Page 18 of Hellebore

I grab the fucker by the collar and yank him off her like the piece of garbage he is, letting him fall to the floor. Then I turn to Briar.

I pick her up slowly, carefully. Her body is limp and warm in my arms. Her skin is silk and sin under my fingertips, so soft it makes my hands shake. I cradle her against my chest, breathing in the scent of her hair, her perfume, the faint trace of wine and smoke from the club.

“Briar, my love,” I breathe against her ear, voice raw and trembling. “you really need to stop bringing these shits home. I don’t think my garden is big enough if you keep this up.”

Her long black hair spills over my arm as I lay her gently on the other side of the bed, head on the pillow. I remove her heavy combat boots one by one, then roll the thigh-high stockings down her pale legs. Every inch of skin I reveal makes the starved thing inside me growl louder. I pull the blanket over her sleeping body and just stand there, staring.

Fuck. She is so beautiful it hurts.

I take one last deep breath, forcing the beast back into its cage, and turn to the leather-jacket prick crumpled on the floor.

He looks heavy. Thank fuck for every weight I lifted in prison.

I haul his dead weight over my shoulder like a sack of meat and carry him out of the apartment. The hallway is empty. The street is empty. No one cares about a guy carrying another drunk guy at this hour.

I shove him into the back seat of the car, slam the door, and check the time. Three hours to the mansion. The drug will last four. Plenty of time.

I look up at her window one last time.

“Fuck, Drystan.” I mutter to myself, locking the car and walking back to her building.

I let myself into the apartment again and return to her bedroom.

She looks so peaceful lying there. Sweet. Ethereal. The old Briar and the new one tangled together under the blanket, black hair fanned across the pillow, purple lips slightly parted.

Just one little touch. Just a taste. I’ve waited six years.

I pull the blanket down slowly. She stirs but doesn’t wake. Her round breasts rise and fall with each breath. Her legs are slightly apart. I slide one finger along her thigh, up over her torso, feeling the heat of her skin, the softness that makes my mouth water.

I lean in and breathe her in, my eyes roll back. I press my lips to her neck, then her cheek, then her mouth. I lick the seam of her purple lips. She tastes sweet and my cock throbs so hard it hurts.

I move my hand down to the waistband of her shorts.

“You were going to let him touch you,” I murmur against her ear, voice cracking with hunger. “You were going to let him inside what’s mine.”

I slide my fingers under the fabric, under her panties, and press. She is soft. Warm. A little wet. My finger finds her clit and I circle it once, slow, reverent. Then lower.

I should stop, I have never touched her. I always kept my distance, she was too pure, too innocent. But years without seeing her, remembering her face until it almost disappeared. I need this, I need just to feel her.

I push inside her entrance, just one finger, sinking into her tight pussy.

She lets out the softest moan.

I freeze, buried knuckle-deep inside her, heart slamming against my ribs.

No. No. I will not do this. It’s just a taste. Just one taste.

I keep repeating it in my head while every cell in my body screams for more. I leave my finger there for one long, perfect minute, feeling her pulse around me, feeling the wet heat that belongs only to me. Then, with a growl I can barely swallow, I pull out.

I lift my finger to my mouth and lick her off me slowly. I taste her, slowly, dragging my tongue along the length of my finger as if it were the last sacrament on a dying earth. She is sin incarnate. She is ruin and absolution, sweet and unbearably alive, and the flavor of her rips something open inside my chest.

My hand trembles. For one fractured second I nearly lose the last thread of restraint, nearly rip the blankets away, spread her open, and bury my face between her legs until she wakes screaming my name. The need claws at me, demanding I take what I have earned in blood and patience.

“Oh, Briar,” I whisper, voice hoarse and broken. “I will drown you in pleasure until every thought, every memory, every name that is not mine dissolves into nothing. You will speak only my name in the dark, like a confession, like a curse, like the last word you will ever need. And when the time comes, I will bury myself so deeply inside you that you will feel me for days afterward, a constant, heavy presence, a secret you carry in your body, binding you to me long after I leave your bed.”

I draw a black silk handkerchief from my pocket and wipe the last traces from my finger, folding the fabric reverently so that her scent remains trapped within its folds. I will press it to my face later, in the silence of my own room, and let the craving consume me again.

I pull the blanket gently over her sleeping form, tucking it around her with a tenderness that would fool anyone who did not know the depth of my obsession. It takes all my will power to leave but I lock her door behind me, and walk back to the car.