Page 32 of A Dance With Devils
Poor Jonas.
Chuckling, I pull myself to stand so I can follow the colours still radiating from her, unable to keep away from them. Mine. My little Alice. Can’t remember the last time I fought over a woman. Faith maybe. But that was a long time ago.
She’s shuddering now, her hands on her arms as she tries to ward off this cold and looks around her erratically. No escape. No route inside again either unless I show her the way. Frantic fingers claw at the wall again, feet trying to rush across the gardens deep under this snow and ice. They’re pretty, like her. Pretty grounds and a pretty girl. My pretty girl.
I’m in front of her before she gets a clear path through the fog starting to settle again, my own hands desperate to pull her to me. I won’t, though. Not yet. So much time to play with. Just us and this haven of disrepute. Maybe the roof next, or the underground passages. She could drown down there, re-birth herself like so many others have done before her.
She gasps as I emerge from behind the old oak, feet stumbling backwards until she hits what’s visible of one of the iron benches.
“You’re here,” she stutters, looking behind her. “But you were there.”
“I was, and now I’m here. If there was ever a there in the first place.”
“What?” She seems dazed, lost in her own little adventure of pills, as she continues rubbing her arms. “I’m so cold. I wasn’t, but now I am. Did I win?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“You’re black …” She looks around her again, head shaking. “Do you feel that?” Yes, not like she does, but yes. “I don’t know what that is. Just black, with white things coming out of you.” I smile and circle her, making sure she keeps her eyes level with mine until her hands rise to stroke the air. “Like lightning. You’re not lightning, though. You’re black. Dark.”
Her head shakes again, whipping left and right to get a gauge on where I am. “Where are you?”
I move closer. “Here.”
She jumps and flings her hands up into the air, perhaps attempting to hit me. I don’t let her. She’s grabbed and pulled to me, her fine frame sinking closer until she’s so close the taste of her is damn near overwhelming. More shivers. More shudders against me. Small. Little under my hands. I can’t stop myself, though, can’t fight the draw anymore. Too strong. Too intoxicating.
I sigh and sway her, eyes looking down at all the colours splitting around her face. So many shards to break, so many colours to fragment. I can’t keep my lips away from hers now either. I need them, need them on me. Slow. So slow as I make my way down to them. And they’re cold – frigid and harsh underneath mine. Warm inside, though. Warm and wet and forgiving. Softer. Light as they shiver and let me tease them.
A long breath eases out of me into her, head eventually tipping back to look up at the nothingness, as I pull her in tighter and lean on the tree. It isn’t nothing anymore, though. It’s full of colour, full of light and visions and her. I can hear her screaming, hear her begging and chanting. A new piece of music, new notes, new chords. I want to play, let my fingers roam aimlessly. I’ll crush her into me, let these hands find places they haven’t found for years if ever.
Both of them ruck the dress up, exposing her to the harsh elements and me and I turn her until she’s on the tree. Soft skin slides under my grip, goosebumps riding all over it, as my fingers travel between her legs and push the material aside. She moans and lets her head linger on my chest, as I slide through her cunt. We should fuck here, join and let the wild lead us wherever it wants to. And she’s so wet for me. Hungry.
Two fingers sink inside her, the palm of my hand rubbing to give her pressure. “Fuck them,” murmurs from me. “Show me. Get lost, little Alice.”
Her body climbs onto me somehow, arms clinging until she’s wrapped around me and moving her hips slowly. I swallow and look at her, part desperate to replace these fingers with my dick instead and yet too mesmerised by her to care. Mouth parted, her hand slipping down through us so she can get to my belt. Brazen. Bold.
“More,” she whispers.
Everything’s throbbing. Her, me, the wind and the noise. I’m close to laying her down, letting her feel the ice and snow on her back while I fuck and ravage her skin, but just here and this tree is enough for now. The belt gets wrenched inch by inch, top button flicked and shoved until she’s reaching into my pants and skimming her hands over me. I watch it, holding her firm on the tree, and wait for the feel of her, that first feel that binds us closer than these pills ever can.
A sudden burst of energy from her sends me backwards, the moment shattered, as she scrambles off me and lands on the floor. It pisses me off instantly, as does the stinging sensation on my face, but surprise makes me look down at her scratching about in the snow.
She looks left and right, quickly scanning the area around her.
“Run, he said,” drifts up to me. “Run.”
My rage comes back full fucking throttle, as I watch her move into the mist and disappear.
”The fuck was that?” snarls out of me.
She’s gone, though. Nowhere to be seen.
I scour the area, a glower on my face. No one disappears on me. Fucking pills. A hollow laugh grates out, legs heaving through this damn snow to find her again. Stupid little bitch. She’ll freeze out here alone and then all my fun will be gone. That’s not a good hunt for me. That’s meaningless and futile. As will she be if she doesn’t let me play.
Where?
More strides around the gardens and I eventually find her trying to open the door into the back passages. She looks tired now, as she struggles and beats her fists at it, as if she’s giving up. She isn’t – her mind, her strength of resolve never will, but her body isn’t winning the war against this cold she’s trying to ignore. My own face stretches against the onslaught of the wind still driving harshly, hands pulling her out of the way.
