Chapter 37: God of Wrath: Chapter 37

Ican’t sleep.

After what seems like hours of tossing and turning, I throw off the covers and jump out of bed.

My visit home has been entirely hijacked by Jeremy, and despite the initial shock, having him here, seeing him with my mum, and actually taking Papa’s non-subtle threats has made my heart so full.

I never thought things would go like this, but a part of me is rejoicing at the sudden turn of events. The part that’s been squeezed to death for missing him since I left him and only started breathing correctly when I saw him standing in our house.

Instead of going straight to the door, I smooth my sleeping shirt, pat my cheeks, and spray on some perfume from my vanity.

I stare at my face in the mirror, and for the first time in years, I don’t look away in disgust. I don’t see my reflection sulking back.

In fact, I feel pretty and I smile, and that appears soft under my side lamp’s light. My room is the inspiration for the one on Brighton Island. Manga pages cover the walls and the ceiling, torn in places from when Papa wasn’t careful. We didn’t have outside help when we decorated my room. One weekend, Mum and Papa wore their goofy overalls, posed at the door like wannabe decorators, and said we’d do this shit.

We spent the whole day rearranging and pasting pages. Mum giggled at some clichéd scenes and said I take loving romance stories after her. Papa frowned at some of my manga choices.

That’s one of my favorite memories.

After making sure I’m presentable enough, I head to my door. It’s late, so hopefully, Papa is asleep. If he’s not and is watching over Jeremy’s room, I’ll just pretend that I need something from the kitchen.

Jeez. Who knew sneaking about in your own home would be this nerve-racking?

I’m about to open the door when a dark shadow slips in from the open balcony. I’m frozen in place for a fraction of a second before I run toward the door.

I haven’t made it two steps when a large hand wraps around my mouth, and the familiar voice drops near my ear.

“Shh. Don’t fight me tonight. As much as I would love to chase the fuck out of you and make you scream as I tear through your pussy, your father wouldn’t appreciate it.”

I breathe him in for a minute, trying to calm the sudden spike of nerves.

His warmth envelops me as he slides his hand from my mouth to my middle. The weight of his presence surrounding mine coupled with his leather scent drives my body into hyperaware mode.

He licks my earlobe, and I shiver as his groan vibrates off my skin. “Did you put on perfume? You smell so good I could eat you up. Fucking water lilies.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” says me, who was planning to sneak into his room not two seconds ago.

“I know.”

“You’re not even supposed to be in London.”

“I know.”

“You could’ve at least told me you were coming so I’d be mentally prepared.”

“I know.”

“Do you have anything to say aside from I know?”

“You’ll never be out of my sight again, Cecily.”

The possessive finality in his tone causes my mouth to go dry, and I swallow a few times. “What if I have to be out of your sight?”

“That won’t happen.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

“Hmm. That’s right. I had to see and touch you properly for all the times I couldn’t today.” His hand sneaks under my shirt, then stops over my bare pussy, and a gruff sound vibrates off his vocal cords. “Fuck, you’re ready and soaking wet for me. Such a good girl, my Cecily.”

My head falls back against his chest as he slides two fingers inside me. His touch is firm and he easily finds my sensitive spot and strokes it with command.

His other hand glides beneath my shirt, over my stomach, and then grabs a breast and pinches my engorged nipples. “I love your tits, so round, perky, and they fit perfectly in my palm.”

He rolls the nipple between his fingers, pinching, stimulating, torturing. He adds another finger to my pussy, pushing, curling, thrusting, and matching the rhythm on my breasts.

I can’t control the moans that slip out of my mouth, and it’s not for lack of trying. My parents’ bedroom is down the hall, and they could come to check on me any second, but that seems to be the least of my worries right now.

Jeremy has always been intense during sex. The type of intense that has you begging and coming back for more. But this is the first time he’s taken it slow, as if meaning to drive me insane with the rhythm alone.

“Tell me, Lisichka, do you always sleep with nothing beneath your shirt in your house?” He accentuates his words by pumping his fingers against my G-spot.

“N-no…”

“Then why did you today?”

“I…felt hot.”

He pinches my nipple and drives into me with a savage rhythm. “Your tight little cunt is swallowing my fingers and messing up my hand, so maybe it’s horny instead of hot. I bet she wants to be fucked so good, until you’re begging me to stop in that sexy little voice of yours.”

