Defy the Void Page 4

  “I just…” I reached up and cupped the back of my neck with my palm. Heat filled my cheeks, and even though this place felt perpetually cold, sweat beaded at the back of my neck. “I didn’t think –“

  “Can we not fucking talk about it?” He snapped his fingers and made a cigarette appear. “You called me. I came.” He leaned forward, making sure I held his gaze. “I will always come for you, you hear me? You.”

  “Why?” I blurted out. I dropped my hand so it slapped my thigh. “I don’t get it. Why would you risk yourself to come for me? It’s not like you need me anymore. You got what you wanted.”

  “I made you a promise.” Another long drag of his cigarette. He didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. “We still need to find your brother, don’t we? From there…well, we can decide where the fuck to go then. But we need to find him, and then…”

  “And then?” I prodded, leaning forward.

  I didn’t want to allow myself to hope. Especially since I didn’t even know what I was hoping for. Some kind of future with Keaton? The entire notion of such a thing was impossible. Even I wasn’t stupid enough to think that.

  And yet, based on the vows, based on everything I learned about this marriage, there was no way to undo it. Divorce didn’t exist in the Void, and we got married here.

  The thought should scare me.

  But it didn’t.

  And the fact that it didn’t scare me scared me.

  “Fuck if I know.” He shrugged.

  Great.

  Well, what did I expect? Some kind of romantic monologue? From a heathen? From Keaton?

  I nearly laughed at the thought even though my chest felt hollow.

  “You okay, babes?” He eyed me up and down, and I was surprised to find wariness in his gaze. He continued to smoke, continued to keep his distance.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, these people, people you’ve been with for years, locked you up in a cell,” he said. “You’re best friend had a fucking dagger to your neck.” His eyes narrowed and there was a darkness that touched him, one I felt myself step back from. Not that I thought he was going to hurt me, I just wanted to give him that space. “You sent me away on purpose, didn’t you?”

  I blinked, realizing he didn’t know.

  “They were going to kill you,” I said.

  “And you saved me.” Not a question.

  I didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure what he wanted from me.

  “You care about me.” Another statement.

  I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could say anything, he cleared his throat. “Let’s go to bed. I’m fucking tired. Tomorrow, we have to meet the cretin that might – and by might, I mean might – have info on your brother.”

  I refrained from squealing out loud.

  He said we.

  Which meant I was going too.

  Chapter Six

  I barely slept. Keaton was right next to me, snoring. He slept without a shirt on, his back turned to me in his sleep.

  At first, I stared at the ceiling, a smile on my face. I couldn’t contain myself. I was bursting with energy. I wished I could go to Daphne or Mattie about this, but I couldn’t. They weren’t part of this life. And while I knew there was a chance that they’d be happy for me, even after everything that occurred between us, I knew the life I lived now, the fact that I was bonded to Keaton, would never let me go back to my friends the way I knew them. The way they knew me.

  Growing bored, I turned towards Keaton, towards his back, and my mouth dropped open.

  I couldn’t keep the mangled cry from ripping across my throat, but I managed to slap my hand over my mouth. Hopefully, he didn’t hear it.

  His back was mangled in scars. How could I not have noticed when we –

  I didn’t want to think about it. The point was, I noticed it now. White lines criss-crossed across the wide expanse of his back. Some were thick and gnarled like the roots of a tree, while others were a ghost of what they had been. Despite the fact that Keaton was a heathen, he carried his scars with him, even in the afterlife.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

  I wished I knew what happened, how he got them. Part of me knew Keaton wasn’t an innocent; he got into scraps and he suffered because of that. But another part of me acknowledged that some of these seemed like tokens of punishment, something that lingered from long before he died.

  Before I knew what I was doing, I reached up and traced one across his left shoulder. His skin was warm, despite not being wrapped in a shirt or blanket, and I found myself leaning in to him slightly. And then my mouth was on one, and then another, like I could heal them with a kiss. I wanted to roll my eyes about how stupid that was, but I couldn’t bring myself to.

