God of War: Chapter 33

I’m losing her.

Again.

She’s slipping between my fingers.

Again.

Her presence is diminishing.

Fucking again.

And yet I’m grabbing onto scraps of her consciousness, moments of her presence, and fighting the reality of her pending fall.

“This is the place?” Ava walks to the middle of the sitting room. “Your grandma’s island?”

My gaze tracks her movements—the swish of her vintage dress, the clicking of her white heels. The touch of her gloved fingers on the back of the sofa before she flashes me a mischievous grin. “I’ve always wondered what it looks like. I didn’t think it’d be this huge and beautiful. Your gran is a lucky woman.”

“You like it?”

“Yup.”

“It’s yours.”

“W-what?”

“The island is yours. It’s in my gran’s name and she said she’d give it to me, considering I’m her favorite grandchild.”

“And you’ll just hand it over?”

“If you want it.”

She twirls around and faces me, her head tilting to the side. “You’d give me anything I want?”

“Within reason.”

“What’s unreasonable for you?”

“You can’t have another man, drive a car, or ask for a divorce.”

“Yikes. And here I thought I could find a lover and drive into the sunset in a convertible.”

I narrow my eyes. “Not unless you wish to have his blood on your hands.”

“Relax, I was joking.” She walks around, checking the furniture and the different impressionist art paintings Mum and Gran added over the years.

A few of them are Bran’s and Glyn’s. The hideous sculpture of a devil is Lan’s. I make a mental note to smash it to pieces before we leave.

I lean against the wall, arms and ankles crossed as I observe and calculate my wife’s every movement.

Oblivious to my neurotic attention, she walks around, releasing oohs and aahs about the pieces and snaps some pictures. “Have you spent a lot of time here?”

“Yes. Mostly during my childhood with my grandparents. Sometimes, with my parents.”

She grins. “I bet you have a lot of beautiful memories.”

“Possibly.”

Her bright blue eyes swing in my direction. “You’re not sure? Did something tarnish those memories?”

“Not particularly. I just don’t connect with human emotions the way everyone else does and, therefore, I fail to consider what happened here good memories. For me, it was a process that was essential to shaping my personality.”

“You sound so robotic when you talk like that. No wonder you’re a Tin Man.” Her lips jut forward in a small pout. “Do you ever think of any memories as happy memories?”

“Plenty. Though most of them aren’t socially acceptable.”

“Name two happy memories.”

“When Dad sat me down and told me I was born different and I have no reason to feel ashamed of it. In fact, I should be as proud of it as he is of me.”

A wide smile touches her lips. “I love your dad.”

“He’s married.”

“And so am I. Get your head out of the gutter, bro.”

“I’m not your bro. I’m your husband.”

She rolls her eyes. “What’s your second happy memory?”

“The day we got married.”

She freezes, her full lips parting. All of a sudden, she looks like a forgotten goddess. No. More of a fallen angel with broken wings. The need to snap them to pieces so she’ll never fly away throbs beneath my skin like a sick, constant urge.

“Haha, very funny.” She laughs awkwardly.

“I wasn’t joking.”

“B-but why?” She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth, then releases the red, swollen skin.

“Because I got to own you. Officially.”

“Oh.” Her face falls with resounding disappointment. “Makes sense.”

Her movements turn lethargic as she absentmindedly touches some of the sculptures and family photos scattered all over the place.

Gran, Mum, and Aunt Astrid can be dramatic with all the pictures they force us to take.

Ava clutches a picture in which Grandpa and Gran are sitting as he holds her hand on his lap. Dad and Uncle Levi are on his side while Mum and Aunt Astrid are on Gran’s side. Glyn is wrapping her arms around Grandpa’s neck from behind. Lan grins as he grabs Bran by the shoulder and I’m headlocking Creigh. This was taken about five years ago on Gran’s birthday that we spent here.

“Why did you bring me to the island?” my wife asks after a stretch of silence.

“I figured you could use a break. In Paris, you mentioned wanting a proper holiday where I’m not working.”

“Why here?”

“Because no one can disturb us. It’s where I come when I want to think in peace.”

She stares at me. “You fly eight hours to think in peace?”

“If need be.”

“And you brought me? Sure that’s a wise decision, Mr. King?”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

“No promises.” She smiles as she places the picture frame on top of the table. “I want to go to the beach.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to rest first?”

“I slept on the plane. I’m fine.”

More like she barely slept. The rest of the time, she was out of it. Both physically and mentally.

But if she thinks she was sleeping, that’s better.

Sam and Henderson would look at me with disapproval, and in Henderson’s case, he’d beg me to finally follow Dr. Blaine’s recommendations before it’s too late.

But I’ll chase this until the very end.

