CHAPTER 13 – The Monster
1556 Words
Going back to the city the next day was a blur.
I made up some half-believable story for my parents about a “family emergency” and told them Michael had to leave in a rush. They were too wrapped up in post-party exhaustion to ask many questions.
I took the train alone.
The countryside rolled past the window in gray smears. My reflection stared back at me—exhausted, hollow-eyed, older than I was.
I unlocked my tiny studio and stepped inside.
So much had happened in this shoe box in the last two months that it felt haunted by my own memories. I put my bag down. Took off my coat. Took in the stale smell of coffee, laundry detergent, and nights without sleep.
I made myself a cheap instant coffee—the kind that tastes like regret—and hated myself for even daring to wonder if Michael was home, if he was thinking about me, if he was safe.
How dare you, Kira?
You don’t have the right to think about him.
I cried.
I threw things. A pillow, a mug, a book. I screamed into my blanket, so the neighbors wouldn’t call the police. None of it wiped away the guilt or the regret or the awful, aching relief that the choice had been made for me.
When there were no tears left, only a raw, scraped-out feeling inside my chest…
I called my monster.
“Dragomar…”
He appeared.
Just like that.
Breathtaking. Terrible. Beautiful. His obsidian eyes drank me in. The red stone in his earring winked at me, and I wanted to catch it with my tongue. Heat rushed through me, colliding with a deep, ugly sense of defeat.
There was no way out anymore.
Only through.
I stood up, facing him. My heart pounded, but my hands were steady. I slipped my robe off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor, letting him see all of me.
Letting him taste my surrender with his eyes.
A slow smile curved down the corner of his mouth. He licked his lips in a way that made my knees threaten mutiny.
As he started toward me, he unbuttoned his shirt one button at a time, eyes never leaving mine.
And I didn’t run.
Dragomar came up to me slowly, like a storm that knew I wouldn’t run this time.
I reached for him first.
My fingers reached for the next button of his shirt and worked them open one by one, the fabric parting under my touch. This mattered—touching him awake, not asleep, not bound to rituals or shadows. Touching him because I wanted to.
When the last button came undone, I slid the shirt off his shoulders.
His body wasn’t marble. It wasn’t cold or flawless or statue-like.
It was alive, sculpted by something feral—made of muscle, heat, hunger.
Shadow and fire.
My palms traveled along the hard lines of his chest, down his ribs, and I trembled at how real he felt. How dangerous. How breathtaking.
Half terrified.
Half consumed.
Completely lost.
I looked up at him, and he brushed my hair behind my ear with a tenderness that clashed violently with the threat coiled under his skin.
He wasn’t going to rush this.
He was going to devour every second.
He leaned in and caught my upper lip gently between his, a kiss so soft it felt like seduction in its purest form. His hands slid down my back and, when they reached my hips, he lifted me effortlessly, pulling me into his arms. My breasts pressed into his warm chest; his scent—dark citrus, forbidden flowers—wrapped around my lungs.
I tangled my fingers in his hair and kissed him deeper, stealing his breath, letting him steal mine. He carried me to the bed and laid me down, settling between my legs, pressing me open with the slow, deliberate certainty of someone who had waited centuries.
His mouth trailed down my throat.
Across my collarbone.
Lower…
When his lips closed around my n****e, pleasure ripped out of me.
My back arched, my hands flying to his hair.
He heard the sound I made—raw, helpless—and he bit down gently, just enough to make another noise tear out of my throat. A hiss. A plea.
I was completely at his mercy.
And I let him.
His tongue traveled down my abdomen, heat building in molten spirals. I had never given up control like this. Never allowed anyone to see me this open, this undone.
He hovered between my thighs, teasing, avoiding the exact place that burned for him.
Every second stretched my nerves thinner.
Then he finally lowered his mouth where I wanted him to.
I gasped, breath shattering.
A lightning bolt of pleasure shot through me so intensely I instinctively grabbed the sheets to anchor myself.
He licked me once—slow, upward—and then paused to taste his lips, looking up at me.
“Breathe, Kira…” he murmured, voice like smoke. “Look at me.”
I couldn’t.
I never looked during oral s*x. Eyes closed, always. Too vulnerable.
But he pinched my swollen clit gently between his lips and growled:
“Look at me.”
I lifted my head—shaking—and looked down between my legs.
His obsidian eyes stared into mine while he was devouring me.
He didn’t want to hear me.
He wanted to see me come undone.
“Yes,” I whispered, breath trembling. “Yes…”
When he felt my orgasm approach—sharp, external, right at the surface—he wrapped his arms around my thighs and held me there, forcing me to take every second of it.
I came with a long, breathless moan, collapsing back into the mattress as the pleasure rolled through me.
Before I could recover, he slid his hands down my legs, lifted them, kissed my feet, and placed them on his chest.
“My beautiful Kira,” he whispered, eyes softening with something ancient. “How long I’ve waited for this…”
Still trembling, I opened my legs wider, inviting him back with a breathless arch of my hips.
He kissed me again, deep and slow, and I felt how hard he was—how much he was holding back.
I tried to guide him inside me with a desperate, hungry little grind.
But he pulled back with a wicked smile.
“Patience, my Kira.”
“No…” I moaned, almost crying with need.
I grabbed his face, looked straight into those black, endless eyes, and whispered:
“I want you, Dragomar. Please.”
The sound he made—half growl, half surrender—shot straight into my core.
He slid a hand down and positioned himself.
Then entered me slowly, carefully, deeply—inch by inch—until he was fully inside me and my entire world detonated inward.
This wasn’t the sharp external orgasm.
This was the deep one, the internal one, the sneeze-explosion one— the kind that coils in the center of your pelvis where the hidden, vascular root of the c******s lies.
The kind you have to reach for, focus for, tighten every muscle to grasp.
He moved slowly, deeply, over and over, drawing me tight to the edge and keeping me there.
“Faster,” I begged. “Harder—please—”
Instead, he pinned my hips down and stayed deep inside me, holding me hostage in that unbearable, exquisite brink.
“You’re like the finest wine,” he whispered in my ear. “And I’m going to drink you in small, delicious sips.”
“Aaah—I can’t—”
“Can’t what?” he asked as he thrust again, deeper.
“It’s exhausting—I can feel the orgasm right there and you’re not letting me take it—”
“Mmm.” His breath brushed my cheek. “Then take it, beautiful. Let go. Let everything go. Be here. With me.”
He thrust harder—once, twice—and that was all it took.
I snapped.
My body seized around him, muscles tightening all at once as the first orgasm hit—deep, internal, explosive, exactly like a sneeze you finally release after holding it too long.
And then the second hit right behind it.
And a third.
No breath. No pause. No thought.
Just rolling waves that tore through me, harder, faster, layered on top of each other until I was shaking uncontrollably.
Dragomar felt every ripple.
He rode them—pushing me through each wave with brutal, perfect timing—until he shuddered and came inside me with a deep, throaty sound that I felt everywhere.
His face lifted, smiling with dark satisfaction.
“Hope you enjoyed the foreplay,” he murmured as he lowered his head to kiss my shoulder.
“Foreplay?” I panted.
“Yes.”
He traced my arm with his fingers, lips brushing my throat.
“Isn’t this your kind of foreplay?”
“Not at this intensity…” I managed, collapsing against him.
“Well,” he purred, gripping my waist, “I’m giving you a few minutes to breathe, my Kira…”
His mouth trailed lower.
“Then I’m coming back for the main course.”
- Writer