  Because kissing him felt good. And I didn’t want to stop.

  When I went in a third time, Keaton shifted. It was only then that I realized his breathing had changed and he wasn’t snoring. Which meant, at some point during my exploration of his body, he woke up.

  Slowly, he turned to his other side so he faced me. His eyes were still full of sleep and exhaustion, but the bright green was a shade darker as he looked at me. He said nothing, not even when he reached an arm out and grabbed my hip. His fingers began to tug at the skirt of the nightgown, lifting it up, up, up.

  My heart began to hammer against my chest. My mouth went dry. I didn’t stop him, didn’t tell him we should get some sleep. I wasn’t sure why that was. I’d like to think it was because my mouth had gone dry so speaking was simply out of the question.

  But deep down, I knew.

  I wanted this.

  I wanted what we were going to do.

  The fact that I could even allow myself to admit such a thing was too much for me. I was supposed to hate him, even knowing the pleasure he would assault me with. And maybe I did hate him. But that wasn’t enough for me to stop him.

  What did that say about me?

  Did it even matter?

  When his fingertips brushed my flesh, I gasped. His eyes darkened even further as he trailed them over to the inner part of my thighs. I spread my legs slightly for him, and he tilted his chin, surprised. He must have expected me to push him away.

  I swallowed, unsure what to do, what he expected from me.

  His finger brushed my slit, and he grunted, eyes going down even though my body was still mostly covered by blankets.

  “Well, well, well,” he drawled. He pulled his hand up and slid his finger in his mouth, over accentuating the slurping sound. When he finished, popped it out of his mouth, smirking. “Fucking delicious.” This he seemed to say more to him than to me. His eyes met mine. “Already wet, babes. You want me.”

  I said nothing. I couldn’t even get myself to deny it, damn him.

  “Say it,” he said. “Tell me. I want to hear you say the words. I want you to admit what you want so you know what I do to you. What I do to your body.”

  I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t get the words out. I didn’t want to admit anything to him, but especially that.

  Something inside of me was rebelling against him. Something that refused to let him be right about this.

  His arrogance infuriated me. After I saved him. After I sent him away. He never even thanked me. And here he was, touching me, demanding that I beg for him? I couldn’t give him that satisfaction.

  I refused to.

  Instead, I clamped my teeth together and pressed my lips into a thin line.

  I wasn’t going to say it.

  He seemed to recognize this because he arched a brow slowly, almost lazy about it, like he didn’t quite believe it. He waited for a moment, then another.

  “So,” he said. “This is how it’s going to be?” He leaned forward, invading my space. I wanted nothing more than to jerk back, to get away from him, afraid I would easily fall into temptation. But I held myself where I was. I held his gaze. I couldn’t let him think he could get to me so easily. “You’re going to regret this, babes. I’m going to make you scream my name. I’m going to make you fucking beg, you hear me? Don’t toy with me. Not after the time I had.”

  “You had?” I burst out, anger and lust mixing a heady potion in my blood. “I saved you. I sent you away –”

  “And I had to fucking be without you.” His hand left my hip to grasp my throat, long, spidery fingers pressing down on my skin, just enough to let me know who was in charge currently. “I had to live with you sending me away to protect me. You fucking think I wanted that? It’s my job to protect you.”

  “I’m your wife,” I managed to get out, voice slightly strained due to the grasp he had on my throat. I should be scared of him, by what his touch implied, but my body betrayed me again.

  I was dripping between my thighs.

  I wanted this rage, this violence. I didn’t know how to explain it except to say that it spoke to something inside of me. Something dark and twisted. Something I didn’t know I had.

  Or maybe I did, and I had been trying to run from it, to hide, to deny it completely.

  But I couldn’t anymore.

  Keaton wouldn’t let me.