“S-stop talking like that.”

“But I love it when you’re horny for me.” He rotates his hips, and a huge erection bumps against the crack of my arse. “I love how your body melts into mine, how every part of you comes to life at my touch. I love how you clench around my fingers and cock as if refusing to let me go.”

His lips fall on my throat and feast on the thin flesh, then he’s biting down on my collarbone.

I jerk in his grip, the multitude of stimulation flashing through me all at once. I don’t know if it’s his words, his touch, or the fact that it’s him, but I can’t stop the flood that washes over me.

My chest quakes, and my legs shake from the force of the orgasm. Even my moan is broken up by the successive contractions in my lower belly.

“Fuck.” He bites my earlobe, my cheek, and my lip. “You look so beautiful when you come.”

I’m breathing heavily, feeling no different than a doll in his hold. I love being the subject of his desire. I love how he can’t touch me enough or get his hands on every part of me enough.

He releases me but only so he can do a quick job of tugging his shirt free and kicking away his shorts. He also went commando, and for some reason, that causes my temperature to rise.

I can’t help raking my gaze over the inked ridges of his biceps, the rippling of his chest muscles, and the pulsing of his hard, thick cock.

A sense of apprehension goes through me. It doesn’t matter how many times I see it, touch it, suck it, or am fucked into oblivion by it. Jeremy has a huge cock that hurts every time it’s inside me. The good type. The pleasurable type.

But I still have that moment of doubt anyway.

A minute of silence stakes its claim between us and he looks at me like he’ll feast on my flesh. Under the dim light of my side table lamp, his eyes appear nearly black, hungry with lust and other raw emotions.

Desire.

Possessiveness.

Obsessiveness.

Adoration.

The last is merely a hint, but I see it. I saw it earlier, too, at the dinner table when he told Mum that I listened to him like no one else has.

I saw a feeling I’d never dreamed of associating with a hard, cold man like Jeremy. A feeling that I would sell my left kidney for at the prospect of witnessing it again.

And here it is once more, so soon and under different circumstances.

The moment of silence comes to a crashing halt when he removes my shirt with one savage tug and throws it aside. His fingers splay out on the back of my neck and he kisses me.

No, he me.

His kiss is both of adoration and possessiveness. A flickering emotion that alternates between softness and harshness. He slams the front of my body against his, crushing my breasts with his chest and stabbing my stomach with his cock.

It’s not pretty. It’s not nice. It’s animalistic and intense. It’s a clashing of teeth, a stamp of ownership, and proof to the changing of our dynamics.

When we started with sex, chasing, and kinks, he never kissed me. We merely used each other for our sexual needs. We fed off one another’s depraved tendencies and drew each other’s blood. We both ran—me to be chased, him to hunt. But maybe that’s not the only reason. Maybe we were also running from the feelings we saw in each other’s eyes.

What we shared all those months ago couldn’t have been only physical. At least, it wasn’t for me.

Maybe it wasn’t for him either, because ever since we got back together, Jeremy always kisses me before, during, and after fucking me. Sometimes, he kisses me for the duration of it.

He, too, is probably telling me that it’s never been physical for him either. He couldn’t have gotten those releases and satisfaction if it were anyone else but me.

Or that’s what I hope.

He wrenches his lips from mine but speaks against them as he grabs my arse, fingers digging in the flesh. “I’m going to claim this hole tonight, Lisichka. It’s going to be mine, too, like your cunt, your mouth.

.”

That sense of apprehension about his size returns. He’s always played with and fingered my back hole, but he’s never gone beyond that. It’s hard when he fucks me in the pussy. I don’t think I’m physically able to take him in the arse.

But, on the other hand, I want him to own every part of me, too.

Sometimes I wish he was chasing me, taking me against my will in our twisted play. That way, my busy brain wouldn’t have a say in it.

“A-are you going to hurt me?”

His fingers thread in my hair, pulling, twisting, keeping me in place. “Probably.”

I shudder, my heart nearly falling to my feet from the nerves. “Take it by force.”

“By force?”

“Like when you chase me. That way, I won’t be able to think about it.”

A slight smirk lifts his lips. It doesn’t matter how civil Jeremy tries to be. He’s first and foremost a monster, and he gets off on the chase.

On scaring me.

Of having me be completely his.

