Page 33 of Soul to Possess

There was salve in the bathroom. I'd use it later. Maybe. Or maybe I wouldn’t. Maybe she needed to feel it tomorrow—needed the ache to remind her she belonged to someone now. Tome.

I climbed over her carefully, the mattress dipping with my weight as I pulled the blanket up over her bare, marked body. She looked so small like this. Fragile. I didn’t like that. Not because it made me pity her—but because it made me want tokeepher. Like some wild thing I’d finally caught and caged. I wrapped my arms around her and let my chest press into her back, needing her closer than was rational. She didn’t stir. She trusted me enough to sleep in my arms. Or maybe she was just too exhausted to fight anymore. Either way, I won.

And it should have thrilled me more than it did.

I buried my nose in her hair and inhaled—vanilla and sweat and something feminine and quiet that had started to drown the noise in my head. It disturbed me. Not because I didn’t like it. But because I did. Because the craving for violence that usually pulsed through me like clockwork was suddenlytangled up in the need to soothe. I should be in the basement. Creating. Hunting. Carving meaning into bone. But instead, I was here. Wrapped around her like a shield I didn’t even know I had. This wasn’t aftercare. This was obsession.

And I had no fucking clue how far I’d go to keep her. Sometimes the urge to create clawed at the inside of my skull like a beast locked in a cage. It wasn’t just a compulsion. It wasneed. The kind that vibrated in my bones, whispered behind my teeth, haunted my hands until they were slick with something warm and red. That act of transformation—of turning destruction into beauty—had always been the only thing that made me feelreal.

Until now. She shifted in her sleep, a soft, trusting sigh leaving her lips as her body instinctively curled into mine. My little Bluebell. So soft, so small, she fit against me like she’d been made for this—made to be held by a monster. Her breath fanned over my chest, each exhale a quiet permission. As if she didn’t know what kind of man she was surrendering to. Or worse… maybe shedid.

I watched the rise and fall of her ribs, measured it like I would the lines of a sculpture, the weight of bone beneath skin. She was still breathing. Still warm. Still mine.

And oh, the exquisite chaos I would make of her. I’d break her carefully, precisely—like you’d crack glass to make a mosaic. I’d pull her apart until she was trembling and obedient, desperate for the very hand that undid her. She’d beg for mercy while secretly craving the next wave of pain. I’d teach her to need it. Needme. The artist. The destroyer. Her god.

While I spilled blood elsewhere, she would wait. Kept. Owned. She’d ache for my return while I carved beauty from rot and decay. I’d bring her tokens. Trophies. Proof of what I was capable of. She wouldn’t understand it—not fully—but she’dfeelit. Feel what it meant to be chosen. To be the one Ididn’tkill. The one I kept sacred.

She wasn’t a means to an end. She was the shrine itself. And itterrifiedme. No one had ever impacted me beyond the need to use them—fuck them, kill them, display them. But Gennie…Genniemade me hesitate. She made me wonder what it might be like to come home to something warm instead of cold concrete and silence. She made me consider not using the tools in the basement tonight. That kind of weakness could undo everything I’d built.

I should’ve just drugged her. Taken what I wanted, left her pliant, blank. But the moment I saw how her eyes darkened under my voice—how her thighs pressed together when I called herlittle Bluebell—I knew I wouldn’t need force. She wanted this.

And I’d spend the rest of her life teaching her how deep that want could go. I hadn’t expected her towantme. Not really. Not like that—arching against me, soaking my cock, unraveling like her body was built for mine. I didn’t know what fucked me harder: the way her lips trembled when she saidno, or the way her cunt tightened like it was begging me to ignore it. She was a contradiction wrapped in silk and sin, and I couldn’t get enough.

Her screams rang in my ears like music—raw, unscripted, broken. A symphony of surrender. It didn’t matter how many times she told me to stop. Her body spoke the truth. Itcravedthe violation. Itsavoredthe force. And I reveled in it, dragging every last ounce of pleasure from her until she was limp in my hands, trembling like a caught thing.

What kind of girl comes like that? What kind of girl looks her monster in the eyes andmelts? Maybe I was luckier than I thought. Maybe she wasn’t just a stray that wandered into the wolf’s den—maybe she was meant for it.Meant for me.A submissive soul wrapped in innocence, aching for someone to claim her. And I would. Ihad. Even if she didn’t know it yet.