I join her on the short walk to the beach. It’s late afternoon and the sun has started its descent on the horizon, painting the sky in a shock of yellow and orange.

My wife takes off her shoes and patters on the white sand, then dips her toes in the jade-colored water.

She lets her shoes drop as she gasps. “This is so breathtaking.”

“Breathtaking indeed,” I say, my eyes focused on the soft slopes of her face. The charm radiating from her stabs my armor and slashes a crack that’s much more fatal than the previous ones.

“The water is still warm.” She kicks it with her toes, then she whips her head in my direction with a smirk before she splashes my trousers. “Oops. I just wanted you to feel the water.”

“Ava…”

She crouches and grabs a handful of water, then throws it at my chest with a laugh. “We’ve got to include your shirt in case it gets jealous. Is the water warm or what?”

My hand shoots up in her direction, but she darts away at the last second and a squeal rips from her throat as she runs along the beach. Her blonde strands fly with the breeze as the waves softly break on the shore.

I’m hot on her heels in seconds. I’m walking fast and with purpose in the beginning, but then I kick away my shoes and jog after her.

My wife glances behind her and another startled squeal bubbles out.

She picks up her pace, running as fast as her legs will allow.

My natural instinct to hunt rushes to the surface, shrouded in red-hot smoke. I catch up to her in no time, but I keep my pace steady and my breathing leveled.

If I get too excited, I might actually hurt that porcelain skin and shatter her breakable existence.

More than you’re already doing?

The voice that used to be quieter has somehow gotten louder in the past couple of weeks.

It has become bolder with each of her soft smiles and the growth of her gullible fucking trust. It’s been shaking my foundation every time she’s held on to me for support, every time she’s looked at me with those huge eyes that hold the vain hopes of a naive woman.

Maybe she needs to learn the hard way that she shouldn’t trust me.

Not when I don’t trust me.

“Oh my God! Stop chasing me. It’s scary!” She laughs and yelps but continues to run.

Like prey.

My prey.

“Eli, stop it—” her words end in a gasp when I grab her by the waist and lift her entirely off the sand, then set her back down.

My chest slams to her back as she breathes so heavily, she’s wheezing with each inhale.

I align my lips with her ear, reveling in the shudder that shakes her entire body. “Want to know why it was scary, Mrs. King? Because you acted like prey in front of a predator. If you don’t wish to be devoured, don’t run away.”

She turns around, a flush spreading on her cheeks, her hair wind-kissed and her lips a dark shade of her favorite color.

Broken beauty has always been the most haunting.

The most enticing, too.

“It was actually exciting to be chased. I liked it a little,” she whispers, then grinds against me. “Judging by your erection, you might have liked it a lot.”

And then Ava, who has more pride than the monarchy, lowers herself to her knees, fingers fumbling with my belt.

“What are you doing?”

“Lending you a hand—or, more accurately, a mouth.” She winks up at me and moistens her lips. “I’ve been told I’m brilliant at giving blowjobs.”

Hot black rage rushes to my limbs as she frees my hard cock—which obviously isn’t synchronized with my brain.

Her hands wrap around the base of my dick and she strokes me with a rotating motion. A zap of pleasure shoots down my spine, and my abs tighten.

“Mmm. You’re so big. I can’t believe I manage to fit this inside me.”

I sink my fingers into her hair, gathering it in a ponytail, and then yank her back not so gently. “I have no interest in your particular set of skills.”

She stares up at me while still absentmindedly stroking me. “I thought you never let me reciprocate because you didn’t want to look at me. But we’ve passed that, so what’s the issue?”

“I will not be another dick that praises your blowjob abilities.”

“Aw, you’re jealous, babe?”

I narrow my eyes and start to pull her up.

“What if I tell you that you’re the best dick I’ve ever seen? Because you totally are.” She actually fights me to stay in position. “Let me have a taste. Please.”

Fuck.

Does she know she can get me to do anything if she begs?

Even with my grip on her hair, she manages to wrap her lips around my crown, then sucks hard.

Jesus fucking Christ.

My wife stares up at me as she slides more of my length into her hot, wet mouth and pumps me at the base, her grip tightening gradually.

The fact that she learned to please men from some random bastards turns me into an unhinged demon.

She’s wrong. The reason I didn’t want her to suck my cock isn’t only about the eye contact. It’s because I knew I’d transform into a raging fucking lunatic when her lips wrapped around my dick.

My free hand clenches and unclenches at my side and the veins in my forearm pop as I tighten my grip to stop the animalistic urge flaring in my head.

Her movements are slow and sensual and she peeks up at me the entire time, looking at me, gauging my reaction, probably.

She moans around my skin, the vibrations of her throaty voice hardening me further. And then she releases my cock and spreads my precum against her lips.

“You done?” I ask in a somber voice.

“You really hate it?” she winces.

