Page 29 of Daddy’s Muse (Bloody Desires #12)

“Every ritual has its heart,” I told him quietly, easing his shirt from his shoulders, sliding it down his arms. “This one has you.” My palms swept across his chest, reverent, claiming. “You’re the axis. The one the gods will see and understand. The one they’ll bind to me.”

I laid his shirt aside, then let my hands travel lower, unfastening the rest of his clothing with the same slow patience.

Each piece was folded away carefully, never discarded.

“Not defilement,” I whispered as I worked.

“Not desecration. But the worship of your body. A joining the gods themselves demanded.”

He shivered faintly under my touch, drugged but responsive. His lips parted as though he wanted to speak, but I hushed him with a kiss—gentle, lingering, his breath sweet against mine.

“I’ll carry the weight of this,” I breathed against his mouth. “Not you. Never you. You only need to feel me. To trust me. To let me give you what the gods have promised.”

I kissed along his jaw, down the curve of his neck, tasting him like a sacrament. My hands caressed his sides, his hips, memorizing every inch of him. He was laid bare before me, not as prey, not as a bloody sacrifice, but as something holy.

“Pappa,” he whimpered, his cock feeling the effects of the drink already as it leaked beads of pre-cum.

“I’m going to fuck you,” I rasped, mapping the shape of his body with my roaming hands and lips. “Do you want that? Do you want Pappa’s dick to fill you up, sweetheart?”

Colby trembled under my touch, his legs rubbing together in need. “Y-yes, please. I want it, Pappa. I—I don’t know… about the stuff you said, but… I’m already yours. Forever. Please fuck me, please ,” he whined.

I took his cock in hand, rubbing my finger through the wetness on his tip, spreading it under the spongy head. Colby jackknifed up at the touch, crying out with pleasure.

“Be as loud as you want, min prins. Let the gods hear how pleased you are with their will.”

Colby squirmed against the furs, his hands gripping into their softness.

Letting go of his swollen member, I rolled him onto his front, pulling his hips up.

He gasped at the new feeling of the furs caressing his dick, and began rutting into them with abandon, mindless between the drug and his usual neediness.

I leaned forward, covering him with my body as I brought my hand to his mouth and slipped three fingers onto his tongue.

He sucked them with desperation until drool slid out from the corners of his lips.

“P-wease,” he garbled around my digits.

I groaned at the effortless way he stoked my fire. Removing my spit-slick fingers from his mouth, I wasted no time in bringing them to his twitching hole.

After softening up the rim with some rubbing, I pushed two fingers into him, relishing in his low moan. Needy thing that he was, Colby began pushing back his hips, effectively riding my fingers.

“That’s it, baby. Need to get that little virgin hole of yours ready to take my cock,” I growled.

“Pappa, more, please,” he panted.

“I’ve got you. Pappa’s got you.”

Colby whimpered as I added the third finger into the mix, his hole clenching against the intrusion. I found his prostate and rubbed my fingers into it, getting drunk on his pleas.

“Please, please, please, put your cock in! Fuck me, Pappa.”

“Gods, you have no idea what you do to me.” Having divulged myself of my pants a long time ago, I stroked my throbbing erection from root to tip, readying myself for him.

Notching the head against his hole, I hesitated, only to be spurred on by Colby’s frantic begging.

Rocking my hips forward, I pushed into him, slowly making my way into his welcoming body. Colby cried out from under me. Once I bottomed out, I pressed my body weight against his back, tilting my head to suck bruises into his neck. I grabbed his head, turning his face towards mine.

The fabric of Colby’s blindfold stuck to the skin around his eyes from the tears wetting it. Tear tracks down his flushed red cheeks showed where some had escaped. His mouth hung open, pants and moans and whimpers tumbling out with every twitch of my hips.

“Beautiful,” I said, licking the salt from his cheeks. “You’re so damn beautiful when you cry, my love.”

He moaned and stuck his tongue out, silently begging for a kiss. My lips attacked his, utterly consuming him. He was panting for breath when I pulled back.

Kissing back down his delicate throat, I thrusted deep into his channel, grinding my cock against his most inner places.

“O-oh, fu— Pappa , Pappa, right there, please !” Colby yelled, body shaking.

I continued my deep grinding, moaning at the spasming of his hole around my shaft.

“Yeah? Here, baby? You like it deep?”

“Oh, yesss—please, right there,” he begged. “So—so good, Pappa!”

“Are you gonna come and milk my cock like a good little whore, baby? Be your Pappa’s perfect cockslut?”

Colby cried, “Yes, y-yes!” He pushed his hips back, eager to get my cock impossibly deeper.

“Say my name,” I grunted out, barely holding back my own orgasm, wanting to wait for my boy’s release first.

“Pappa, Bodin , oh god—c-coming!” he screamed, his ass suddenly locking up, practically forcing the cum out of my balls.

“Ja, for faen!” I shouted, spilling my seed into him as my body jerked from the intensity of my orgasm.

* * *

The shed smelled of iron and lust.

The circle was finished. The blood had dried into the grooves, the bones gleamed where I had set them, and Bryan was nothing but silence behind me.

None of it mattered anymore—only the boy at the center did, the boy whose breathing had finally evened out after at least fifteen minutes of lying in my arms.

It was time to get him back home, clean and cozy in our bed.

He murmured something I couldn’t catch, his lips dry, and I hushed him instantly, brushing the back of my knuckles across his face.

“It’s over,” I whispered. “You did so well for me, little one.”

He didn’t resist as I gathered him up and stood. His skin was damp, hair sticking to his forehead, so fragile in my arms I felt as though even holding him too tightly might break him. I pressed my mouth to his temple, breathing him in, grounding myself in the living warmth of him.

I carried him back to the cabin, laying him gently on the bed we shared. Butter stirred from her spot at the foot of the bed as if she, too, wanted to make sure her boy was safe.

I walked into the bathroom, where I found a small basin under the sink that would serve my purpose.

I filled it with warm water, soap, and a soft cloth.

Rituals demanded blood and ruin, but what came after—this was mine alone.

After carefully carrying the basin back into the bedroom and setting it down on the nightstand closest to Colby, I dipped the cloth, wrung it out, and began to wipe him clean, slow strokes across his chest, his arms, down to the delicate curve of his hands, being extra careful in cleaning his more intimate areas.

Each pass left pale skin shining fresh again, untouched, as if the night had never happened.

He sighed, eyes half-shut, and I couldn’t stop myself from leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Shh. Rest. I’ve got you.”

By the time I’d finished, the basin was dirty with what I’d taken from him, but Colby looked like the definition of perfection, almost luminous against the sheets. I pulled one of my shirts over his head—soft cotton, and way too big for him, so that it hung loose, swallowing him whole.

I eased him onto his side and lay down behind him, one arm curling possessively around his waist. He fit into me like he always did, his body molding to my own.

The gods had their due. The ritual was complete.

And I had my boy, breathing steady in my arms, bound to me in ways he’d never escape.

I kissed the crown of his head, whispering into his hair, “You’ll never be alone again, Colby. Not in this life. Not in any.”