Page 6 of Your Devoted Monster

The first slide in shattered Gabriel's reality.

Heat. Impossible, overwhelming heat swallowing him inch by inch. Ezra's body gripping him, pulling him deeper, so tight Gabriel's vision blurred at the edges. So perfect it felt like dying. Like every cell in his body was rewiring itself around this single point of contact.

Every night of waiting. Every kill he'd refused to commit.

Every moment of self-imposed starvation—it all cracked open at once, flooding through him in a rush that bordered on pain.

He'd turned his entire existence into a shrine to this exact sensation, and his memory had been nothing but a sketch. A pale imitation.

Gabriel's hands found Ezra's hips, gripping hard enough to bruise, anchoring himself before he flew apart completely.

The way Ezra's body clenched around him, the breathy gasp that punched out of him, the flutter of dark lashes against flushed cheeks: every detail burned itself into Gabriel's brain like a brand.

The position folded Ezra nearly in half, knees pushed toward his chest, completely exposed. Vulnerable. But it was the slickness that made something dark howl in Gabriel's chest—Ezra was still wet with another man's come, some random hookup's claim still inside him.

Unacceptable.

"Look at me," Gabriel commanded, fingers digging into Ezra's hips hard enough to make Ezra's eyes snap open wide and startled. "Don't you dare close your eyes. I want you to see everything. Want you to know exactly who's inside you. Who you belong to."

He pulled out almost completely—slowly, letting Ezra feel every inch leaving him—then slammed back in hard enough to punch the air from Ezra's lungs.

Set a brutal pace immediately, no mercy, no gentleness.

Each thrust drove Ezra harder against the concrete floor, skin scraping raw through the torn shirt.

Gabriel could feel Ezra's arms jerking beneath him, wrists yanking at the zip ties, fighting even now—

Good. Let him struggle. Let him remember he was caught, claimed, owned. Let him feel the restraints and know that Gabriel had him completely. There was no escape this time.

Every thrust fucked that other man's come out of Ezra, displaced it, shoved it aside. Gabriel could feel it—his cock slick with the evidence of someone else, someone inferior, someone who would never touch Ezra again. The thought made something feral spiral through Gabriel's chest.

He needed to erase anyone else’s claim. Needed to fill Ezra, pump him so full of his own come that it would be dripping out for days.

Wanted to keep him like this—tied down, unable to do anything but take Gabriel's cock, his come, his marks.

Keep Ezra on his cock for days until Ezra was so thoroughly his that no one could ever mistake him for being anyone else's.

The fantasy consumed him as he pounded into Ezra's body, brutal and relentless. He leaned down, needing more contact, needing to taste as well as touch. His teeth found Ezra's throat, latched onto the tender skin where neck met shoulder.

He bit down hard.

The skin broke easily under his teeth, splitting like overripe fruit.

The taste of blood flooded his mouth immediately—copper and salt and something else that he could identify anywhere, anytime.

Gabriel groaned against the wound, hips stuttering in their rhythm, sucking at the bite, tongue lapping at the blood that welled up hot and metallic.

Perfection.

Ezra's body clenched around him at the pain, that tight heat squeezing Gabriel's cock like a vice, nearly making him come right then.

Gabriel pulled back just enough to admire his work—deep teeth marks, perfectly formed, blood running down Ezra's shoulder in dark rivulets. Beautiful. Art in motion. But not enough. Never enough.

He bit again, higher this time. Right over the pulse point. He could feel Ezra's heartbeat against his teeth, rabbit-fast, prey-frightened. The rhythm of it intoxicating, proof of life, proof of fear, proof of arousal all mixed together. Perfect.

Ezra made a sound like a wounded animal, body jerking, trying to get away or get closer—even Gabriel couldn't tell which.

Didn't matter. Didn't care. Gabriel followed him, teeth latched on like a predator with prey, jaw locked, not letting go until he tasted enough blood to know this mark would scar too. Would be permanent. Would last.

The angle had him folded completely over Ezra now, chest to chest, close enough to feel every shudder that wracked through Ezra's frame. Close enough to feel Ezra's racing heartbeat against his own ribs. Close enough to hear every tiny gasp and whimper even through the pulse racing in his ears.

“F-fuck," Ezra gasped, or tried to—it came out more like a sob, broken and desperate. "Fuck, Gabriel—"

The sound of his name in that wrecked voice made something in Gabriel's chest constrict painfully.

Gabriel licked a stripe up his throat, tasting layers of blood and salt and fear-sweat.

Then bit the soft skin under Ezra's ear, gentle at first—a tease—then harder when Ezra whimpered, when that pretty throat vibrated with sound.

He was mapping Ezra with his teeth, claiming every inch of available skin, turning him into a canvas only Gabriel could read.

Every artist signed their work. This was Gabriel's signature, written in blood and bruises across Ezra's throat.

He pulled back to look at his masterpiece.

Ezra's neck was destroyed—a constellation of bruises and bites, blood smeared and dripping, running down to stain the concrete beneath them.

It would take weeks to heal. Months for the scars to fade.

They wouldn't disappear, not completely.

The deepest ones never would. Ezra would carry Gabriel's marks forever, would see them every time he looked in a mirror, would feel them every time he swallowed.

The sight made something pulse furiously in Gabriel's chest. Made him feel more alive than any kill ever had.

Marked. Claimed. Perfect.