“You’re my perfect little whore, but you’re also my good girl. I’m going to fuck you like you’re both.” His fingers unclench from my hair and he releases me. “Now, run.”

I stumble from the lack of his touch, catching myself before I hit the wall. He remains in place, arms crossed, and his chest rising and falling in a controlled rhythm.

His outside demeanor doesn’t fool me, though.

If anything, my muscles lock, and every fiber of my being rises to the surface at the promise of being chased.

Of being thrown down and taken.

I’m absolutely sick in the head, but as he stares at me with a fire that matches my own, I don’t care.

I run to the only other place available—the bathroom.

The moment I fling the door open, he’s behind me, the sound of his steps barely audible compared to my raging heartbeat and the roaring in my ears.

I throw something at him, a towel, but he merely ducks, letting a cruel smirk paint his sinful lips.

“You’re trapped, Lisichka, so how about you give up?”

I run behind the bathtub, grabbing my breasts to stop their jiggling, but my plan to go back to the room is put to an abrupt halt when I find him standing at the door.

My harsh breathing fills the bathroom as I stare at his dispassionate eyes, at the promise of pain behind them. I make the snap decision to go right.

He goes left, meeting me in the middle.

I squeal when he reaches out to catch me, but I manage to duck, then sprint forward.

Before I can celebrate escaping him, a strong hand sinks into my hair, wraps around my nape, and knocks me against the shower glass. My whole body glues to the cold surface, and my eyes zero in on the mirror opposite us.

Jeremy looks like a giant beast behind me, his muscular tanned thighs visible on each side of my pale ones as he pins me in place. The tattoos undulate and revolt on his abs, biceps, and chest with each intake of air.

I try to fight and push against him, but he pulls me back and slams me against the glass again, knocking my breath out of my lungs.

“Shhh. I’m going to need you to be real quiet for me when I fuck your ass.” He slides his hand to my stomach and exerts force so that my arse cheeks press against his groin.

A low grunt rips from him, and I don’t know if it’s due to the friction or the fact that I’m downright shaking against him.

He glides his fingers from my pussy to my back hole. “Mmm. Such a dirty little slut. The chase made you so wet, you’re dripping with it.”

He does it again, smearing my wetness over my back hole, but this time, he thrusts a finger inside and I gasp. He’s often played around with it, even drove a knife handle in it once, and I had an intense orgasm.

But this is the first time that he’s actually fucking me here.

He adds another finger, filling me until I’m unable to breathe. I glue myself against the glass door as if that will be able to save me from the clutches of his man.

No, not a man.

He’s a beast now.

He fucks me with his fingers in a savage rhythm, but when I start to adapt, he seamlessly removes them and spits on my back hole. I go up on my tiptoes at the sudden act and how erotic it feels.

Just when I think I’ll come because of it alone, he thrusts his cock inside. My palms slam against the glass door for balance. Only the crown is in, but it’s so tight that it burns and hurts.

Despite the chase, arousal, and the spit just now, I don’t think I can do this.

He slaps my arse cheek, and I gasp, so he does it again.

And again.

“You can take me.” He adds another inch, more easily this time. “Don’t push me out. Swallow my cock like you’re asking for it.”

Another inch. Another agonizing moan coated by a ripple of painful pleasure.

His hand wraps around my hair, holding it in a ponytail, and he pulls my head up, making me stare at us in the mirror.

I don’t recognize myself.

Tears stream down my cheeks, sweat coats my neck and breasts, and an angry hickey from earlier decorates my collarbone.

My body is flushed, my hands are quivering, but my hard nipples are stabbing the glass, and my arousal is dirtying it all up as my hips rock back and forth the more he thrusts his length inside me.

Jeremy’s face is tight with both pleasure and his beastly need. I’m looking at the beast of a man who’s claiming the last bit of me right now.

Once he’s fully sheathed inside me, he doesn’t give me time to adjust, doesn’t take it easy on me, and he certainly isn’t gentle.

His speed picks up and he fucks me like my custom-made animal. Roughly, violently, like we both want it.

He fucks me like he hates me, wants me, and is obsessed with me. He fucks me with long, harsh strokes, so deep and firm that I bump against the glass with each one.

His eyes never leave mine through the mirror, maintaining a connection so primal and raw that it eviscerates me.

The look in his eyes burns me alive more than his unforgiving touch.

