Wave after wave of bliss rippled right down my cock, sucking me deeper until I forgot I was a man and not a monster.
I rutted into her senselessly, mercilessly, yanking her back with my hand on her clit, holding her firm as I fucked harder.
The tip of my cock buried so deep inside her, she cried out.
But instead of moving away, she swayed back, allowing me to hurt her, permitting me to do exactly what I needed and bruise, mark, and own her.
Every nerve ending incinerated into fire, singing the music from my cello, spinning into a place I couldn’t survive unless I came.
A masochistic place where the blazing, blistering pleasure was pain personified even as it sliced through my veins and granted the highest of highs and sharpest of sensations.
Climaxes were cruel.
They were cruel at how single-mindedly they could consume a person. Cruel because it took a joint act with our two bodies locked and joined into a singular purpose of release.
One, two, three times.
The perfect trio of bliss.
The ricochet of pleasure faded as I slowly returned to sanity. My brain finally accepted an ending, cutting the ties to my limbs and letting me tumble to the side, bringing Pim down with me.
Climaxes were cruel.
But sharing the aftermath with someone I loved more than anything?
Absolute fucking heaven.
Chapter Thirty
______________________________
Pimlico
WAKING UP NEVER failed to jolt me into awareness. Not because of the obviousness of switching sleep to consciousness but because my body and mind sometimes believed I was still in the white mansion in Crete.
Before, opening my eyes was never a favourite pastime. I’d wished I could sleep forever to avoid what my days entailed. But now…now I opened my eyes and my heart suffocated from pure, unfiltered joy.
It was Christmas and birthdays and every hallelujah moment when I woke and found I no longer lived in hell.
I lived with Elder.
Elder.
Asleep beside me, a slight frown marred his forehead, his lips pressed sternly as if he battled sleep demons even though the ones in real life had been vanquished.
I rubbed my chest where my heart swelled to ten times its normal size.
Love.
I’m in love.
I’m safe.
I’m happy.
I stopped breathing.
I’m…happy.
Such simple words—a sentence normally said flippantly or taken for granted.
But for me? To be able to say I understood what that string of letters meant and to fully grasp the depth of contentedness and gratefulness in just being alive?
Wow.
Rolling onto my back, I looked around Elder’s room and the carpet and chair where we’d had sex last night.
We’d gone from hardly touching and living with strict rules to attacking each other.
I had carpet burn on my spine, internal bruises that ached, and a bitten lip from kissing too hard.
But I wouldn’t trade them for the world. I loved every scratch and scrape.
There was no stopwatch counting down to another war. No shadows waiting on the fringes to steal our newfound happiness. All we had to do was visit his mother and then decide where we wanted to explore next.
More islands or mainland? Hot or cold? Uncivilized or city?
Once again, my body heated with utmost gratefulness and love for the man who’d made this possible.
Turning my head, I focused on the open cupboard where his cello used to rest. The straps and padding to protect the instrument looked strangely lonely with nothing to hold.
For so long, I’d hated whenever he played. I’d cringe the moment any thread of music infiltrated the silence of the Phantom.
But last night, I’d become his cello, and it’d reminded me just how much he missed his outlet. I hadn’t heard his songs since we’d returned from France. I hadn’t even noticed his favourite possession was missing.
I hated that I hadn’t noticed.
I regretted that I hadn’t asked him why he ceased playing.
Elder hadn’t told me what happened, but as I slid out of bed and padded naked to the empty cupboard, the sole of my foot hit something sharp tucked in the soft carpet.
Bending down, I plucked it from the strands.
A tiny shard with a few small pieces of horse hair still attached.
My heart sank.
Oh, no.
Was this part of his bow?
I’d seen how hard he was on those things, tearing the strings with music, turning it from neat to straggly and broken.
Running my fingers over the strange pockmarks in the cupboard, I pieced together what’d happened.
Bullets.
My shoulders fell.
Elder had lost his cello the night he’d lost me.
And unlike fighting for my return…he couldn’t do anything for his cello and had to bury his treasured instrument.
Glancing at Elder still sleeping behind me, I wished I could find a way to—
“…at least you’ll have a couple hundred grand to buy your own place or pay for yourself on your adventures rather than rely on Mr. Prest.”
I had money now.
My mother had trusted me with her life savings. I had my own pennies and dollars that I could use to gift back what was lost.