Page 60

Malice

Deep blue lantern light stencils her outline, spotlighting the shivers that lick across her skin. He towers behind, their respirations synchronized. When she inhales, Malice exhales, as if they’re a machine. A forceful entity made of the same element, forged of moving parts, and powered by tension.

It radiates off them in waves. He tastes her anxiety like sugar, sweet but poor for her health. Like perfume, enthusiastic fear wafts from her, blending with the essence of blossoms, the mixture coating his lungs.

It takes a lot to stay quiet, to keep his tongue leashed. But the silence does fantastic things to her breathing, shallow pants puffing from her chest. She likes being scared, and he likes scaring her, because it’s no longer deadly.

He’ll never hurt this paragon. If anyone else tries, he’ll tear them limb from limb.

But he’s dangerous in other ways. And they can pretend. It’s fun.

Playing the role of predator, Malice corners her, his possessive fingernails stabbing into her pine green gown. And hell almighty, her sharp intake turns him into a heathen.

With agonizing slowness, he ducks his head toward her nape, his tenor as honed as a switchblade. “Gotcha.”

A spray of goosebumps trickles across her back. She twists her head, her reply stirring his blood. “This doesn’t mean I’ll ever submit.”

Malice’s mouth ticks upward. “Now who said anything about submitting?” Transferring to the ledge of her ear, he whispers, “You were the prey, but you were never the captive.”

Wonder stills, absorbing his confession.

He’d been tasked to stalk her with the prowess of a tiger, to divert this goddess in any way she wanted.

But Malice understands now. He was always the servant, the hostage, the slave to her whims. She abducted him long before he did her. This wildflower owns him.

A faint noise rustles from Wonder’s lips. Then she falls into him, curling against his naked torso, her head lolling onto his shoulder, her ass tucking into his groin. And fuck, every part of his frame hardens, from his scalp, to his torso, to his cock, to his legs. Everything.

Malice nuzzles her hair and hisses, “Will you let your prisoner have a treat now?”

She sighs, nods her head, and reaches up to clasp the back of his neck. “Yes, please.”

A throaty sound of appreciation rumbles from his tongue.

He walks them forward, their bodies swaying across the expanse until they reach a mezzanine overlooking multiple levels in the library’s most prohibited sector.

Peeling her hands from him, Malice shackles Wonder’s fingers to the railing, exerting pressure to indicate she’s not allowed to move.

The distance between them and the balustrade angles her forward, bending her to him.

Raking his palms up her outer thighs, Malice rucks the skirt to Wonder’s hips, revealing too much ample flesh to withstand. Her voluptuous thighs and ass lift from the hem, fluid glosses her waxed pussy, and the dark slash of her crease parts.

Smooth. Flushed. Swollen.

Fates. His balls tighten, his cock defies gravity, and his imagination runs rampant. But like a well-trained god, he serves her first.

Eddies of pleasure slide off Wonder’s lips as Malice massages, kneads, and teases each crevice with the dedication of a fanatic. Her calves, thighs, hips, waist, ass, cunt, and clit. No place neglected.

By the time she’s ready for him, Wonder is shaking down to her toes, her whines tripping all over the halls, and she’s wetter than a spigot.

Malice hums, loving the sight, loving every fucking thing.

This is how she was destined to look and feel.

By the Stars, he’s going to change the meaning of torture for this goddess, turn it into something rhapsodic, something she can’t get enough of until every pain she’s ever known is erased from memory.

Frustrated by the wait, the goddess fumbles between her splayed thighs and pats her clit. Malice’s cock leaps, the width broadening. Yet he reaches around and plucks her digits from that drenched pussy.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he says. “No touching what’s mine.”

Wonder grunts, a glimpse of her smile peeking through. Disobeying his command already, she steals out with one free hand to cup his raging dick through the pants. Malice seethes, instinctively thrusting into her waiting hand.

“Same,” she replies. “Mine.”

Fuck, yes. All hers.

The authority in her voice ropes around Malice, yanking him closer.

While he patiently shears open the back of her skirt with his talons, she unbuckles the flaps, his feverish cock rising into her grip.

On a combined moan, Wonder siphons his flesh until it grows hot to the touch, his crown flares wide, and his sac inflates.

At the same time, he rows his fingers back and forth over the cleft between Wonder’s legs, from her anus to her clit.

