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“Omega, watch your fuckin’ arm,” he hisses, giving my head a punishing shake which I don’t feel because all I can feel is that angry rattling in his chest getting louder. It’s so loud it drowns out reason as he rolls our bodies over into the only other position this tiny shell of a thing will allow…
He’s on top of me. I scratch his neck, wanting to draw blood and pull him forward at the same time. He doesn’t react to me taking my cracked fingernails to his skin. He just moves my injured arm to the center of my chest and is careful not to put any weight on my torso even as his knees slide between my knees and his hips press forward until his pubic hair is crushed against my pubic hair and his cock is crushed against my cunt.
My sanity starts to unravel. I moan and grab for him, reaching for anything and finding beard. I yank him down to meet my mouth and I lose myself to the taste of him.
I lick his bottom lip, I bite his beard hair and yank, pulling strands free. I wipe my mouth off on his shoulder, leaving trails of spit. I bite his throat. I plant feverish kisses across his shoulder and over his heavy collarbone until I reach the V at the base of his neck. I flatten my tongue to his trachea and lave it, licking away the salty tang of his sweat. Tears come to my eyes. Ineed.I need so badly. His taste…his taste is magical. His taste is safety.
I pant, on the verge of shaking apart or maybe blacking out. I’m so overwhelmed. “You taste like snow,” I tell him, voice cracking.
“You taste like sin.” His palm comes around the front of my neck and he pushes my head back, back until it rests against the surprisingly squishy floor. He’s moving so slowly, my eyes get hot, my hips buck, but he just holds me down and plants lingering, languid kisses on both of my cheeks before sliding his tongue deep into my mouth, like he’s trying to suck the bitch out of me, moan by moan.
Good thing, because I’m also trying to bleed the bastard out of him drop by drop. “Mhmm…” My anger peaks and, when he kisses me softly the next time, I bite his upper lip again, tasting blood.
He doesn’t mind. He doesn’t slow or stop. He kisses me more deeply, more slowly, and I wrap myself around him, and by that I mean I just desperately arch my back and heave my chest up off of the ground while he holds me down, carefully pressing on my throat with what feels like very little effort on his part.
His lips move to my ear and suckle the lobe. The scrape of his fangs against my cheek makes me tense, but softly, so softly, in the darkness he whispers, “Won’t bite ya, Echo. Never again. Promise on my fuckin’ heart.”
I start to breathe harder, my chest shuddering, gut cramping, things getting choppy as a foreign sensation makes its way into my crotch and bursts. I feel like I’m gonna have explosive diarrhea.Nah, I’m gonna have an orgasm. There isn’t enough though…not enough. I need…to fuck…something.No. I need to fuck my Berserker.
I reach for his dick again and fumble trying to find it. I’m so lost. I hope I stay lost forever because I know already I won’t forgive myself when I wake from this. I find his cock wedged between our lower abdomens just as he licks a line from my ear across my jaw and back to my mouth.
He shoves my head to the right with his own and kisses me harder, his head angling to the left so he can gain better access, moving deeper. His lips move in careful motions, even hungry as they are, nipping and biting something feverish, and it suddenly occurs to me that he might be…teaching me what to do. Does he know I haven’t kissed many boys? Does he know I’ve kissed even fewer men? Is it that obvious?
I jerk, trying to break the contact as some of the cramping in my stomach hollows out into embarassment, but that must piss him off because he reaches between us abruptly and shoves my hand off his cock. Am I doing that wrong, too? My mortification is high, but not so high as my need as he lines himself up with my pussy and presses the bloated head of his cock against my wetness. My pussy quivers and I squeeze my eyes shut tight.
I clumsily search for his mouth, missing it for the second time. I find his neck now and bite. He moves his hand from my neck to my hair and wrenches me back down onto the floor. I can’t move and am left pinned and immobile underneath him. I blink and see a gleam, but maybe it’s just a hallucination. The inside of this coffin is pure darkness. It’s not real.
It’s not real. I’m not about to fuck the Berserker who owns me.
He pushes forward a little, but it’s enough for a jagged moan to tear out of my whole body. I must be moving because the next thing I know, he’s carefully pressing his fingers against my chest, holding me down carefully.
“Fuck,” he cusses and he starts to draw back.
I squeeze my shaking thighs around his hips in a total panic. “No.”
“Baby, gonna hurt yourself. Can’t have it.”
“Please.” My eyes burn with fresh tears all over again. I can’t stop them.
“Nearin’ heat. Could send me into rut. Could fuckin’ kill you, Echo.”
“You won’t,” I gasp, and an uncomfortable warmth slides across my chest, making me doubt — not him, but myself. Because he’s the Berserker I fucking hate, but there’s still truth in what I said.
His rumble drops to a deep purr again and it fans the flames in my heart and in my crotch simultaneously. “Can’t know that…” His voice jerks. “You fuckin’ cryin’?”
Yes. “No.”This isn’t a dream.
He starts to pull back and I clamp my legs around his hips as tight as I can. It sends pain radiating through my left leg, but a pain that dull by comparison to the need crashing through my glass bones like a sledgehammer.Smash, smash, smash.
“Please. I just want…something. Need it, Berserker. Please. Please, Berserker.” I’ve never begged anything of anyone before and I just begged him.Him.I hate myself.No. Let the dream live for now. I’ll hate myself in the morning.
He flattens his body to mine, but leaves a hollow between our chests where my injured left wrist lies. His mouth comes against my ear. He suckles the lobe again before swirling his tongue inside. His growl rolls through me until my eyes roll back and I start to pant.
“Gonna fuck you, Echo, but…” I whimper at his words, trying to tilt my pelvis up, but I can’t move at all. He’s fully in control of my body, so I sit taut, waiting impatiently for his demand. “…you gotta call me Adam.”
I can’t breathe. My thoughts turn to fire. The coffin is actually a crucible. I roast alive, immolating from within. I can’t breathe suddenly, but I can feeleverythingand it’s moving. It comes alive. I feel flutterings next to my face and I can hear Adam curse in confusion right before he whispers, “Flowers.”
His voice sounds like it’s coming at me from the bottom of that icy river. I don’t want to hear it, don’t need to hear it. I just need his body, that connection. I didn’t want his name, but I need it to force his hand, to quench my thirst.
