Page 14 of Morena

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I woke up chained, hooks sunk into both shoulders, holding me in place. My hands were numb, but there was still a tingling in my fingers. My eyes were wide open now, my body shaking from the pain. When I looked down, I saw I was completely naked.

“What did you do to me?” I asked, searching for her, but she was nowhere around.

A mirror hung on the wall in front of me. I saw myself chained. I saw how broken I looked. My hair was braided, my beard unkempt, my eyes hollow with exhaustion. The tattoos covering my skin were now crossed with cuts, scars carved deep enough to last forever.

She leaned against the mirror, watching me. “I know what you did,” she whispered before stepping into the middle of the basement floor.

I swallowed hard, hissing at the pain tearing through me.

“I saw you in a dream,” she said, taking a step closer. “You just stood and watched her drown. You could have saved her, but you chose your life over hers.”

Her steps echoed as she closed the distance. “You betrayed her. Why?”

“I was just a kid then,” I said, shaking my head. “Now, as an adult, I pay the price.”

“No,” she whispered, so close I felt the cold radiating from her skin though she hadn’t touched me yet. “You don’t get to decide who lives and who dies.”

“And you?” I asked. “What are you then? You’re no different than me.”

She laughed and turned away. 1 “Puede ser.” When she spun back, her reflection stared at me from the mirror as if there were two of her.

“When I was dying, I was given a choice,” she said. “Bring dark souls to judgment day, or burn in hell.”

Her hand pressed against my chest and slid slowly down. “I was just as selfish as you, except I never got to choose who lives and who dies. That choice is still yours.”

She lifted one leg against my hip, her hand circling my throat as she climbed onto me. Her weight dragged at the hooks in my shoulders, pulling harder, the pain shooting down my arms until my teeth clenched and I hissed.

“Do you want to die, ojos tristes, or do you want to live?“ she whispered, her fingers tightening around my jaw and turning my face toward hers before she licked my cheek.

“Kill me already,” I said, staring at her, the last of my strength drained.

“Not yet.” She pressed her fingers against the wounds in my shoulders, brought the blood to my mouth, and smeared it across my lips.

“Want some?”

She pressed her fingers to her lips and smeared blood over her mouth and cheeks. She was so goddamn beautiful. Maybe in another life we would have had a happy ending, but this was not that story.

I nodded, feeling my cock twitch.

She noticed and leaned harder until the tip brushed her lower lips.

“You are mine now,” she breathed.

“Then take me,” I growled.

She laughed and kissed me like she meant to claim whatever was left of me, our tongues twisting together, urgent and slow at once. She lowered herself to the floor, and I watched her, hungry.

She stripped herself bare, palming her breasts, then slid a hand down, and slowly rubbing her clit before she slid two fingers inside. She stopped, came to me, and pressed those fingers to my mouth so I could taste her.

“How do I taste?” she whispered, smiling.

“Like death,” I said, looking at her.

She cupped my balls, then sank to her knees and took my cock into her mouth. In the mirror, I watched her ass cheeks part and her hips work, grinding down until she gagged a little around me.

I groaned, my head falling back. The chains tugged, and the pain flared, but when pain and pleasure are braided together, you stop caring. She was pushing me to the edge.

She rose and turned with her back to me, watching herself in the mirror. She spread her cheeks, and in one clean, single thrust, she lowered herself on me. She moaned and smiled.

In the mirror, I saw her eyes roll as she leaned back over me and began to ride, steady, then harder, then even harder, plunging her body onto mine again and again.

She arched her back, one hand clutching her left breast while the other slid down to touch herself, tracing slow circles while I took the lead, even chained. She gripped the chain in front of me and held it tight as she moved, her body trembling with pleasure.

“Make me regret what I will do,” she whispered between moans. “Make me forget I was dead.”

She spun around, her legs locking at my hips as she slammed herself down onto me. Her hands gripped the chain above, holding herself steady as she rode me. The room filled with the slap of skin and the rattle of chains, her moans tangled with my groans of pain.

“I will make you forget death if you make me forget life,” I said, letting her ruin me.

She pulled the hook from my shoulder, tearing a groan from my chest as she released me.

I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close.

She smeared the bloodied metal across her breasts before she brought it to her mouth and licked it clean.

Then she swung it behind her, teasing herself until I could see in the mirror how she guided it lower, circling her rim before pressing inside.

Her eyes rolled back as she bit her lip.

I pulled her closer, my lips at her neck. Her skin was warming beneath me, bronze color returning as if she were coming back to life. I could feel her breath against my cheek.

“Ya eres mía, Morena,” 2 I said, thrusting into her harder.

She was tight, needing me more than before, her body clenching around me with every moan.

I groaned with her as she raked her claws down my neck and shoulder, her thighs shaking, her body arching. I didn’t stop, even as much as I wanted to come. My cock twitched, swelling harder until I finally came, pulsing inside her.

Her head fell to my neck, lips brushing kisses against my skin. She reached back, pulled the hook from her ass, then guided us both to the wall. She pressed her hands to my cheeks, staring into me while I was still buried inside her.

A single tear traced her face, but no water fell, only blood.

“Why did it have to be you?” she asked.

I brushed the bloody tear away. “Sometimes the ones we want most are the ones killing us the most.”

“Then let me go,” she whispered.

I shook my head. “Not letting you go.”

She pressed her lips together. Another tear slipped down her cheek, and she pushed her thumbs into my eyes, holding me for one last look before digging her claws into them.

I screamed, but she screamed with me.

She took my eyes so I couldn’t see anymore. But I would do it all over again, because she was the last face I saw, the last thing I would remember.

Then I felt her collapse against me, sobbing, whispering, “I remember, Matteo,” before breaking into a scream. “I remember how I died.”

Her cries tore through the room. I couldn’t move, couldn’t hold her. The chains still kept me in place.

“I know who killed me,” she whispered. “I remember now.”

She screamed again, came closer, her hand sliding down my chest. Heat flared inside me, burning like she was pulling my heart out. Then she pressed her lips to my ruined eyes, and suddenly I could see again.

“When you broke the urn, our souls connected,” she said. “I saw your life in my dreams, and you saw mine. But I forgot who I was until I found you.”

Her teeth bared, her face streaked in blood, her skin paling. “And now I know why I became what I am,” she cried, voice shaking the walls.

She stepped closer and drove her claws into my chest. Blood poured hot and fresh, my body weakening, breath breaking.

“You can’t be saved, Matteo,” she said. “You will watch yourself die, the same way you watched her die.”

I said nothing. She was right. I deserved it. But still, some part of me had believed she might stay. Instead, she turned, walking away, leaving me to die alone. My worst fear.

And then she disappeared, while I watched each drop of blood spatter against the floor. All I could think about was her. Only her.

“Morena,” I shouted, louder, then weaker. “Morena.”

But this time she didn’t come. This time, she had no reason to haunt.

1. Could be

2. You are mine, Morena.