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"Touch her, and you'll pull back a bloody stump," I snarled, cutting him off mid-sentence. Heat thrummed in my veins, a vicious reminder of the wound throbbing at my side, yet it paled in comparison to the inferno that raged at the thought of anyone else's hands on her.
I stalked to the back of the van, flinging the doors open with a force that rattled the frame. There she lay, unconscious and vulnerable — a sleeping beauty trapped in a nightmare of my making. The sight of her stirred something feral inside me. There she was, still out cold, still hauntingly beautiful even with her features hidden.
"Back the fuck off," I barked over my shoulder, not bothering to check if my command was obeyed. "She's mine to carry."
Gently, I scooped Celeste up, cradling her against my chest as if she were made of glass, her body limp in my arms. Each step towards the mansion was laden with a possessiveness that bordered on obsession. Celeste was mine to protect, mine to claim. And no one, not even the damned, would touch what was mine.
I cursed under my breath, feeling the wetness of my blood seeping through the fabric of her clothes where my wound had reopened. There was irony there, here I was, a monster in love with an angel, painting her with the very darkness I sought to escape.
"Damn it, Celeste," I whispered, a twisted smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "You really did a number on me." I could almost taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth, a reminder that healing came at a price — a price I was willing to pay for her.
I stepped through the ornate doors of my mansion. My home, now hers, was a grand mausoleum of secrets and sins. And she, unwittingly, had just become my most precious one.
I navigated the darkened corridors, Celeste's unconscious form cradled in my arms, a weight heavier than her slight frame suggested. The air was thick with the scent of old wealth and newer blood, mingling into a heady cocktail that set my senses on edge. My stride was quick, purposeful, each footfall a silent vow to shield her from the ugliness of the world - a world I knew too damn well.
In the seclusion of the mansion, I tore the bag off with a swift motion, revealing her face to the soft glow of the chandeliers. "Christ, you're something else," I breathed out, the war within me raging - the beast clawing at its cage, itching for a taste, while the man fought to remain just that, a fucking man.
A twinge of pain shot through me as I adjusted her in my arms, my wound protesting with a fresh leak of crimson. "Shit," I hissed, noticing the blood staining her clothes - my blood. The last thing I needed was for her to wake up scared out of her mind, thinking she'd been caught in some twisted horror flick.
“Can't have you thinking you've fallen into the hands of Jack the Ripper," I joked darkly, making my way to the bathroom. It was a sanctuary of marble and gold, opulence that bordered on vulgar, but hell, it had a bathtub big enough for sinning. And there was plenty of that to go around.
Carefully, I laid her down near the tub, my hands skimming over her body with calculated distance, ensuring she was as comfortable as one could be on cold tile. With a turn of the tap, water cascaded into the tub, steam rising like spirits in the night.
Alright, keep your shit together. I coached myself, the sound of water soothing to my frayed nerves. This wasn't about lust or control; this was about penance, about washing away the filth that clung to her because of me. The water would erase the marks of our violent ballet, the blood diluted until it was nothing but pink whispers swirling down the drain.
I peeled the clothes from Celeste's limp body, each layer stripped away revealing more of her ebony skin bathed in the soft glow of the bathroom lights. "Steady," I muttered to myself, my fingers trembling with restraint. The monster in me screamed to take what I wanted, but the damn code I chained myself to held firm. Every touch was a promise, every gentle brush a vow that I'd be the monster with a crown of morals, even when no one was watching.
The fabric whispered secrets against her skin, the artist beneath my hands unaware of the storm raging inside me. Each piece of clothing that fell away was another test of my resolve. But I wasn't some fucking animal to lose it over a defenseless woman. No, I had rules. Fucked up, maybe, but they were mine. And I'd follow them to the grave.
With the soiled garments a memory on the floor, I turned my attention to the closet, pulling out a set of satin pajamas I had ordered with her name embroidered in silver thread. It was a sick brand of possessiveness, crafting a claim on her before she'd even agreed to be mine.
"Thought you'd like something... personal." I draped the delicate fabric over her. As my hands worked the buttons, I couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of pride. CeCe — her nickname etched into silk, as if it could stitch her to my world. I smoothed out the pajamas over her. It was a fucked-up lullaby, dressing an unconscious woman for bed, but there was an art to it. An intimacy I hadn't anticipated. And I reveled in it, in the silent communication of cloth against skin, in the unspoken promise that when she woke, she'd be enveloped in luxury — and captivity.
"Perfect," I breathed out, stepping back. She looked peaceful, almost as if we were just a couple after a long night out, not kidnapper and captive in a twisted game of cat and mouse. But then again, life loved its cruel jokes, and I was the punchline waiting to be delivered.
Her rhythmic breathing was a tempting call, drawing me closer to the edge of my self-control. I watched Celeste, her chest rising and falling with each unconscious breath. Damn, even in sleep, she held a power over me. My gaze traced the outline of her body beneath the satin pajamas.
"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, feeling the tension coil within me like a hungry serpent. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to steel myself against the pull of desire. But it was no use. She was an itch that screamed to be scratched. My hand trailed down my torso, fingers grazing the hem of my pants as I imagined the softness of her skin under my touch. Surrendering to the need, I unbuttoned my pants with a shaky breath.
Leaning back against the cool leather of the armchair, I stroked myself, each movement synchronized with the haunting melody of her sleeping breaths. It was a fucked-up serenade—me, getting off on the mere presence of an unconscious woman I'd claimed as mine. But shit, she had this way of searing herself onto every damn nerve ending. Every pulse of pleasure was laced with a sharp edge of something darker, something deeper.
I threw my head back as waves of ecstasy threatened to drag me under. This wasn't how I planned things, not how I wanted us to be. I was supposed to protect her, keep her safe, not get off on some twisted fantasy. But the line between guardian and monster was blurring with every ragged breath I took.
As release clawed at me, I fought the tide of guilt that surged in its wake. I was supposed to be better than this, wasn't I? But here I was, stroking my ego along with my cock, teetering on the brink of a darkness I both revered and reviled. Frustration and lust twisted into a bitter concoction that fueled my climax.
"Fuck, Celeste," I groaned, my voice a low growl lost in the vastness of the mansion's bedroom as I came. It was a silent, screaming confession that echoed only in my head—a testament to the depravity that nested in my soul.
Afterward, I cleaned up my mess, disgust and desire still warring within me. I sat there, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the shadows playing across her face. My thoughts were a jumbled mess of longing and loathing, spinning tales of a future soaked in blood and bound by obsession.
"Sweetheart, you don't know the half of what's coming," I whispered into the silence, my voice a mix of adoration and malice. "But I'll burn this fucking city down to keep you safe."
With that vow hanging heavy in the air, I leaned forward, my elbows resting on my knees as I continued to watch her slumber. The demons inside me raged against the chains of my own making, eager to devour the light she brought into my dark world. And yet, through it all, there she lay—my captive, my muse, my goddamn salvation.
Chapter 21
Celeste
Iblinked awake, my lashes brushing against a pillow that felt like it was stolen from the clouds themselves. The room was a damn palace, all plush and golden hues – if you could ignore the cold metal cuff clamped around my ankle. Panic clawed up my throat, and I choked on it. Shock and horror battled for dominance.
