Page 108 of That Sik Luv

“You watch me the entire time, and don’t you for a fucking second think you’re allowed to come. If I sense you’re deriving any pleasure out of this at all, I’ll kill you both myself and burn the whole fucking church down over your rotting corpses. You got that, sweetheart?”

I swallow what feels like a mound of sand, nervous at his calm yet intimidating demeanor, my body trembling in fear at his tone alone. Because I know for a fact, he’d do just that, if not worse. Mutilation would be in there somewhere.

“N-never,” I stutter, attempting to wet my dry mouth. “I’d never—”

His hand rises from my hip to grip my face roughly between his fingers. He squeezes tightly, forcing my mouth open, his direct stare scanning mine for any waiver of disloyalty. Leaning down over me, he spits into my mouth, his saliva coating my tongue, before he attacks my lips with the most primal force, claiming everything he wants with such tenacious ferocity.

I moan when he forces his way into my mouth, his tongue practically fucking me with an insatiable hunger, forcing me to succumb to his strength as the heat of his confined cock presses urgently against his jeans, seeking the relief he so desperately craves.

But it’s the way he communicates with his tongue that drives me wild. Aero says everything he needs in his anarchic display of affection.

His tongue lashes against mine, screaming notes of suffering and affliction amidst chaotic pleasure. Our song, written in torture, harmonized with human reckoning, and played by only the symphony of avenging truths.

I’m swirling in deviant lust. My stomach squirms with anticipation and endless nerves. Aero plans to mark me as his before his brother gets the chance. We’re committing to this plan, and he’s allowing his trust in me and my strength to outweigh his instincts.

The sick and twisted nature of what we are about to do should have me practically vomiting with anxiousness.

And yet, my insides ignite with the flames only the darkest of angels could possess.

Chapter forty-eight

Branding

Ilistentotheslight whimper in her cry, feel the expansion of her chest, breasts rising against my forearm, and see the fire burning deep within the confines of her sinister eyes. She’s ready to wage her war.My beautiful destructive doll.

I must claim her as my own. I need her sweet pussy filled and dripping with my cum, feeding my primal compulsion to mark her. I need her flesh freshly cut and bleeding from the power of my hand before this man touches the curvaceous vessel of the soul I own. I won’t let her slip from my grasp. Not my Briony.

The idea of destroying the most sacred part of the Westwood dynasty, however, the beloved and all-too-perfect Saint, has me reeling in palpable excitement. Fuck all of them for allowing the disgusting cycle of abuse and death of the weak to continue. Saint’s just as guilty, and that motherfucker will pay like the rest of them. We will strip him of his title before he even gets a chance to claim it, crippling the entire institution and everyone who pays a part to play.

Briony’s trust in him and everyone else she once loved has been severed, all of it falling inevitably on me as I’d planned.

I’m the only one on this earth that could ever protect her the way she needs to be protected in order for her to become her own king. Lesser men would cap her power, ensuring she remains the staple of a traditional woman. I, however, want her to flourish in her rule over the masses. Her intelligence burned freely as a wildfire, destroying the traditions of the past.

Even now, with her back against the wall and her legs parted, waiting, she loves diving into the dark with me, exploring the boundaries of the sexuality she’s always been curious about but deprived of. Briony wants me to push her, just as she pushes me. But the softer side of me cost us.

Alastor has drawn a line in the sand. He was done waiting for me to complete the job. I recognized the name on a piece of I.D. from one of the men that attacked us. He was a member of the Caprano Gang. Probably a young buck, hired by Alastor, trying to make rank by partaking in a hit. The governor was an idiot for meddling where he didn’t belong. It would come back to bite him in the ass without a doubt. I wasn’t worried about those men harming us. No one fucking hunts me down and lives to tell about it. But Nox’s words rang through my head like an annoying alarm with no end.

Love has a way of making us weak.

I couldn’t admit what I was feeling for Briony was love, because love is a desolate term to me. But my obsession and commitment to that woman is far beyond anything I’ve ever felt for another living being.

I can’t be weak. Especially not with the weight of what’s to come.

I kiss those sweet, supple lips, pressing my throbbing cock against her hip. Needing to show her love isn’t the emotion pouring itself out between us. It’s endless rage.

Rage to fight when told not to. Rage to breathe when the grasp of the world around us tightens its grip. A rage to fall violently into our own realm of twisted desires, where only the demonic versions of ourselves survive in the form of twisted salvation.

She melts against my touch, falling into a puddle of needy desire in my grip. Her legs part as she rubs her greedy little cunt against my thigh, seeking relief.

“My baby aches for me,” I whisper against her lips, pulling back to look down.

Her eyes follow my gaze where she’s practically grinding a wet stain into the dark denim of my jeans. Looking back up at me with those swollen, freshly kissed lips, and a hazy look in her eyes, she simply nods.

“So fucking needy,” I comment, giving her my thigh and pressing it roughly against that swollen clit beneath those soaked panties. Her head falls back against the wall as her legs widen. “My slutty little cunt can’t get enough, huh?”

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip at my words. Briony loves when I degrade her, which I find enticingly ironic because, in real life, she wouldn’t put up with any man putting her down. But with me, there’s freedom in it because she knows how I empower her in the world outside of our sex.

I slip my hand around to the back of her head, gripping her long black hair in my fist, forcing her to face the ceiling. My hand slips up beneath her uniformed skirt, brushing over the front of her thigh-high tights, removing my thigh before finding the edge of her panties. Pulling the soaked cotton to the side, I slip two fingers along her slit before pushing them up into her slippery, tight hole. She gasps, arching her back as her hands find my shoulders, nails sinking into my shirt. I remove my soaked fingers, trailing them up to her swollen, aching clit, and rub a soft circle before sinking them deep inside her again.

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