Page 76 of Be My Sinner

Sammy

Islideintotheroom on silent feet, a wraith wandering these condemned halls. Halls of a house that has become my prison, even though I am the guard responsible for keeping the chains on the doors. The muted light of the hallways helps to camouflage my large frame. Well, that and knowing who is watching everything happening in this house at all times.

Beneath Ezekiel Rothesay’s roof, shadows lurk in the form of moles. Some, he acknowledges, like the minions his father employs to maintain a watchful eye on his household. One belongs to the Holy Father, their motives concealed, their presence frightening. The last informant belongs to the rebels, hungering for any advantage to topple the Brotherhood. All of these presences add additional danger to an already fucked up atmosphere.

Regardless of their purposes, I refuse to allow any of them to harm my Nightstar. Two agonizing nights have passed since the day of her wedding. I’ve spent my days shadowing her from a distance, yearning to reach out, to offer solace, while my nights have been dedicated to standing sentinel outside her locked door. The one she seems to think will keep me out as well as everyone else. The tension of the situation only seems to grow, and the stakes are higher than ever.

Fortunately, no one has dared to make a move against her, not even that fucker Ezekiel, which honestly surprised me. I was sure that asshole would be barging into her room every chance he got, now that he has had a taste of my Nightstar. Now that the deed is completed, though, it seems he’s giving her some space to acclimate to her new position – as his wife. His constant reminder that she’s his possession is a bitter pill to swallow. Oh, how I yearn to plunge my blade into the hollow cavity where his heart should reside.

Dinah has remained silent, refusing to utter a word to me ever since her wedding. She avoids me, dodging my attempts to engage her in conversation, or corner her. Every breath I draw serves as a painful reminder that I share as much blame for her anger as Ezekiel does. I should never have agreed to his wretched deal, nor should I have pushed her into marrying him.

Watching him marry her, and then fuck her, was the hardest and most painful thing I’ve ever experienced. My heart nearly shattered into pieces as I was forced to observe silently as he not only claimed and touched her, but succeeded in bringing her pleasure. That memory will haunt me for the rest of my miserable life. One I can only hope is not lengthy.

My Nightstar has withdrawn into herself, refusing to speak unless commanded by Ezekiel, or when completely necessary with the staff. I watch as she moves from room to room in this large house, lost in her thoughts, with undisguised misery etched on her face.

The staff have begun to gossip already about her. They’ve heard the rumors that I perpetuated while she was under my care, that she is insane. She doesn’t help to dissuade them of those notions when she throws shit at Ezekiel, every time he enters a room she’s in. My Nightstar is filled to the brim with rage, and it won’t take much to provoke her to explode.

A part of me hopes that Ezekiel bears the brunt when she does; the other part fears what will happen to her when she eventually loses control, and she will; it’s no longer a matter of if but when. A Sacred Wife must be docile and compliant, not violent and volatile under the Brotherhood’s laws.

Will Ezekiel go back on his word to keep her safe and protected, if she continues fighting him at every turn? Will he push her to the breaking point, forcing her to unleash her wrath, which could end up costing her her life? These questions and others plague all of my waking and resting moments.

The other occupant of this confining residence isn’t faring much better than me in the wake of Ezekiel’s actions. Abraham, still recuperating from the bullet wound to his abdomen, remains aloof, ignoring Ezekiel’s futile attempts at conversation, and his pitiful apologies. Much like my Dinah, he doesn’t bother to conceal his contempt for the master of this household, or his seething anger at the predicament that has befallen us.

We are all trapped in this web now, all four of us consumed by regrets and the tragedy of our actions. Do I believe that one day, we can all live in harmony? That I’ll be able to share Dinah with Abraham and Ezekiel? That is if she ever allows us near her again, which at the present moment is highly doubtful.

The silver moonlight cascades across the linen-draped bed, casting a haunting glow. The small figure beneath the thick covers seems almost engulfed by the expanse of the massive bed. I step closer, drawn by the need for a glimpse of her serene face, a stark contrast to the piercing glares she has directed at me, and everyone else, in this miserable house.

I crave the peace we once had together in our small home, far from the Brotherhood and these two fuckers, who seek to damage what I had with her. Even though we were out murdering Brotherhood members, and I feared for her unstable sanity, there was still a sense of unity between us.