  “You’re mine,” he said. “Which means you’ll do what I tell you to do. I don’t give a shit if you like it or not. You’ll obey me.” His hand slid back between my thighs, thighs I hadn’t closed because I hoped he would touch me again. And when he did, I hissed. I didn’t want him to know the pleasure I derived from his touch, but I also couldn’t help myself. “Don’t come until I give you permission.”

  And then he popped from beside me and reappeared between my thighs, mouth pressed against my mound the second he was back. A startled cry left my lips, and I immediately hated myself for it. Hated that he could draw such a reaction from me.

  Hated
how weak I was when it came to him.

  My legs fell open even further. One hand clutched my hip while the other snaked up my chest and tugged at the nightgown so my breasts spilled out. The cool air caused my nipples to marble, a shock to being encompassed in warmth so recently. Keaton’s fingers pulled at one, and I moaned.

  His tongue moved back and forth against my clit, drawing out more and more liquid from my body. My eyes closed the first time he did this, but now, I wanted to see.

  I managed to muster up enough energy to clutch the blanket and toss it off of him. I wouldn’t be surprised if Keaton used his magic to move it until it fell to the floor without missing a beat. His hand moved to my other breast, maintaining the perfect amount of pressure on my clit.

  I forced my eyes open, hunching forward so I could see, so I could watch –

  And I let out a whimper.

  There was something so entirely primal about seeing Keaton feast on me. I couldn’t put it in words. He was devouring me, savoring my taste, every twitch I made, every noise that came out of my mouth.

  Part of it was a power play. I knew that.

  But the other part was he actually enjoyed doing this.

  And it boggled my mind because I had always heard guys didn’t like doing this.

  The outrageous noises coming from him – the slurping, the sucking, the groaning – should make me blush, should make me recoil in disgust.

  But I didn’t.

  My pelvis began to throb.

  And then, he slid his finger inside of me, stretching me. There was just a hint of pain, so slight, reminding me I wasn’t used to this.

  But I wanted to be.

  He began to pump inside of me, curling his finger just so, and I moaned, loud this time. I didn’t care.

  “Play with your tits,” he instructed.

  I did. I didn’t even question it. I caressed my nipples, only adding to the breathless sensation bubbling up inside of me.

  I could feel myself getting closer to the edge. A tiny voice reminded me I couldn’t come, I couldn’t without him telling me first.

  But I didn’t care.

  “Don’t fucking think about it.”

  And then he ripped away from me.

  I cried out, not sure if I was offended or angry that he could build me up only to break me.

  “Not until I tell you.”

  His lips glistened with my juices, and he tugged his pants down before thrusting inside of me so hard and so fast, I couldn’t prepare. Pain shot through me, and he didn’t even stop. Didn’t care.

  But it didn’t matter because the pain subsided quickly.

  He steadied his pace, somehow going deeper, deeper than he had. I locked my ankles around his waist and arched my back, and he went deeper still.

  “Fuck, Kara, Jesus Christ, you feel so fucking good.”

  I whimpered again.

  The buildup so recently stolen from me was starting to build up again, like it never left. My nails sunk into his shoulders.

  My heart raced.

  I wanted this.

  I needed this.

  “Don’t,” he growled, before sucking the skin below my ear.

  “Please,” I said. So pathetic. So weak. But I didn’t care.

  Not if it meant I could come.

  “Please, what, babes?” There was a smirk in his tone, but I didn’t care about that, either.

  “I want to come,” I said. “Please. Please.”

  It was getting painful, holding myself back.

  He must have known it too because his breathless chuckles tickled my skin.

  “You wanna come?”

  I bit my lip.

  “Say it.”

  “I want to,” I said. “Please let me come.”

  “Who’s your Daddy? Tell me. Who’s fucking you right now?” His voice sounded strained.

  He must be close too.

  Maybe…maybe I could push him off his edge too.

  “You’re my daddy, Keaton,” I whispered. “Please, please let me come.”

  I didn’t think I was going to hold back any longer. I was ready to let pleasure wash over me and accept whatever consequence he was going to give me.

  I didn’t care.

