in my veins, fueling the bloodthirsty demons in my head, I keep my anger leashed with iron-clad control. Emotions are a weakness—a mark ofhumanity. And humans are fragile. In my world, weakness is an open invitation for enemies to strike at the softest point to seize control. And that isn’t something I will never allow.

When Ara turns once again and gives me the view of her round, smooth arse, I have to call in every speck of self-restraint I practised in all my training to stay put in my seat and not take a bite of that milky flesh.

Pathetic!

My reaction to this woman makes me wonder how the fuck I kept my dick in my pants throughout my puberty. The inane urge to paint those arse cheeks red and punish her with my welts for bringing this fuckery out of me fills me. I want her to beg to be filled by my cock; I want her cheeks and eyes to flow with her beautiful tears as she struggles to take me in. I want to mar every inch of her beautiful skin with my teeth and fuck her into oblivion until she feels me inside her all week.

I want her sore, wincing the next day with every step she takes and knowing who had been inside her. The need to touch her, to kiss those damn lips, to push my dick inside those lips and fuck her face are the only images at the forefront of my mind.

She releases a soft sigh from her lips. A crease forms between her brows as she turns in her bed, uncomfortable. Her thighs rub together, needing some friction. One of her hands goes to clutch her breast from above her bra, squeezing it tight.

“Please,”

The beg that slips from her lips is dangerously tempting, laced with a sleepy haze of lust that can unravel any man. I remain rooted to my spot, fists clenched around the armrests of the chair, as I fight my beast’s urge to intervene.

Who the fuck is it in her dreams? Who dared to invade her thoughts in such a way? If it is that damn doctor from her date, I’m going to go over to his house right fucking now and torch it without a second thought.

Her other hand slips beneath her knickers, tugging the fabric down to reveal the curve of her hip and a tempting mole on its left side. My teeth clench as I fight the urge to lean closer. She begins to move her fingers in slow, tantalising circles, a soft growl escaping her lips that reminds me of a little tiger cub. I allow a small smirk to tug at the corner of my mouth, but it quickly morphs into a groan as she pushes her panties down further, kicking them off the bed entirely.

The sheets cover her halfway as she plunges a finger into her cunt, a whimper of frustration spilling from her as she moves inside herself, desperately seeking release. The little siren does all of this while lost in her dreams, eyes flickering beneath closed lids, never once awakening to the world. I can’t help but wonder if she has indulged a bit too much in those pills, drifting too far into a haze that blurs the lines of reality.

“Please,” she begs again.

I rise to get the hell out of the room before she tests my patience more than she already is. I know I’m a bastard for invading her privacy by breaking into her house, but I refuse to sit here and watch her fuck herself while thinking of some other arsehole. It churns something dark and possessive within me, and the last thing I need is to see her pleasure tainted by thoughts of another right in front of me.

“Zagan, please,” she cries lightly.

My eyes snap to her form, the thick curves shifting on the bed as she tries to bring herself to orgasm. My control lies in tatters at her feet as I take a step toward her. Her other hand clutches the sheets, fingers curling around the fabric as she emits another mewling cry.

Me. She dreams of me while she seeks her pleasure. She imagines my fingers plunging into her tight, wet cunt, but she can’t quite find that release. I hover over her, watching as she arches her back slightly off the bed. The beast inside me breaks free from the shackles I thought would hold it, unleashed the moment Ara moans my name, her intoxicating scent mixed with her wetness and her begging for me. She begs so fucking beautifully.

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