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“Don’t tell me,” he says. “You’ve never done this before.”
Oh, I have done this before. But not to him. Not to the man who lit a fire deep in my heart and soul. The man who stood up against everyone and fought for what he believed in. He fought for justice. He was just eighteen back then. But standing here, his body rigid, tattoos covering his forearms, this is no teenager. This is a man.
“Do you really want an answer to that question?” I ask, hoping to get a rise out of him and break that strong devil-may-care attitude.
“It depends,” he says with his head still back. “Do you want him to live? Or would you prefer he burn, and you suck his ashes off my cock?”
It’s a crazy thing to be charmed by the violence of a man and the promise of destruction.
Van would like me to think he’s the devil incarnate. But I’ve always seen past his flames and angry glares. This man is a protector. He hates that he’s weak. And he hates that he can’t save everyone. Even the worst criminals sometimes escape, and he can’t do anything about it. I think that’s why Van became a criminal. I mean, he took that old saying, if you can’t beat them, join them, a little too far. But that still doesn’t change who he is. He may promise violence and destruction, and he may actually do some of it, but only to right the wrongs that the world couldn’t.
“Actually,” I say, familiarizing myself with the smooth skin I’ve never been able to touch.
“I’m not quite ready to suck the ashes of your enemies off your cock, but I do want to see the flames on your stomach flicker as I bring you to your knees.” His head droops forward, and his heavy-lidded eyes open and hold my stare.
“As your husband, my body is yours, and yours”—his voice takes on a dangerous lilt—“is mine.”
My throat dries, but it has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the wetness pooling at my center. This man has been the only man who has ever turned me on and burned me from the inside out. It makes me want to believe that our vows are true and his promises mean something.
But I know that’s just wishful thinking.
A girl like me has been abandoned far too many times. I’ve never been a prized treasure, only a possession. One that has been blackmailed and manipulated into doing a man’s bidding.
But the man in front of me doesn’t look like any of those men. At least his eyes have always looked at me differently. Not like they wanted to use me, but like they wanted to devour me and leave me broken in many wonderful and blissful pieces.
If Van’s body is mine, then I’ll show him what I can make his body do because if I’m Van’s possession, then he’s certainly mine.
Cupping his heavy balls in my hand, I put pressure on the center with my index finger, working him. I kiss over his cock as it swells and, begging for release.
“Stop,” he moans. “Kiss the tip.”
I swirl my tongue around the head.
“I’m not stopping,” I tell him. “As you said, your body is mine, and I want to see you come, Husband.”
A violent groan reverberates through his chest as his fingers tighten around the strands of my hair. “You will regret this,” he warns.
I smile, kissing everywhere but the tip of his cock.
“Oh, I won’t regret it nearly as much as you. You have one last chance,” I warn, finally licking the line of his head. “I want you to look me in the eyes as you come down my throat, with your chest heaving and the flames dancing on your stomach. I want you to remember your sunflower will never be burned by your flames.”
I don’t know what set him off more, my dirty talk or my threats.
“Watch me, Van Gogh,” I demand. “Watch me bring the fallen king of Eden to his knees.”
Van says nothing, he simply snaps his mouth closed, and the muscle in his jaw ticks.
“Forgive me, Husband, for you have sinned.” And then I close my lips over the head of his cock, wrapping my hands around the base, and I suck, licking and lavishing over his girthy length, pulling moans and noises from him that he struggles to mute.
I don’t give him the space or time to catch his breath. I suck my husband off at a punishing pace, draining him of every threat he’s ever made.
My gaze steadily hold his, and I watch the arrogance bleed from behind his eyes as he struggles to maintain his throne in my presence. And when he tries pushing me away, I simply massage his balls and put pressure on that one special spot before I wrap my hands around his ass and shove his cock down my throat so hard that he has no way to prevent the shout that leaves him as he comes down my throat. I swallow every drop of Van Gogh, not because I like it or even enjoy the taste of bitterness. I do it because I’m making a point.
I might be his sunflower, and he might be the flames of the East and the darkness of the West, but I can survive and thrive in either territory.
Van
“Are you going to act weird all day?”
