Page 15 of Your Devoted Monster
Now here he was. Legs spread. Body open. Wanting it. Desperate for Gabriel to get deeper, to fill him, to claim him from the inside out.
The thing he'd been most terrified of three years ago was the thing he'd been chasing ever since. He'd been trying to let someone in—anyone in—and failing, because they weren't Gabriel. Because his body had been waiting for the only person it knew how to surrender to.
The knife had been meant to open him up. And in a way, it had worked.
Then Gabriel pushed in, and Ezra's world went white.
6
The first slidein shattered Gabriel's reality.
Heat. Impossible, overwhelming heat swallowing him inch by inch. Ezra's body gripping him, pulling him deeper, so tight Gabriel's vision blurred at the edges. So perfect it felt like dying. Like every cell in his body was rewiring itself around this single point of contact.
Every night of waiting. Every kill he'd refused to commit. Every moment of self-imposed starvation—it all cracked open at once, flooding through him in a rush that bordered on pain. He'd turned his entire existence into a shrine to this exact sensation, and his memory had been nothing but a sketch. A pale imitation.
Gabriel's hands found Ezra's hips, gripping hard enough to bruise, anchoring himself before he flew apart completely. The way Ezra's body clenched around him, the breathy gasp that punched out of him, the flutter of dark lashes against flushed cheeks: every detail burned itself into Gabriel's brain like a brand.
The position folded Ezra nearly in half, knees pushed toward his chest, completely exposed. Vulnerable. But it was the slickness that made something dark howl in Gabriel's chest—Ezra was still wet with another man's come, some random hookup's claim still inside him.
Unacceptable.
"Look at me," Gabriel commanded, fingers digging into Ezra's hips hard enough to make Ezra's eyes snap open wide and startled. "Don't you dare close your eyes. I want you to see everything. Want you to know exactly who's inside you. Who you belong to."
He pulled out almost completely—slowly, letting Ezra feel every inch leaving him—then slammed back in hard enough to punch the air from Ezra's lungs. Set a brutal pace immediately, no mercy, no gentleness. Each thrust drove Ezra harder against the concrete floor, skin scraping raw through the torn shirt. Gabriel could feel Ezra's arms jerking beneath him, wrists yanking at the zip ties, fighting even now?—
Good. Let him struggle. Let him remember he was caught, claimed, owned. Let him feel the restraints and know that Gabriel had him completely. There was no escape this time.
Every thrust fucked that other man's come out of Ezra, displaced it, shoved it aside. Gabriel could feel it—his cock slick with the evidence of someone else, someone inferior, someone who would never touch Ezra again. The thought made something feral spiral through Gabriel's chest.
He needed to erase anyone else’s claim. Needed to fill Ezra, pump him so full of his own come that it would be dripping out for days. Wanted to keep him like this—tied down, unable to doanything but take Gabriel's cock, his come, his marks. Keep Ezra on his cock for days until Ezra was so thoroughlyhisthat no one could ever mistake him for being anyone else's.
The fantasy consumed him as he pounded into Ezra's body, brutal and relentless. He leaned down, needing more contact, needing to taste as well as touch. His teeth found Ezra's throat, latched onto the tender skin where neck met shoulder.
He bit down hard.
The skin broke easily under his teeth, splitting like overripe fruit. The taste of blood flooded his mouth immediately—copper and salt and something else that he could identify anywhere, anytime. Gabriel groaned against the wound, hips stuttering in their rhythm, sucking at the bite, tongue lapping at the blood that welled up hot and metallic.
Perfection.
Ezra's body clenched around him at the pain, that tight heat squeezing Gabriel's cock like a vice, nearly making him come right then.
Gabriel pulled back just enough to admire his work—deep teeth marks, perfectly formed, blood running down Ezra's shoulder in dark rivulets. Beautiful. Art in motion. But not enough. Never enough.
He bit again, higher this time. Right over the pulse point. He could feel Ezra's heartbeat against his teeth, rabbit-fast, prey-frightened. The rhythm of it intoxicating, proof of life, proof of fear, proof of arousal all mixed together. Perfect.
Ezra made a sound like a wounded animal, body jerking, trying to get away or get closer—even Gabriel couldn't tell which.Didn't matter. Didn't care. Gabriel followed him, teeth latched on like a predator with prey, jaw locked, not letting go until he tasted enough blood to know this mark would scar too. Would be permanent. Would last.
The angle had him folded completely over Ezra now, chest to chest, close enough to feel every shudder that wracked through Ezra's frame. Close enough to feel Ezra's racing heartbeat against his own ribs. Close enough to hear every tiny gasp and whimper even through the pulse racing in his ears.
“F-fuck," Ezra gasped, or tried to—it came out more like a sob, broken and desperate. "Fuck, Gabriel?—"
The sound of his name in that wrecked voice made something in Gabriel's chest constrict painfully.
Gabriel licked a stripe up his throat, tasting layers of blood and salt and fear-sweat. Then bit the soft skin under Ezra's ear, gentle at first—a tease—then harder when Ezra whimpered, when that pretty throat vibrated with sound. He was mapping Ezra with his teeth, claiming every inch of available skin, turning him into a canvas only Gabriel could read.
Every artist signed their work. This was Gabriel's signature, written in blood and bruises across Ezra's throat.
He pulled back to look at his masterpiece. Ezra's neck was destroyed—a constellation of bruises and bites, blood smeared and dripping, running down to stain the concrete beneath them. It would take weeks to heal. Months for the scars to fade. They wouldn't disappear, not completely. The deepest ones never would. Ezra would carry Gabriel's marks forever, would see them every time he looked in a mirror, would feel them every time he swallowed.
