Fourth a Lie

It’d worked then.

I’d fallen to my knees.

I’d fallen in love.

And look what happened as the result.

If I’d sold her to Roy Slater, my creatures would still be alive. They’d be barking and bleating, cooing and cawing. Instead of being silent for evermore.

Shoving her against the vanity, I snarled, “Stay right there. Do not move.”

She licked her lips, tonguing the small cut where I’d bitten her, and nodded.

With my gaze locked on hers, I tore off my t-shirt, kicked off my boots, and ripped off my socks, jeans, and boxer-briefs, leaving the blood-soaked pile on the floor.

I shredded myself from material, revealing the putridity of my skin beneath. The bruises from kicking tumbled buildings in pure rage. The cuts from rubble and the blending of my blood with animal.

My body was as branded as my clothing.

I stood before her naked, a symbol of vulnerability, but I seethed with rage I couldn’t shed so easily. Her grey eyes cast over me, lingering on the scars of my past, the lacerations and singes of my present, and the angry pulsing erection between my thighs.

I was desire and death all in one.

I scared myself with my ricocheting, ravenous needs, yet Eleanor just stared with an elegance I’d never been able to ruin, and a tranquillity that said I was safe to put aside my hate...just for a moment.

To find solace in her bravery and kindness.

A small part of me did want that. He wanted to drop to his knees and have her curl into his lap and rock. But the part of me that’d snapped no longer accepted her invisible crown or ethereal control over me.

I wanted her to hurt.

I wanted her to feel a tenth of the pain I carried.

Walking into her, I snatched her wrist again and yanked her into the shower.

I needed Nirvana.

I needed freshwater to surround me, drown me...but this would have to do.

Ripping on the cold water, I wrapped my arms around a struggling Jinx as she tried to outrun the icy liquid raining over us.

I added no heat, no comfort.

I needed the sleety needles.

I needed my temper to be extinguished before I did something I’d always regret.

Stay, Eleanor.

Please, Eleanor.

Fuck, Eleanor.

She gasped for air, the cold water stealing her breath. While she squirmed in my arms and her wet hair clung to her shoulders, I pawed at her black dress. I yanked it over her head and threw the heavy weight to slap drenched by the drain.

She was naked.

Her skin flushed despite the ice falling over us.

Her nipples puckered, her belly quivered, a slick of lubricant glinted on her inner thigh.

My cock hardened to the point of excruciation. “You dare be wet for a monster like me?” I shoved her against the wall and, once again, grabbed two handfuls of her gorgeous ass. I spread her cheeks, hauled her up, and slammed her against the iridescent tile. “Do I turn you on? Knowing I’m barely human? Knowing I’m hanging on by a thread?”

She shuddered as I pressed my body into hers.

“I’m wet for the man I’m in love with.”

“A man who no longer exists.”

Goosebumps scattered over her skin. “Don’t say that.”

“Don’t be honest?”

Even in my fury, we were in sync.

Her legs wrapped around my hips as I thrust into her pussy.

Her lips rose as mine crashed down.

Our kiss connected as our bodies joined.

I stabbed into her.

A vicious, unrelenting possession.

Her cry echoed from her mouth to mine, but I didn’t stop.

I didn’t let her adjust.

I rode her all while dirt and decay sluiced down my body and onto hers.

We fucked in absolute filth and I was neither apologetic nor contrite.

Our kiss broke apart as I set a punishing rhythm. Our noses bruised, our foreheads bumped, our lips stayed wide and open, two silent screams as we clawed and attacked each other, sometimes kissing, mostly biting, both intent on destruction.

Her fire combated the icy shower. Her salvation tried to dilute my rage.

I pumped over and over, doing my best to punish her for ever showing me what happiness could be.

I took her until the first tightening tangles of an orgasm clenched my belly and balls. I used her until the first clench of her pussy announced she reached the same pinnacle as me.

And then, I stopped.

I withdrew.

I dropped her to the floor, wincing at my engorged cock and turning my back on her.

I sadistically took us to the edge where we might’ve found peace and denied us.

I denied us because we didn’t fucking deserve it.

Her frustration puffed on my back as she panted. Her tiny mewl of need made pre-cum ooze out my tip. I trembled with the unbearable need to spin and finish what we’d started.

But...I wanted the torture.

I needed it.

I needed to live in that blistering, brutalising pain.

She could finish herself off. She could seek a cure for her agony.

But I wouldn’t.

Not while I wore the death of so many innocent things.

Get it off me.

In a sudden panic, my desire to be clean overrode the crippling need to come.

Grabbing a bottle of coconut body wash, I dumped half the contents into my palm and scrubbed. I used nails to serrate my skin from entrails and innards. I attacked myself as if I was the enemy...because in reality, I was.

I lost myself in the mantra of cleanliness, clawing and scratching until trickles of crimson sluiced down the drain thanks to the sleet pounding from above.

Delicate hands touched my back. Sweet, formidable hands rubbing soap into my rotten flesh and down my spine.

My chin fell on my chest as the heaviest groan slipped from my lips. Eleanor sniffed back all the grief I’d caused and systematically rid my back, ass, thighs, and calves of any remains of Serigala.

I couldn’t move.

My arms hung useless by my sides, swaying beneath the spray, corrupted and controlled entirely by a woman who would never permit me to send her away.

Once she’d cleansed my back, she squeezed herself between me and the wall, her nakedness slippery against mine.

Our eyes locked, shouting so many things.

I hated that a stare wasn’t just a stare between us. A look wasn’t just a look but an entire paragraph of problems, turning into a battle of wills, forearming her with a rebuttal against anything I might decree.

I love you.

I know.

You have to leave.

Never.

She winced as she broke our stare, tracing the shallow scratches I’d covered myself with. I hissed as she soaped me, the coconut wash stinging my wounds. I closed my eyes with a haggard sigh, permitting a sliver of softness.

She washed me with reverence and worship, making my heart swell and suffocate.

Her hands slipped down my belly, making me twitch. She slowly, steadily lulled me into accepting a ceasefire, all while my heart chugged with memories, and charred whiskers filled my nose, and my mind was an amalgamated graveyard of extinction.

My rage blended with grief.

My fury fused with despair.

My muscles stopped seizing with nightmares and, just for a moment, I inhaled clean, untainted air.

But then, she touched me where she shouldn’t have.

Her tight fingers fisted my cock, igniting pain and reminding me of my inadequacy. Reminding me that she shouldn’t fucking be here. That I was running out of time. That she wasn’t safe, no one was safe.