He leaned down and licked at the deepest bite, the one over the pulse point, tasting fresh blood still welling from torn skin.

Ezra's whole body shuddered beneath him, overwhelmed, overstimulated, trembling.

The angle, having Gabriel's weight pinning him down, the bites still stinging, the cock driving into him relentlessly—it was clearly too much.

Ezra's eyes were losing focus, glazing over, breath coming in little hitching sobs that sounded almost like crying.

It wasn't enough. Would never be enough. Gabriel needed more—needed everything—needed to crawl inside Ezra's skin and make a home there.

It turned into something else then—violent, frantic, desperate. Gabriel fucked into him like he was trying to crawl inside Ezra's skin, claim him from the inside out, rewrite him at a cellular level. No rhythm anymore, no technique, just pure animalistic need.

Ezra's oversensitive body was jerking with each impact, overwhelmed, overstimulated, beautiful.

Not hard again this soon—too much, too fast—but responding in other ways.

The way his hole clenched around Gabriel's cock, trying desperately to adjust to the brutal pace.

The fresh tears streaming down his temples.

The sounds he was making that weren't quite screams and weren't quite moans, something in between, something raw.

The others had been silent. Eyes glazed, bodies limp, beyond response.

Just meat waiting to be arranged. But Ezra was still here.

Still feeling. Still fighting even as he fell apart.

Every clench of his body around Gabriel's cock was proof of life, proof of will, proof that he was everything Gabriel had ever wanted and never thought he'd find.

Gabriel could feel his own orgasm building, balls tight and aching, spine tingling with electric promise.

But he still wanted more first. Wanted to wring every possible reaction from Ezra's overwrought body.

Wanted to see how far he could push, how much Ezra could take before he shattered completely.

The brutality, the bites, the blood, the overwhelming sensation of being claimed and fucked and consumed—Ezra was trembling under him, body wound tight as a crossbow string.

Breath hitching, muscles tensing and releasing, teetering on some edge Gabriel couldn't quite name.

Close to breaking. Close to something. But not there yet.

Perfect. Gabriel wanted to keep him in this space, this knife's edge between too much and not enough.

"Look at you," Gabriel panted, sweat dripping from his face onto Ezra's, mixing with blood and tears. "Taking everything I give you. My perfect—my perfect—"

The words wouldn't come. Too many. Too big. Too real. He bit down again instead.

Ezra made a sound like he was dying. Like Gabriel was killing him with cock and teeth and bare hands, like Gabriel was murdering him slowly from the inside out.

Gabriel pulled back just enough to see his work, to admire it.

Ezra's throat was a masterpiece of bruises and bites, blood smeared across pale skin in abstract patterns.

His eyes were unfocused, rolled back, lashes fluttering against tear-stained cheeks.

Mouth open and gasping like he was drowning in air. Gone. Completely gone.

Beautiful. The most beautiful thing Gabriel had ever created.

Should have killed him. Should have made him art three years ago like he'd planned. Cut him open, arranged him perfect and still and eternal. But this—

This was better. This was everything. This was alive.

Gabriel leaned down, close enough that their faces almost touched, close enough to share breath. Needed to be closer, needed to consume, needed—

Ezra's mouth crashed up into his.

Gabriel froze. Everything in him went still—his hips, his hands, his racing thoughts. Because Ezra was—this wasn't—

Kissing. They were kissing. Ezra was kissing him.

None of his victims had ever been able to kiss back.

They'd been limp, dying, mouths slack and unresponsive.

This was—Ezra's tongue was in his mouth, aggressive and demanding, very much alive, very much wanting.

The sensation was so foreign Gabriel couldn't process it.

Couldn't categorize it. Couldn't fit it into any framework he understood.

In all the fantasies, all the obsessive planning, Gabriel had never imagined their mouths would meet.

Had never dared to think Ezra would want this.

Teeth and tongue and desperation, Ezra biting at his lips hard enough to draw blood, licking into his mouth like he was trying to steal Gabriel's breath, devouring him.

He tasted like blood—whose blood, Gabriel couldn't tell.

Like come. Like salt. Like everything Gabriel had been starving for compressed into this single moment.

Something in Gabriel's chest cracked. The same feeling as when the knife went in three years ago, that blade sliding between his ribs. That shock of oh and no and yes all at once, pain and pleasure and something else he couldn't name.

His hips stopped moving. His hands went slack on Ezra's hips. Every thought scattered.

Finally, Gabriel pulled back gasping, dizzy. "What are you—"

That's when he saw Ezra's hands.

Free.

The zip ties lay broken on the concrete beside them, snapped clean through.

And the knife was at Gabriel's throat. Sharp edge pressed to his carotid, exactly where it needed to be to kill.

Ezra's eyes locked with his, dark and triumphant and completely, devastatingly lucid. Not broken at all. Not even close. Those eyes were clear, sharp, aware—and had been the entire time. The defiance Gabriel had seen hadn't been flickering out. It had been waiting.

"You really think," Ezra said, voice wrecked but steady, so fucking steady, "I haven't practiced breaking zip ties every fucking day for three years?"

The knife pressed harder. Gabriel felt a bead of blood well up where the edge bit into his skin.

And his cock, still buried inside Ezra, throbbed hard.

Oh, Gabriel thought, something like joy flooding through him. Oh, you magnificent creature. I knew you were perfect.