Page 27 of Our Dark Winter Wish

‘A little more. You can do it, Poppet Doll. Take me in a little deeper.’

I swallow and nod, letting him slide me further down his length.

I moan his name in a plea. I want him. Need him. But I don’t know if I can take much more.

My fingers slip beneath his hood to feel the inky shimmering of his cheek. And with my other hand, I press his fingertips further into my stomach.

‘Dorian…’ I moan again, my desperation and need dripping through every syllable. ‘I want to feel you on the outside. Do it.’

His eyes dart left to right, the uncontrollable beast longing to drive himself in as far as possible. And the man beneath who never wants to cause me an ounce of suffering.

I rest my nose against his.

‘You can love and protect me. But I sometimes want you to fuck me like you hate me.’ His eyes shine at my words. ‘I love it when you make me your whore.’

He grips me tightly and pulls me down. Further and further. He never looks away as my mouth falls open in a hollow and silent scream.

I could say stop.

I don’t want to.

I never want to say it again.

And when I finally feel his skin meet mine, I fill with triumphant pride.

That, and giant shadow daddy dick.

He blinks up at me, and we share a moment of disbelief.

I did it! I took him in his entirety!

‘I’m all the way inside you,’ he whispers.

It is the hottest fucking thing in this entire world.

He lets out a breath, and another growl ripples from his chest.

‘Fuck me,’ he commands.

As he flies above my forests, I ease myself up and down his cock. The snow continues to fall, and the air is bitter. But my body is alight with pleasure and pain. It hums with need and sways to the submission I have handed over.

My body is his to own. To ruin. To ravish. To fill up and fuck until I buckle and break. And so is my heart. My dear shadow daddy. My demon of death. My heart and soul. I love him completely, and he loves me just as violently in return.

6

Archie

‘Now what?’ Shaw asks me.

He folds his arms across his chest as we both look down at the slaughtered turkey slumped across our kitchen table.

‘You pluck it,’ I reply, my hands sliding into my pockets.

He scrunches up his face before turning to face me.

‘I’m not fucking plucking it.’

‘I tracked, caught and killed it. You can pluck and gut it.’

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