  “Come, little girl. Come for your daddy.”

  And, like magic, I shattered.

  Chapter Seven

  My body twitched and spasmed with abandon. I was falling, falling, falling, and I knew Keaton would be there to catch me. Keaton of all people. But somehow, that only made me ripple with desire, that someone as dangerous and as powerful as he was would want me, would want to fill my body with his own release and claim me as his own.

  I wasn’t powerless in all of this.

  He was extracting his own pleasure from me.

  “Kara.”

  My name on his mouth in such a gutteral sound was enough to elongate my release, and I clutched at him like he was the only thing keeping me alive. He was my anchor, the thing that held me steady in a turbulent ocean. If I had him, I could survive anything, no matter what that was.

  He spilled his seed inside of me, a warmth gush of satisfaction as it invaded my body and reached as deep as it could go. It filled me up, it marked me as belonging solely to him, and then it melted inside of me.

  Something about the sensation made me feel complete.

  And exhausted.

  My breathing was labored, and I was sure it only stroked his ego to know he left me completely boneless, unable to even suck in a breath.

  He rolled off of me, lying on his back. But his arm wrapped around my shoulders and he pulled me to him so I rested my head on his arm.

  “Fuck, babes,” he said. “You’re going to be the death of me. I didn’t know you had such a filthy mouth.”

  My face pinched as a blush came out of nowhere.

  “Don’t get me wrong.” His lips brushed my hair and I found myself closing my eyes. I liked the garbled sound of his breath. I liked the way it rolled through his body. “I like it. Scratch that, I fucking love it. I want more of it, know what I mean? But Jesus, I think you’re seriously trying to give me a heart attack.”

  “You say it as though you’ve never experienced it before,” I said.

  I was surprised I said anything about it at all. In truth, I wanted to keep his history away from myself. Clearly, he was experienced. There was no denying that. And doing so wasn’t going to help the situation or make everything better when the truth was, he had been alive – maybe around was the better word, since he wasn’t technically alive – for six hundred years.

  Of course he had had sex before. Probably lots of times.

  But the thought of Keaton with anyone but me caused a flicker of annoyance to bubble up in my chest.

  “Well, yeah.” His voice was slightly strained, though I immediately noticed an effort for it to be wrapped in his usual nonchalance.

  “What does that mean?” I tilted my head back so I could look at his face. “Isn’t sex always that good? Maybe even better, because –”

  “Why would sex be better?” His voice took a dark tone, though I didn’t understand why. “You telling me you ain’t a virgin?”

  “What?” I pushed myself away from him to sit up, taking the sheets with me to keep myself somewhat modest. “Why would you even think that?”

  “Because if you are, I’ll fucking find anyone who’s ever touched you and fucking kill them.” His voice was so serious, it caused my heartbeat to increase. I thought that was because I was scared of him, of what he could do, but when my pelvis throbbed and I could feel moisture between my thighs, I realized my body was affected by his words. “You’re mine. I’m the only one who’s allowed to touch you, you hear me? Even if they came before. I don’t give a shit. No one is allowed to know you like that. No one, except me.”

  “What about you?” I demanded, my body coiling and tightening. My fingers balled the sheets in my hands, trying to keep a steady grip on them.

  “What about me?” Still an edge to his tone, but more casual nonchalance. Like turning the conversation around didn’t matter.

  Asshole.

  “You claim that you’re going to kill anyone before me,” I said. “What about you? I’m positive you’ve had much more experience than me.”

  “You saying you have that experience?” he asked with his teeth gnashed together.

  “Of course not,” I snapped. “I already told you that, and it’s the truth. You saw my blood after…after the first time. I’m just, I’m saying…you had me as a virgin. I’m still new at this.” My face was on fire. Why couldn’t I say this without any sort of reaction? Why couldn’t I just be cool about this? “So, I just, I didn’t know if maybe that’s not as…as nice for you as you’ve had in the past. Because I don’t know what I’m doing.”