“I don’t, but we’re doing it my way.” I grab her nape and tilt her head back using her hair. “I prefer fucking your throat, Mrs. King. Open your mouth.”

A swallow works her throat up and down and she wets her lips before she does as she’s told.

“You’re such a brat outside the bedroom, but inside, you’re good at following instructions, Mrs. King. Open wider, show me how much you want me to use your mouth.”

As I thrust into her inviting heat with my usual control, my wife opens wider, blinking up at me with those bright, trusting eyes, trying to accommodate me to the best of her ability.

Any ounce of reason I possess scatters away like the sand on the beach.

Like every time I touch her.

I say I’ll only touch her because I’ll do it my way. That I’ll use, then discard her. That I’ll extract my pleasure the same way I get everything in life. With method and command.

But then I slam into the beautiful chaos that is my wife.

She makes me lose control. Willingly or unwillingly.

No woman has ever done this to me. They were all a commodity and faceless holes willing to be used.

She’s the exception to my rules. The discrepancy in my perfectly written novel. The mutation to my biology.

It started with a sense of challenge at uni, then it morphed into a bizarre obsession every time she pissed me off—and she did that a lot. Then it suddenly became a violent possession.

A need for ownership.

The moment I identified the bug, it was already too late to extract her from my life.

Ava is the most dangerous person I’ve ever come across.

She can break me even while she’s broken herself.

She can worm herself between my armor and my skin.

Scratch that.

As she looks at me while I fuck her mouth, I realize with depressing clarity that she’s already seeped beneath my skin and she’s currently flowing through my blood.

She holds on to my thighs as she lets me thrust in and out of her mouth, using her tongue for friction. Tears shimmer in her eyes whenever I hit the back of her throat.

I pull out and she pants, her breaths echoing in the silence. “W-why did you stop? I can take it.”

“Breathe properly.”

She sucks in large gulps of air, panting.

“Again.”

She inhales a deep breath and exhales.

“One more time.”

Her chest heaves as she regulates her oxygen intake, then opens her mouth wide.

I thrust inside in one go, using her hair as a steering wheel. My rhythm is rougher this time, more unhinged as I drive in and out. My wife never stops looking up at me, and it’s that eye contact that throws me over the edge.

My orgasm is intense and long as I come deep in her throat. She swallows as much as possible, but streaks of my cum roll down the corners of her mouth.

I pull out and tug her up by the hair and then crash my lips to hers.

She gasps as I lick my cum off her mouth, then thrust it back inside. Her moans echo in the air as she climbs up my body, wraps her legs around my waist, and kisses me senseless, raking her nails down my neck and grabbing onto my hair.

My crazy wife reaches between us and strokes my hardening dick, then places it at her opening. “Fuck me.”

“Jesus Christ. Where’s your underwear, Mrs. King?”

“I must’ve forgotten to wear any.”

“You’ve been forgetting that a lot lately. I almost think it’s on purpose.”

“Maybe it is.”

“Mmm,” I growl against her lips. “Is that so?”

“Shut up and fuck me, Eli.”

My cock slips from her soaked pussy to her back hole and she writhes against me, humping, inviting me to claim my property.

I grab her arse cheeks beneath the dress, my fingers sinking into the soft flesh. “Should I fuck you here, beautiful?”

“If you want. Anything you want.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. How come all your attitude disappears when my cock talks to your cunt?” I slap her arse. “Maybe it should talk to this hole as well.”

“Yes, yes. Just fuck me already.”

“Let me get some lube.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I’m huge and you’ve never taken a cock in your arse before.”

“I took the toys you put in me.” She grinds against me.

I laugh. “You’re cute to think any of those toys compare to my cock.”

“I stand corrected.” She grins, dropping a feather-light kiss on the corner of my mouth.

She can be so affectionate after sex and often showers me with hugs and kisses as if she can’t get enough. My wife is definitely the type who loves to ‘cuddle’ after I fuck her brains out, and although I never cared for the act before, I do with her.

I love holding her when she’s entirely spent and smells distinctively like me.

While she’s all wrapped around me, I start to walk us back to the house.

She sighs contentedly as she kisses my throat, my chin, my cheeks, my lips, and even my nose.

Anywhere she can reach is hers for the taking, and she knows it.

Too well for my liking.

As soon as we’re in the bedroom, I balance her against the wall and fumble with the nightstand until I find the lube.

“I’ll get on all fours if it’s easier,” she whispers between nibbles on my ear. She’s obsessed with that for some reason.

“No.” There’s no way in fuck I’m fucking her from behind again. Not after what she told me that time.

Besides, she didn’t get worse as I was afraid, so it’s doable.

For now.

