Page 63 of Make Me Pretty
The twitch in his jaw, in his eye, the tremble radiating from his hand into my dick, makes me think I said too much. Too soon. Wrong time, wrong place to get so deep when really, it was never supposed to beso much.So real andraw. For the both of us.My eyes sting anew with more tears, lacking the selfish intent to manipulate. Only my own fear and indignity—and his—are the same.
Peris’s mouth curves up sharply, vastly sinister in the reddish-pink glare to his left, teeth shining as he swipes his tongue across the fronts. His hold on me constricts as he jerks up, pinning our torsos flush, slick with sweat.
Teeth to my lips, he rasps, “Who’s scared now?” My unsteady heart beats in a cacophony as I open my mouth to taste his breath. I want to wear his bruises again, the evidence of his hatred.
He makes me pretty, mutating all of my wretched ugly into something someone couldmaybewant.
He pins me with one arm wrapped around my back, the other still on my dick. His canines scrape over my lips for one unsteady beat before he descends, tongue thrusting in, down my throat, taking whatever he wants.
I fall against him, losing strength as his builds into a crescendo, a dark swarm engulfing us as our demons dance, impossibly entwined. Tongues slip together, forever a clash of teeth. Jarring and bloody and perfect as we devour each other’s worst fears.
I swallow copper as he rips his mouth away on a growl, a low and dangerous vibration in the marrow of my bones.The acceptance of his truth.
“Peris,please.” A first for us both. “Plea—” Hand to my throat, he falls back against his pillow. Fingers splay across my waist, only holding—not bruising.
“Shut your mouth and fuck me pretty,runt.”
CHAPTER 20
PERIS
Even with virulentabhorrence churning through my bloodstream, the shadowy figure on top of me, rocking slowly, rolling his hips, and moaning like a whore, isallI feel.
Not the disgust I know is there. Not even the urge to shove him off.
Only flashes of panic, his lithe body, and the tight hole I’m buried inside.
“Fuck,” I grunt when Abel’s cock drags against my stomach, catching on my belly button. He whimpers, catching the sound through his teeth as they sink into his fat bottom lip. His larynx rolls against my hand, reminding me of how tight my grip really is. I ease up, and he sucks in a stuttering breath.
The scratch of his cheap boxers against my skin makes meburn,and the only solace I find is in the smooth crease of his thighs, fingers to his scabbed burns. My nails drag along the satin skin between, a slow, hypnotizing pull of friction.
I blink up, and with my eyes adjusted to the darkness, the eerie red glow of my alarm clock appears more pink as it washes over Abel’s porcelain skin.A demon in an angel’s body.
His jaw hangs slack, eyelids at half-mast as his chin drags over his bony sternum with every unhurried rotation. The wayhis skeleton shifts beneath his thin flesh is unnatural, and for a second, I surmise they’re about to pierce through and I’ll finally catch a glimpse at his bone-white insides. But then, his palms smack down over my chest, and the sting is strong enough to pull me back to the smooth pressure of his hard, little cock and smooth balls trapped between both our torsos.
Abel’s lips are inches away, breath too hot and too fast over my own, eyes still so fucking sharp in the darkness. Bright white encircling glassy, mercury pools.
The same now as they were months ago. Only now, it’smeagainst him. Touching him, tasting him.
With a hitch of air and a hesitant kiss, Abel’s channel contracts around me, pulling a groan from my throat. My head rolls to the side as tears sting unbidden. Seeing him and feeling him simultaneously… it’s—it’s too much.
I can’t?—
Maybe if I keep my eyes closed, I can pretend…
“Don’t.” His melodic voice, obstructed with gravel, permeates my mind. Eyelashes skim my eyebrows as my body follows the sound of its own volition. Abel’s no longer moving, just a light weight atop me. A blanket of reality in this fuzzy uncertainty.
“Don’t do that,” he rasps so softly, I barely hear it—the quiver of panic. It sinks into my veins like the strike of fangs, all poison and venom as it rejuvenates.
I latch onto it like the lifeline it is. Rolling my head back, I drag my palms up his thighs, over textured skin and damp cotton, tugging on the hem so it bites into the tender skin of his balls. His hiss is exactly what I need.
“Don’t what?” I ask, pulling a little harder.
Abel tries to readjust against the newfound pressure against his most sensitive parts, but I don’t give him the reprieve. I findthe sexy little hollow of his waist and dig in, keeping him exactly where I want him. Where he should always be.
It doesn’t have to hurt.
“Don’t act like—” I flex my quadriceps and my glutes, and the short burst of movement cuts him off. He mewls, nails scratching down my sternum as he clutches for balance. The flutter of his channel around me turns everything a bit darker, a lot hazier.
