Page 54 of Threads Of Madly Whispers

“Are you afraid?”

“Would you want me to be?”

I hear it in the dark timbre of his voice, a sadistic note carefully veiled beneath his words, a murmur of something dangerous. It stirs within me a strange, unsettling thrill. But what fascinates me more than his hidden cruelty is the way I crave the fear, how it swells within me, drawing me in. There is something intoxicating about the danger he promises, the wild unpredictability of Sebastian. He is a madman, and tonight, I will lose what remains untouched, surrendering my innocence to the madness he embodies. The act itself seems inevitable, as if fate has woven this moment into my very being.

“I want you weathering beneath me, begging for me. I want you to take me so deep you feel me in your soul for years.” He rubs himself up and down, smearing his cock with my arousal. “Your pain nestles in my bones like it’s my own, your tears make my unfeeling heart wilt. You’re a rose Odessa, one with jewel thorns that seep the blood of your enemies, but I will be damned if I do not burn anyone that dares to make this precious rose wither. So do not dare question my remorse for you”

He rests one hand on the bed while the other snakes around my throat. “You shall quiver and scream my name like a fervent prayer that the dead will hear, won’t you?”

“How can you look at me with those eyes?” My heart aches, each word a quiet tremor in my chest.

“How can I not, when you’re everything I’ve ever longed for—and so much more?” His gaze holds a warmth that floods my soul, melting the distance between us.

“But I am broken.”

“ Tonight, let me show just how beautiful those pieces you loathe mean to me. I am a starved man, Odessa. Forgive me, for I won’t be gentle. ”

“Then do not be—” he thrusts himself inside me, tearingmyinnocenceand taking it for himself. His mouth captures the scream that roars from my throat, twisting our tongues in a dance.

My nails dig into his flesh, scratching his back and marking his ass. It’s a pain filled pleasure and like wild animals, we ravish each other’s flesh, licking the blood that pours after and soothing the pain that follows.

He lifts me by the ass, gripping me with savagery as I tug at his hair. The euphoria that swirls in me is unworldly. I feel it tingle from my toes to my head, weaving through me with an electric wool. My back arches as he bounces me up his length and down.

“More, I want more of you,Thorn,” I moan.

The bed creaks, the thunder cries, the rain pours and Sebastian fucks me like a beast. He devours me whole. He slaps my ass once, twice, thrice and my eyes roll to the back of my head.

“You’re mine to break, and I’m yours to own,” he whispers in my ear.

Only he can make me feel heaven on earth, and on bended knees his mouth sucks my nipples, ravaging my boobs until they’re bruised and swollen. His arms hold me so delicately, my body pressed against his that I can feel his heart beating with mine, our passion exploding so mightily between us. He strokes my insides with need as his lips taste the scent of every part of my flesh.

“Choke me until you’re all I’m filled with, fuck me until your sins are my sins,” I beg, tears running down my face.

“Your mouth will end me Wild Rose. You’re killing me my love.” Veins stretch up his arms and neck, and oh my does my cunt squeeze him with each thrust. We’re a heaving, sweaty mess, yet I’ve never felt more sinfully pure than I do in his arms. Protected and his. His hand settleson my neck once more, squeezing me until I can not breathe.

“Feed me your tongue.” I demand and he lets go, pulling me closer by the hair to suffocate me with his lips. The rain pours harsher, and so does my release, washing over my body like an electric pulse, and fuck, those stars cloud my eyes like a galaxy. He grunts so beastly as his own release fills me up.

“Such a pretty mouth, to say such dirty desires.” He smiles, not a smirk but a boyish smile that shows his left dimple and makes my heart flutter with butterflies.

“Only for you,” my hand brushes away a strand of hair that sticks to his forehead. “You’re so beautiful.”

He gently lifts me up and when his eyes make sight of the blood staining us, a lustful possessiveness flickers in his orbs. His finger runs over my folds, spreading our arousal and my blood, and then his tongue darts out to lick every bit of us.

“It tastes of our devastating passion,” he whispers into my ear, “and I want more.”

Deeply, deviously, darkly and demented until my limbs fall limp. Oh Sebastian, it’s me you make a wreck of.

Chapter 32

Wild Rose

When the Music Dies

I pull the blanket tighter around my body, even though the warmth within these walls envelops me. The flickering candles cast shadows, dancing across the crackling fireplace, empty teacups, and the space between us—still as ever, yet thick with stolen glances. The storm that swept in so suddenly has stolen the evening, turning dusk into night in the blink of an eye. After yet another forbidden rendezvous, we soaked in the bath, wine in hand, our pasts spilling out like the water around us, mingling and merging in the dim light. For the first time, I truly saw the man behind the mask. His rawness, his vulnerability, his brokenness—a hurt I could feel in every inch of me.

I saw his agony when he spoke of his parents’ death, a pain that cut deeper than I could ever have imagined. It threaded its way through my own veins, burning in my bones like the same poison he uses to torment those who fall beneath his hands. And then I understood the cruelty thatdripped from him, for in his eyes, I saw the reflection of the world that had shaped him—taught him to become a creature of darkness, forged from the fires of a harsh and unforgiving world. Monsters are not born, they are made. And he has been made by the hands of those who never cared to see him as anything but a tool for their own twisted desires.

But even in the midst of it, there was something undeniably captivating about him. I smelled the blood that clung to his skin, the weight of the lives he had taken—those he had condemned to the same fate he so willingly embraced. The bodies he had torn apart, broken and poisoned, left behind as if they were nothing. He is no saint, and he never will be. This world, so stark in its cruelty, will remain a canvas of shadows, painted in shades of grey. And yet, I have fallen for him. Madly. Wholeheartedly. I have fallen for a man as sinister as the night itself, his hands as dark as the claws of some ancient beast, pulling me deeper into the abyss where he calls me his own. But in my eyes, he is an angel with tattered wings, struggling to fly, to find redemption in a world that has already condemned him.

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