Page 49 of Threads Of Madly Whispers

My thighs will surely bruise to his brutality, and I can’t wait to admire his work when morning comes. Is that wrong? To long for the darkness of his touch, to be marked by him in ways only shadows can comprehend.

In a mixture of sweat and euphoric glee, my legs tighten around his head as my release shatters through me like a flowing river, capturing me in a bubble I find myself floating away in. The elation that hums through my body could easily be addicting, like his skillful tongue, and dare I say I want more. To be bent over while he takes me from the back, to succumb to his devious, brutal touch. To see the stars only he can make me see.

When he pulls his head up, his face is a canvas of my wetness, and the glint of mischief swiveling in his eyes as his lips stretch to a devilish smile makes my heart flutter. I can feel just how reddened my cheeks are. He stands and with his fingers winding in my hair, he tugs me closer and kisses me wholly in such an unholy manner. My heart stumbles, as he slips his tongue past my lips. Cradling my face eagerly, possessively as if l am his. I taste my arousal on him and lord does it taste bittersweet and sinful. Our tongues tangle until we’re a heaving mess.

“You taste forbidden, like a gift that should not be mine,but one I won’t ever let go of. A wreck you make of me Odessa, and a madman that will stop at nothing to keep you for my heart.”

“I think I should be punished,” My voice comes out breathless and I bite my lip, a quiet attempt to hold back the surge of emotions that threaten to spill. His gaze locks onto mine, intense and knowing, as if he understands every silent plea. Slowly, his thumb grazes my lip, as he gently frees it from between my teeth. His touch sends a ripple through me, soft and electrifying all at once. His thumb lingers for a moment, tracing the curve of my lip before his eyes flicker down to my mouth, a silent invitation hanging in the air. “I closed my eyes when you told me not to.”

“And how should I punish you Wild Rose? On your knees, taking me in your mouth?”

I’m naked yet I’m burning.

“Wouldn’t it be such a sight?”

“Undoubtedly, but not quite yet. I’m still famished Odessa.”

I take his hand and guide it to my neck, where he grabs me roughly. “Then have me,” I whisper and my tongue drags over his lips.

And true to my words I let him have me, our evening melded to morning. And when we finally stepped out from those hidden walls, I was nothing but a vibrant, yet lifeless body carried in his arms.

Chapter 29

Thorn – unknown 11947

She is my wife, a title that clings to my soul like a heavy shroud. She is my wife, and the weight of it drips with the sweet, dark nectar of possession. A bitter kind of love that has entwined itself into the very marrow of my bones. She is my wife, bound to me, for better or worse, through a thread of fate as fragile as it is unbreakable.

Her name lingers on my lips like a whispered curse, a prayer, a promise carved in my bones. She is my wife, but beneath the surface of these simple words lies a tempest, a storm of desires that swirl in the shadows, consuming the light. She is my wife, and in her eyes I see both peace and chaos, mirrored reflections of the fire that burns within us both.

She is mine—her body, her spirit, her blood—woven into the tapestry of my existence, a tapestry stained with the ink of regret and passion, bound by the chains of our own making. She is my wife, but in the dark hours, when the moon hidesits face and the world sleeps, I know she is both my salvation and my undoing.

For in her embrace, I find the ecstasy of heaven, and in the absence of her touch, I taste the suffocating grip of hell. She is my wife, and yet I’ve lied to her. She is the void and the star, the fire and the ashes. She is my wife, but she is also a dark secret I hold close, a secret I will never let go of.

Chapter 30

Wild Rose

The Dark Choreography of Fate

After last night’s…illicit affairs, I was woken with the soreness that lusciously panged between my legs, and when memories of our profaned rendezvous played behind my lids, I ached to relive every sinful moment of our time. However, with the truth of the day awaiting us and the confessional wantonness Sebastian kept underneath the estate, I pulled myself together and joined him for breakfast.

“She has risen from the reins of sleep.” His hand moves with design, as the inked pen cursively made marks his journal.

“You make me sound like a God.” I take my seat across from him.

“Surely why not, when I did nothing short of worshipping you.” Humor holds his tone, “Eat. Our journey is a bit of a ride.”

I did not probe him, nor was I rattled by the intrusion hewas clearly weaving, but I did not quite share the same forbearance with others. We were traveling a town away in pursuit of Lady Ann and Miro was resting snugly in the back of the seven-seater with his headphones quieting the world around him. Naseria was not as taken to Sebastian joining us.

“I would rather you loathe me, because my heart will never rest knowing he is not worthy of you, not a dime nor a nickel. And if he were ever on fire, and I had a glass of water, I would gladly drink it.”

I understood her hostility as much as I abhorred it. Sebastian was not society’s picture-perfect man, his norms could probably make him a convict. And even in his sheep’s clothing, he was nothing less a wolf with blood-stained teeth and direful eyes. Yet as I rest my head across from him, I know Mama would have been accepting of him.

He is not a martyr, but a mercenary.

“Nova was in love and look at where that got her,” Naseria’s voice cracks with anguish.

But I’m not Nova. And as banal as it sounds, Sebastian is not Kimberly. It’s galling when you sing the same false words like a war cry, just to ease the truth that is trying to creep its way out. I may not be Nova, but our stories may just be another tragedy fallen in Sybactus. A history that will enshroud itself in this town. She worries gravely, so how can I fault her for loving me beyond words.

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