I put her down and pull her dress off. She removes her bra, her full breasts falling free with a gentle bounce. I get rid of my trousers and briefs in one go. My shirt follows, scattering on top of her dress.

And then I lie on my back on the bed and pull her so she’s sitting on top of me.

Her lips meet mine as I squirt lube on my palm and then circle her back hole and slowly thrust two fingers inside her.

She shudders and rubs her soaking cunt against my abs.

“You’re going to take my cock here, aren’t you, beautiful?” I ask against her lips as I add a third finger, slowly fucking her.

“Mmm, yes, please.”

“It’ll hurt.”

“That’s okay. I trust you.”

God fucking dammit.

“I meant to take it easy on you, but you’re making that impossible.” I lather my cock with lube, then push her up, wrenching my fingers from insider her.

I grip her waist and she holds herself up so my cock is positioned at her back entrance. I pull her down slowly until the crown is inside.

Ava slumps forward and sinks her nails into my abs, on the scar she’s never stopped asking about since the first time she saw it.

“Oh God. You’re really huge.”

“That’s it, baby. You’re taking my cock like a very good girl.”

“Mmm. Fuck…” She lowers herself farther, taking another two inches, and breathes heavily, a sheen of sweat covering her skin. Some wayward blonde strands frame her face in a soft glow.

“You’re doing so well.”

“I am?” Her pupils dilate with the praise and she comes down for a few more inches. “Oh fuck…fuck…”

“You’re so fucking beautiful. You’re strangling my cock like a very good girl.” I reach up and twist her nipple savagely, knowing how much she loves a touch of pain with her pleasure.

My wife moans, throwing her head back, and I shove her all the way down.

Her whimper echoes in the air as she huffs and grabs onto my sides, her hands trembling slightly.

I let her adjust. We both breathe harshly, hers echoing with erotic noises.

“Relax for me, baby.” I stroke her waist gently.

She stares at me and her muscles stop being so tense.

Once I feel her softening, I drive into her with slow, shallow thrusts. She mewls and rubs her clit against my groin.

My rhythm deepens as her sounds of pleasure echo in the air. She gasps, sucking in a fractured breath every time her clit slams against my groin.

“How does it feel, beautiful?”

“Good. You feel so good.”

I stop and she groans.

“Ride me, Mrs. King. Let me see how much you want me.”

Leaving a hand on my stomach, she reaches back and grabs onto my thigh as she lifts herself up, then falls back down.

A strangled noise leaves her as she captures the corner of her lips between her teeth. Soon enough, she finds her rhythm and goes up and down in slow, sensual strokes.

I’m at the point of bursting both at how fucking tight she feels and the view of her riding me, her tits bouncing, her hands caressing my skin.

“God, you really feel so good, Eli,” she breathes out in a needy voice. “Fuck me. I love it when you fuck me.”

“Like this?” I thrust up when she falls down and she slumps forward.

“Yes, yes…more…”

“You look like a fucking goddess.”

“Oh God, yes!” She grinds her clit against my groin as I drive into her with deep stokes.

“I’m going to fill you up with cum so you know you’re only mine, wife.”

“Yes… Please…”

Her lips fall open and she tightens around me, so I sit up, sink my hand in her hair, and shove her down for a hungry, violent kiss as she shatters around my cock.

She rotates her hips and continues riding me, milking me, clenching around me.

The entire time she kisses me with frantic passion. My wife is as insatiable as I am and never gets enough.

“Come with me,” she whispers against my mouth as she clenches around my cock. “Please, please.”

I thrust deeper, wrapping a hand around her throat, and then I’m groaning as she moans.

The rush of the orgasm hits me with blinding strength. I come in her as I kiss her senseless.

She wraps her frail arms around me, and, for a moment, we’re one.

For a moment, as we kiss and she snuggles against me, I choose to think we’re normal.

Ordinary.

Simple.

For a moment, I choose to forget that I have two options for my wife.

Either watch her wither away or admit her to a mental institute and watch her fall apart on the road to no return.

She might look normal now or a few days from now. A few weeks if we’re lucky, but it’s an illusion.

A safety net with hidden holes.

An unsteady bridge that will crack under pressure.

Already, as I carry her to the bathroom, she looks lethargic, numb, and only half present.

Her pulse is slow, her eyes are unfocused, and her body is stiff.

After I run the tap and check the temperature, I place her in the tub, careful to balance her head so she doesn’t hit it against the edge in her daze.

I’ve started to move away to fetch the shower gel when a hand grabs onto my wrist.

“Hey, Eli?”

“Yes?” I face her, and for a moment, she looks so radiant, so fucking beautiful, pain explodes in the useless organ tucked behind my rib cage.

An organ she poked, provoked, and breathed life into, now it seems to only beat in her presence.

Her words fill the bathroom thicker than the steam. “Let’s have a baby.”