Page 58 of Addicted to the Ruin

“Good girl,” he purrs. “Now, come for us,Aziz-e delam, and show your masters your obedience.”

His words are my undoing, and I scream as another soul-destroying orgasm rushes over me, leaving every inch of me touched by its electric tingle. I’m lost in my pleasure, only vaguely aware of Tarl and then Jude roaring out their own releases, filling me up once more with their hot cum.

I can’t moan when they pull out, or open my eyes as I’m lifted into a hot shower sometime later, hands washing me and then drying me with the fluffiest of towels. Afterwards, I drift into a deep, contented sleep surrounded by my men, my masters, safe in the knowledge that I just needed to be owned to truly be free.

Lark

“You Can’t Stop the Girl” by Bebe Rexha

The next few weeks pass in a blur of contentment and lots of fucking. It’s like now that I’m not on birth control, they’re all determined to impregnate me at every opportunity.

At Jude’s insistence, we get an enormous Christmas tree two weeks before Christmas, even though the plan is to spend the day at the big house with Adam. I’m secretly glad we’re going all out and decorating the warehouse, having missed so many Christmases with the Soldiers. We’ve been visiting the boy’s mother, Heather, regularly, and she seems to be improving and growing stronger by the day.

We spent our visits with her telling me about all the antics she and my mother got up to when they were younger, and we often end up crying with laughter, the guys shaking their heads as they sit around us. It’s wonderful and just the thing I need to help me heal the hole in my heart that Mom left with her untimely death.

Rook is often busy with building up a new generation of Soldiers, under Adam’s encouraging guidance. He’s found some solid guys, Soldiers who he knew before he became leader and who refused to take part in the worst parts of Rufus’s plans. Rook has convinced Adam they’re not a threat, and it warms my heart to see Adam trust him and his judgment. I’ve met them a couple of times, and they seem like nice guys, who treat me with a respect that I was never given under my sperm donor’s rule. And luckily, for them anyway, they joined up while I was with the Tailors, so were never forced upon me, although something tells me these guys may have refused if it had come to that.

One evening, a few days before Christmas Day, I come back from having my hair done at the salon to find a beautiful, emerald-beaded gown hanging on my wardrobe door. It’s everything a princess dress wants to be; a tight, beaded bodice that has corset-style lacing up the back and huge net skirts that sparkle and shimmer with the gems that spill down from the bodice and trickles across it. On the floor below it sits a pair of shiny, black high heels, a peep of a red sole telling me that Aeron chose them.

“What’s the occasion?” I ask, going over and running my hands through the net skirt, marveling at its softness.

Aeron, who followed me upstairs, walks up behind me, wrapping his arms around me in the way that they all love to do. As usual, I sink into his embrace, letting the warmth of his body take away any last remains of the chill from outside.

“It’s the annual Tailor Christmas ball tonight, and you’re our date,” he tells me, placing a light kiss on my cheek, careful not to disturb the makeup that was also done at the salon, and suddenly, the pampering makes a lot more sense.

“A ball? I’ve never been to a ball before…” I trail off, butterflies taking flight in my stomach.

“Well then, Miss. Jackson, it would be my honor to escort you to your first one,” Aeron whispers, releasing me from his hold, and I look over my shoulder to see him kneeling on the floor. Suddenly, the butterflies are in a frenzy, my fingers tingling as I turn to face him and take him in. Before I can say anything, he pulls out a small velvet box, the same color as my dress, and when he opens it, I see an emerald surrounded by sparkling diamonds winking back at me. “Lark Jackson, will you make me, us, the happiest of men by accepting this ring as a token of our love and fidelity.”

My breath stalls in my chest as his meaning sinks in. It’s not quite an engagement ring, as far as I know, marriage in the US is still only allowed between two people, not five. But it’s as close to a marriage proposal as it can be.

“Yes,” I whisper, tears filling my eyes as he gives me a smile that he rarely gives anyone. A smile so bright that there is no darkness left in the world, only light.

Leaping up, he grabs my left hand, taking the ring out of the box and pushing it on my slightly trembling ring finger.

“I love you, Lark Jackson, with every part of my ruined, black soul,” he confesses, drawing me in close, his lips hovering over mine for a beat before he closes that final distance and kisses me like he needs me to breathe. I kiss him back just as fiercely, telling him with my lips and tongue that he, they, are all I need in this life.

Pulling away, a giggle slips past my kiss-swollen lips as I gaze down at the ring, which feels familiar and strange all at once.

“I’d like to change my name,” I tell him, looking up to see his face still grinning like a loon. A single dark brow arches. “To Taylor. Lark Taylor.”

I watch as his eyes fill with moisture, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “That can be arranged, Dove,” he replies, his voice deep and husky. His arms squeeze me tightly and I breathe out a contented sigh. “Why aren’t the others here too?” I ask, my brows lowering as I realize that they’d want to be here. He gives me a smirk that is all arrogance.

“I pulled rank,” he gloats, and I let out an appalled gasp.

“You are such an asshole, Aeron Taylor,” I tell him, playfully swatting him with my left hand, the ring sparkling. He grabs my hand before it can leave his muscled chest.

“But I’m your asshole, so I don’t give a fuck,” he replies in a low tone, kissing just above the ring. “Now, go get your pretty ass into that dress and don’t forget the shoes.”

I don’t even bother to fight the eye roll, giving him a sweet smile when he tightens his grip and growls at my sass. “Sure thing, Devil Man,” I say, placing a kiss on his cheek. “Or maybe it should be Sugar Plum now that we’re practically married and all.”

I laugh outright as he growls again, then squeal as he pinches my ass, hard.

“That has earned you an edging session later, Dove,” he promises, finally letting me go as he backs towards the door. “I’ll make sure the others know not to let you come until I say so.”

And then he turns on his polished heel, leaving me glowering at his back as he calmly opens and then shuts my bedroom door.

Fucking asshole.

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