When I attempt to lower my head, he forces it up with his grip on my hair. “Don’t hide. Look at your face when I fuck you like an animal. That’s what you look like when you’re being ripped apart by my cock, Cecily. When you’re milking me and taking all of me like a good girl. You look so ecstatic and pleased, you look like fucking mine.”

He accentuates his words with ruthless thrusts that trigger my pleasure. I’m panting, crying, and begging all at once.

A sharp sensation tightens the bottom of my belly. My muscles clench and my pussy contracts as the orgasm washes over me.

I’m thankful I’m sandwiched between Jeremy and the shower glass or I’d drop in a heap on the floor.

His teeth nibble on the lobe of my ear and then he orders in dark words, “Say my name.”

“Jeremy,” I moan and repeat it again and again, in sync with his rhythm.

He goes mad.

Absolutely and utterly unhinged.

He fucks me with abandon, still holding my hair, forcing me to see my orgasm face, shedding each and every apprehension I had about sex.

I look beautifully ravaged by him.

He looks ethereal while in his beast mode.

Every mode, really.

The sounds of slapping, groaning, and moaning echo around us like a twisted lullaby.

He grips my hair harsher and speaks near my ear in hot, low words, “This is how I look when I fuck you, Cecily. Not a man, not a beast, but both at the same time. I look so fucking mad about you that I can’t get enough of fucking and owning you.”

My heart nearly spills at his feet and a rush of emotions flood my system. The only way I can express it is by calling his name, so I do, repeatedly, and he rewards me by emptying his load inside me.

Jeremy is a sight to behold when he’s in the throes of pleasure. His muscles go rigid, his face tightens, and his teeth clench in what resembles a snarl. He looks no different than a sex god, and I can’t help the tinge of pride I feel for being the one who puts that expression on his face.

He covers my back with his wide chest, lifts my chin, and grunts near my mouth, “Mine.”

We remain like that for a minute, sticky, messy, and smelling of one another.

After a few moments of peaceful silence, he pulls out, wrenching a whimper out of me. I can feel his cum trickling down my thigh to my ankle. I can see him watching the show in the mirror, yet I can’t look away.

Jeremy disappears behind me, gathers his cum at the tip of his finger, then fucks it back into my arse. “You look so fucking beautiful when you’re covered with my cum, Lisichka.”

I stand on my tiptoes, quivering, moaning, and clenching my legs for any bit of friction.

To my disappointment, he stops playing with me and carries me to the shower he just fucked me against. At first, he cleans us all up, then slides into my pussy and fucks me slower against the wall.

Only when I come again, calling his name, and begging him to stop does he finally dry me off and carry me to the bedroom, both of us stark naked.

He lays me on the mattress the covers me with the sheet, but instead of leaving, he lifts the cover.

I touch his arm. “You should probably go. If Papa finds you here, he might kill you.”

“I know,” he says, but he still slides beneath the sheets beside me.

Not only do I not protest, but I also bury my head in his chest and wrap my arm around his waist. As much as I love the intense sex only Jeremy can bring, I also can’t live without these small moments of nothingness right afterward.

I love how he washes me up, how he dries my hair and covers me, but most of all, I can’t live without the way he hugs me, how his fingers stroke my shoulder, or how he kisses the top of my head. Like right now.

It’s unfair how the mere act of his lips on my head is enough to melt me.

“You should really go,” I say, sounding half asleep.

“You’re digging your fingers into my side, Lisichka.”

“I like it.”

“You like what?”

“You. Me. Like this. You can stay just a little, and then you go. Okay?”

“Okay.” He lifts my chin with two lean fingers and kisses me so deeply, I melt all over again.

I lick my lips long after he releases me. “Hey, Jeremy.”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For getting me out of my comfort zone. I wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t pushed me at first.”

He smiles, and I really need him to stop doing things that can endanger the well-being of my heart.

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“I’m sure you would, sadist.” I stroke my fingers over his tattoos. “Is there anything you’d do differently about us?”

“I would find you before Jonah and before you developed a crush on that motherfucker Landon.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I kiss his chest. “I think we were supposed to meet when we were both jaded so we could help one another.”

Then I fall asleep with a smile on my face. I think I’m dreaming when I hear his voice whisper, “No one will hurt you anymore, Cecily. You have my word.”

But the beautiful dream slowly transforms into a nightmare where a cruel voice laughs at me for believing that Jeremy and I could ever be normal.