Page 16 of Your Devoted Monster
The sight made something pulse furiously in Gabriel's chest. Made him feel more alive than any kill ever had.
Marked. Claimed. Perfect.
He leaned down and licked at the deepest bite, the one over the pulse point, tasting fresh blood still welling from torn skin. Ezra's whole body shuddered beneath him, overwhelmed, overstimulated, trembling. The angle, having Gabriel's weight pinning him down, the bites still stinging, the cock driving into him relentlessly—it was clearly too much. Ezra's eyes were losing focus, glazing over, breath coming in little hitching sobs that sounded almost like crying.
It wasn't enough. Would never be enough. Gabriel needed more—needed everything—needed to crawl inside Ezra's skin and make a home there.
It turned into something else then—violent, frantic, desperate. Gabriel fucked into him like he was trying to crawl inside Ezra's skin, claim him from the inside out, rewrite him at a cellular level. No rhythm anymore, no technique, just pure animalistic need.
Ezra's oversensitive body was jerking with each impact, overwhelmed, overstimulated, beautiful. Not hard again this soon—too much, too fast—but responding in other ways. The way his hole clenched around Gabriel's cock, trying desperately to adjust to the brutal pace. The fresh tears streaming down his temples. The sounds he was making that weren't quite screams and weren't quite moans, something in between, something raw.
The others had been silent. Eyes glazed, bodies limp, beyond response. Just meat waiting to be arranged. But Ezra was still here. Still feeling. Still fighting even as he fell apart. Every clenchof his body around Gabriel's cock was proof of life, proof of will, proof that he was everything Gabriel had ever wanted and never thought he'd find.
Gabriel could feel his own orgasm building, balls tight and aching, spine tingling with electric promise. But he still wanted more first. Wanted to wring every possible reaction from Ezra's overwrought body. Wanted to see how far he could push, how much Ezra could take before he shattered completely.
The brutality, the bites, the blood, the overwhelming sensation of being claimed and fucked and consumed—Ezra was trembling under him, body wound tight as a crossbow string. Breath hitching, muscles tensing and releasing, teetering on some edge Gabriel couldn't quite name. Close to breaking. Close to something. But not there yet.
Perfect. Gabriel wanted to keep him in this space, this knife's edge betweentoo muchandnot enough.
"Look at you," Gabriel panted, sweat dripping from his face onto Ezra's, mixing with blood and tears. "Taking everything I give you. My perfect—my perfect?—"
The words wouldn't come. Too many. Too big. Too real. He bit down again instead.
Ezra made a sound like he was dying. Like Gabriel was killing him with cock and teeth and bare hands, like Gabriel was murdering him slowly from the inside out.
Gabriel pulled back just enough to see his work, to admire it. Ezra's throat was a masterpiece of bruises and bites, blood smeared across pale skin in abstract patterns. His eyes were unfocused, rolled back, lashes fluttering against tear-stainedcheeks. Mouth open and gasping like he was drowning in air. Gone. Completely gone.
Beautiful. The most beautiful thing Gabriel had ever created.
Should have killed him. Should have made him art three years ago like he'd planned. Cut him open, arranged him perfect and still and eternal. But this?—
This was better. This was everything. This was alive.
Gabriel leaned down, close enough that their faces almost touched, close enough to share breath. Needed to be closer, needed to consume, needed?—
Ezra's mouth crashed up into his.
Gabriel froze. Everything in him went still—his hips, his hands, his racing thoughts. Because Ezra was—this wasn't?—
Kissing. They were kissing. Ezra was kissing him. None of his victims had ever been able to kiss back. They'd been limp, dying, mouths slack and unresponsive. This was—Ezra's tongue was in his mouth, aggressive and demanding, very much alive, very much wanting. The sensation was so foreign Gabriel couldn't process it. Couldn't categorize it. Couldn't fit it into any framework he understood.
In all the fantasies, all the obsessive planning, Gabriel had never imagined their mouths would meet. Had never dared to think Ezra would wantthis. Teeth and tongue and desperation, Ezra biting at his lips hard enough to draw blood, licking into his mouth like he was trying to steal Gabriel's breath, devouring him. He tasted like blood—whose blood, Gabriel couldn't tell. Like come. Like salt. Like everything Gabriel had been starving for compressed into this single moment.
Something in Gabriel's chest cracked. The same feeling as when the knife went in three years ago, that blade sliding between his ribs. That shock ofohandnoandyesall at once, pain and pleasure and something else he couldn't name.
His hips stopped moving. His hands went slack on Ezra's hips. Every thought scattered.
Finally, Gabriel pulled back gasping, dizzy. "What are you?—"
That's when he saw Ezra's hands.
Free.
The zip ties lay broken on the concrete beside them, snapped clean through.
And the knife was at Gabriel's throat. Sharp edge pressed to his carotid, exactly where it needed to be to kill.
Ezra's eyes locked with his, dark and triumphant and completely, devastatingly lucid. Not broken at all. Not even close. Those eyes were clear, sharp, aware—and had been the entire time. The defiance Gabriel had seen hadn't been flickering out. It had been waiting.
