Page 112 of My Dark Divine
My face inches closer as I flick my tongue across her most sensitive spot, drawing a gasp from her lips—a wordless plea for more. I retreat briefly before pressing an ice cube to the same spot. The sharp cold makes her flinch, and she tries to pull away, but I grip her thigh tightly, forcing her back into place.
She lets out a hiss as I inflict the pain, bruises blooming beneath my fingertips. “West! It hurts!”
“It will hurt if you refuse to give in, Netia. Trust me with this?” She stares at me for a moment before nodding, knowing that the pain I inflict will lead to her ultimate pleasure. “Lean back, close your eyes, and relax. Let me take care of you.”
I don’t wait for her to react before pressing the ice cube back to her clit, dragging it down her slit with a slow, deliberate stroke. A low moan tumbles from her, and my restraint snaps—this unbearable tease of not touching her like I want pushes me to the edge. I catch the ice with my tongue, sliding it into her, her needy noises only fueling my desire. I lose all sense of sound and thought as I push deeper, teasing with every motion, my hands firmly gripping her thighs.
“That’s a good little pussy,” I praise, my eyes rolling back as I feel her body shiver with pleasure. Words can’t capture how much I relish seeing her react to my praise. “My good little pussy, yeah?”
“Yours,” she whimpers, her voice trembling on the verge of breaking. “Please don’t stop, don’t stop?—”
The burning sensation spreads across my scalp, and my cock twitches for the millionth time as the agony intensifies. She tugs at my hair, squeezing my head with her legs, sending electric tremors rattling through my body. I quicken my pace, playing with the ice until the warmth of her pussy melts it completely, leaving the task to me. The icy taste of the melted cube burns on my tongue, blending with her sweetness, and I greedily lap up every drop, swallowing it all.
Her release draws near as she crosses her feet behind my neck, urging me closer, her body tense with desperate need. The sun’s warmth filters through the window, pleasantly brushing against my skin, but it feels insignificant compared to the sacred gift I hold in my hands. I devour every drop she gives me, fucking her with my tongue, pushing her into oblivion as her voice chokes on my name, on the only word she seems to remember.
And just as she stills, her orgasm looming on the horizon, I yank myself away, earning a loud, pathetic whimper of protest that quickly turns into a desperate cry.
Hurting her like this pains me just as much as it brings me pleasure. As I rise from my knees, I grab her waist and push her onto the bed, taking in a better look at her flushed face. It seems as though she’s on the verge of bursting into tears before blacking out. She inhales deeply, preparing to release another sob, but I don’t give her the chance. In the next moment, I thrust inside her without warning.
Her cry is a storm of sensation, pain and pleasure intertwined. Her back arches and her eyes roll back, lost in a world of pure sensation. She doesn’t react when I grab her by the cheeks, and for a moment, I worry I’ve broken something inside her. But then she’s back in her bliss, wrapping her hands around my neck and rocking her hips in sync with my thrusts.
My control, her control—it’s all in fucking shreds and tatters now. Sharp screams fill the air, mingling with the violent thuds of the bed against the wall. I don’t notice my hand traveling from her face to her throat, squeezing tightly, nor do I realize how her hand wraps around mine, applying pressure and forcing me to squeeze harder. Flames of electric pain shoot through my knuckles as her nails scratch my skin.
She’s stripped me of everything, and now she wants me to do the same to her. I clutch her close while she rides out her orgasm, pulling me to the edge with her. And when the final wave crashes over me, I lose every sense in my body. I come with a roar that mingles with her sweet cry as we jerk into each other, our bodies molding together in a single, perfect match. It feels like we’re both falling into a vortex of hell—an endless, mind-fucking sensation that borders on unreal.
As we come down from our high, her body remains tightly pressed to mine. A deep ache seeps into my bones, and only now do I fully feel it—the sweat dripping down my face, the numbness in my limbs, and my erratic breathing. Groaning, I bury my face in her neck as she runs her fingers through my hair, tenderly working through the strands.
It feels so fucking good that my eyes flutter closed, the invisible hand of sleep pulling me into the void. Falling asleep right now, forgetting everything around us, would be phenomenal, but I can’t leave her like this.
“Let me clean you up first,” I breathe, sliding out of her. Pain shoots through me at the loss of her warmth, and I have to fight the urge to drive back in.
Realizing she’s not in a state to answer questions, I take matters into my own hands and strain my brain to remember where the wet wipes are. After a few seconds, I find the pack and return to her.
“West.”
My body stiffens when she sobs my name, and I slowly raise my eyes to hers. She presses a hand to her face, attempting to shield it from me. Another sob rips from her chest, and with it comes a sharp spike of worry, completely erasing the peaceful aftermath.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” I ask, gently moving her hand away as I try to catch a glimpse of her face. “Why are you crying? Did I do something wrong?”
She shakes her head as she attempts to sit up, her hands grabbing the sheets to cover her chest. “I need to tell you something,” she chokes out, her body quivering with uncontrollable tremors. “About earlier.”
A wave of unease runs down my spine at the reminder of our earlier conversation. She had refused to tell me the truth, pushing me away, but now she seems ready to open up.
“Okay,” I say, prompting her to continue. “What is it? What happened?”
She takes a moment, her eyes fixed on my chest. “What do you know about what happened to Zayden?”
Confusion floods me as I furrow my brows. “Uh—” I trail off, struggling to form a coherent thought. The sudden shift in subject, especially to something like this, completely throws me off track. “I know what they reported in the news. That woman, his lover, got mad at him for not divorcing you and shot him in a fit of rage,” I say, bits and pieces of information surfacing inmy memory. “She was sent to a psychiatric facility instead of jail after being declared unstable.”
She nods, her eyes catching the sunlight as they lock with mine. A tremble plays at the corners of her lips. “That’s not what happened.”
I blink, struggling to understand, a knot of disarray tightening in my chest. A beat passes, and then a chill shoots through me, the realization settling deep like a cold weight in my bones, before she speaks. Something tells me that whatever she says next won’t be anything like what I expect.
“Venetia,” I whisper, my throat going dry. “Whatdid you do?”
Flashback
Age 18