She knew then that every breath I drew was for her. She was my purpose for existing, even though she held an unquenchable thirst for vengeance against the Order. I was also the beacon guiding her forward, helping her endure and survive the agonizing loss of her family. But now, I couldn’t be sure this was still true.

Was she beginning to regret the sacrifice she had made to ensure our survival? Would her hatred for me and my actions endure forever? Have I truly lost her?

Panic seizes me, as I realize I may have lost her in a bargain to keep breathing air I no longer crave. Breaths that are meaningless if I don’t have my Nightstar at my side. I need her to forgive me, to understand that what I did was for her, that the mere thought of never again seeing her alive was too much to bear, even if the consequence was that I had to watch her from afar with someone else, causing me insurmountable pain.

I shift forward until I’m at the side of the bed, watching as her chest rises and falls with her deep slumber. The fact that she doesn’t wake up with my presence, signifies how truly exhausted she is. A small beam of light guides my eyesight over her beautiful features, her dark hair a pool of ink surrounding her, and her luminescent, soft skin seeming to glow with an ethereal light from within. Her pouty lips are parted in sleep, and her dark, full lashes linger on her high cheekbones. She is an exquisite work of art, a temptation I don’t wish to resist, and a soothing balm to my tortured soul.

Her tattooed arm snakes out from beneath the covers as she shifts, gripped in the dreamland she inhabits, the movement causing the linens to display more of her naked body to my hungry sight. The tattoos that grace her arms and chest become visible to my eyes, reaffirming with their presence on her body that she was and is mine. Each one inked onto her skin by my hand, cementing our bond.

A small, pained cry leaves her lips and has me reaching out, before I can stop myself, to comfort her. Nightmares always seem to plague my Nightstar, refusing to give her a moment of peace even in her slumber. The need to wrap her tightly in my arms is a vicious fire within me, one that I can no longer indulge in for fear that she will reject me.

My fingers make contact with her soft skin, trailing across her forearm and causing her to cease her movement. A wistful sigh leaves her lips as she digs her body further into the mattress, seeking comfort, the sheet now pooled around her waist, displaying the round globes of her creamy breasts to my eager gaze. Her nipples harden in the cool air and have my mouth watering.

Fuck.My cock begins to harden within the confines of my pants. I miss touching and tasting her. The need is so visceral within me that it almost brings me to my knees. Just one more moment, I need to somehow reassure myself that I haven’t entirely lost her. That she will forgive me in time. That she still desires me, even though her anger is a living chasm between us.

My finger traces across the skin of her warm, soft breast, lingering as goosebumps erupt over the surface and her nipples harden further. I permit my fingers to cautiously glide along her nipple, strumming it and causing another small moan to leave her lips.

Emboldened by her reaction, and desperately needing a hit of the drug she is to me, I repeat my actions on her other breast and slowly trail my fingers down her chest, tracing over the tattoo I placed there. The one that I poured my heart and soul into, that is more of a brand of possession than it is art.

Her body moves subtly, her lips parting with a mewing sound as my fingers explore the rich canvas that is her soft skin, and continue their exploration down her toned stomach, dragging the linens with me and worshiping her, with every touch and every breath that leaves my lips. My eyes move back and forth, between where my fingers are touching and her facial features, deep in slumber.

When my digits reach the destination of their heaven, I smooth them over the soft, plump skin of her pussy, and a whimper and the sound of my name escaping her lips, has my breath stuttering in my chest. Behind me, I hear the door quietly crack open, and someone slips stealthily into the room.

Panic and anger should overwhelm me at the thought of someone else seeking my Nightstar out, but I know exactly who it is. I can smell and sense him as he silently approaches, his breath quickening when he catches a glimpse of my girl. My eyes tear away from Dinah before me, meeting bright emerald eyes filled with curiosity and longing.

We don’t bother to exchange words; there is no need. Both of us are here for the same reason.Dinah. We both now crave her, just as two addicts crave the hit of their favorite substance. Dinah has become a need scorching through our veins that cannot be quenched.

I ignore his presence as I slip one of my fingers between her slit, stroking over her clit and causing further whimpers to leave her lips. Her body seeks the feeling of my touch, wetness seeping from inside of her to assist my fingers in their exploration. Another moaned exhale of my name has my mouth watering as I long to taste her, and pride surging, making my chest puff up like some deranged gorilla.

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