Starlight and darkness lacquer the walls. The vista spans ahead like a private lair, a fortress of their own making. This is the view she deserves to have while being worship-fucked.

They release each other, Wonder seizes the balustrade, and Malice cranes her waist toward his poised cock. With a prolonged rock of his hips, the full length of his dick splits her pussy, sinking to his base.

Wonder cries out, the clutch of her body snatching his breath. Malice snares the bars alongside her fingers, leveraging himself as he draws in and out, from the glistening tip to the seat. Slotted between those drenched lips, his waist swings, languid but firm.

The goddess weeps and rolls her buttocks into Malice’s slinging cock. “Ah,” she chants. “Ah, gods.”

“Hear that?” he grits out. “That’s how you sound when I’m fucking you.”

“It’s more than that,” she amends. “It’s the sound of me happy.”

Malice’s muscles stall, shock overriding his thrusts. Happy. This is how she looks, feels, and sounds when she’s happy.

Because of him.

Something breaks open like a latch inside Malice, setting loose too many emotions at once.

His tongue flops around in his goddamn mouth, speech abandoning him.

In three thousand years, he’s broken, beaten, and butchered enough deities to fill a horror anthology.

To say the least, he’s never made any of them feel something remotely close to joy, the definition as unattainable as a star.

Malice… doesn’t know what to say.

But he does know how to move. Malice rocks back into it, beating his hips with her own, his cock lunging deeply. To emphasize how much he likes her comment, he jerks his hips at such an incline that Wonder sobs, fanning her thighs apart to take every leisurely whip of his cock.

His forearms flank hers while grinding into her pussy, his knuckles bending on either side of her fingers, both of them choking the railing.

Planting her right heel on the balustrade’s lower rung alters the angle of their fucking, the slope of his thrusts.

His thick cock lurching, the heavy friction making Wonder keen aloud, her disjointed moans filtering across the repository.

His torso braces her, and her head sags against his collarbones, her tits pushing upward.

Malice unleashes a husky growl. “Can I make you happier? Hmm?”

In reply, Wonder swats her hips backward, lurching her soaked cunt, smearing her arousal all over him. Malice’s raspy grunts tear through the hall. He hunches farther, his forehead landing against her neck, and fights to maintain his grip on the rail while pitching his hips.

It goes on and on and on. The celestials shift, the passage of time pushing shadows across the walls. All the while, his cock and her pussy move together, colliding with indulgent thuds, drawing this out.

Immortality fortifies them. At this point, they’ve been at this anarchy for three hours, and they’re going strong enough that Malice predicts another several to go before she gets the minimum of what she deserves from him.

With every pelt of his cock, Wonder clenches and gushes his flesh, amping up the octave of their groans.

Outside the windows, constellations glitter like ice. In between panting moans, Wonder has the nerve to suggest, “At some point… we need… to do this… in a bed.”

Malice gnashes his teeth, his hips whisking into her. “Beds are boring. Where’s—”

“—the fun in that?” she finishes. “Not inventive enough to make use of a mattress?”

Hmm. Mocking him, is she?

Challenge accepted. Malice changes his fucking mind.

Wonder gives a protesting cry as he pulls out, spins Wonder around, and loops her over his shoulder like a sack of priceless jewels.

Like this, he stalks through the library, hefting Wonder to the dormitory, with her legs askew and her laughter ringing through the corridors.

They’ve been sharing her dorm for weeks. Punting open the threshold, Malice strides inside, the door punching the opposite wall. At the impact, a crack carves through the facade like fault line, jolting the constellations swimming across the walls.

Wonder screeches with gusto as he drops her onto the circular mattress, a dozen pillows rattling.

She scrambles backward, gleeful as Malice looms like a half-naked, tattooed, immortal son of a bitch.

His erect cock stands between the open pants, and her pussy puddles between her limbs as they cleave apart.

Damn. What did he do to earn this female’s attention? Best not to analyze that since he hates enigmas.

Malice sinks his knees into the bed, then hunkers on all fours like a supplicant. Kneeling for this goddess will never do her justice. She deserves a god who’ll fucking crawl to her.

He maneuvers on hand and knees, snaking her way with a smirk. When he reaches the gulf of her legs, she orders, “On your back.”

Yes, ma’am. Malice rolls, snatching Wonder’s hips as she anchors one leg over his lap, her thighs astride his waist. Those rich locks waterfall down her damp skin, and their hands clasp on either side of his head.