She didn’t say the safe word. Not when her voice cracked. Not when I shoved my cock in to the hilt. Not even when she clawed at the sheets, her body wracked with the kind of orgasm that bordered on pain. She gasped, she whimpered, she cried—but not once did she sayMarvin.

She could’ve stopped me. She didn’t. And that—fuck—that made me harder than anything I’ve ever known. She might not be a slave. Not yet. But she had the bones for it. The instinct. That deep, twitching need to be owned. To be ruled. And I’d be the one to mold her—bend her mind, reshape her will, carve my name into her obedience until she was the perfect, shivering version of submission I’d always fantasized about but never thought I’d earn.

Not someone like me. Not a killer. A liar. A collector. But now? Now I couldhavethat fantasy. I could have her. Waiting for me. Wet for me. Worshipping me like the sick god I’d become. She didn’t know what I was—not really—but she had to suspect. And still, she let me in. Let me touch her. Ruin her. Fill her. Maybe she saw the beast and wanted it anyway.

I pulled her closer, my arms locking tight around her soft frame. Mine. She was mine. She’d learn that in full soon enough. My cock throbbed against the back of her thigh, still twitching with the need to take her again—but I wouldn’t. Not tonight. She’d be sore. Torn. Bruised. I needed her intact. For now. Later, I’d wreck her all over again.

I brushed her damp hair from her face, lips barely touching the shell of her ear as I whispered, low and reverent, “You’re the most precious thing I’ve ever touched, my little Bluebell.” I didn’t mean to say it.

But the truth leaked out anyway. I kissed her temple—soft, gentle, reverent. Like she was holy. Like she hadn’t just let the devil inside her. I tucked my head against her shoulder and closed my eyes, breathing her in. For the first time in years, Idrifted into sleep without the taste of blood in my mouth .Just her. Justus.

Chapter Seventeen

I woke with a jolt, my body stiff and aching. The pounding in my skull came first—dull and insistent, like something heavy had settled behind my eyes and refused to budge. I tried to move, to shift my arm beneath me and ease the cramping tension there, but… I couldn’t. Panic flickered in my chest.Why couldn’t I move?

I blinked against the blur of sleep, heart already galloping as I tried to orient myself. That’s when I saw it: an arm. Thick, inked. Draped across my stomach like a lock. Atticus. The memories rushed back in staggered fragments—sounds, sensations, the metallic taste of fear. His weight above me. His voice, low and coaxing. His cock, unforgiving. My body betraying me at every turn.

Oh god.I had never experienced anything like last night. Not just the physicality of it—the brutal force, the absence of mercy—but thefactthat something inside me had responded to it. Had wanted it. My thighs clenched instinctively under the weight of the covers, but the ache that answered was more shame than soreness.

Why hadn’t I said the safe word?Why couldn’t I?The question hit hard. My mouth had known the words. My mind had screamed them. But something in me—something deeper—had locked them behind my teeth. As if some part of me hadwantedto see what he would do if I didn’t stop him.

And even worse… some part of me already knew he wouldn’t have stopped either way. He must have had a key. Of course he did. The door had been locked. IknowI locked it. And yet he’d slipped into my room like it belonged to him. LikeIbelonged to him. That thought made my stomach twist. And not in the way it should.

He had planned it. Maybe not the timing, but the intention. The control. The refusal. The calculated way he tested my limits until I didn’t know whether I was begging him to stop… or to keep going.Marvin.The word meant nothing to him. He’d chosen it—placed Marvin’s ghost between us like a weapon.Did he get off on that?On imagining another man’s name in my mouth while he tore me apart?

The profile of him forming in my mind was fractured and dangerous. Calculated. Intimate in all the worst ways. His arm was still across me, warm and heavy, holding me like nothing violent had happened. Like we were lovers. Like I’d asked him to ruin me. I hated the way that made me feel… protected. Wanted. Like I washis.

No. I couldn’t admit I liked any of it—not to him, not even to myself. That would make me weak. That would make meless. Less of the woman I wanted to be. Less human. I wanted him to see strength when he looked at me. I wanted to be a challenge, not an offering. But last night, I hadn’t been strong. I’d been… something else. Something pliable. Something hungry.

And what terrified me most? That hunger hadn’t gone away. I closed my eyes, trying to shove the images from my mind. His breath in my ear. The bruising grip of his hands. The way my body hadopenedfor him, helpless and wet. The way I’dachedeven while he ignored my words. Was there a version of me that wanted to be helpless? I didn’t know. But I couldn’t pretend the question wasn’t there now.

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