tagMatureMy Lord Immortal

My Lord Immortal

byaNDREALee©

She breathed a puff of smoke into the winter air, cursing the wind when it swirled around her to blow up the short train of her coat. As always, she was dressed for work: a white ruffled blouse tucked underneath a tight black skirt that reached just below her knees. Her thin, nylon tights were nearly black, making her legs look soft and very long, as she clanked down the empty street in her favorite pair of high heels.

So cold. The wind was relentless, tossing the short length of her midnight hair across her heart-shaped face to shield the dangerous spark of dark green in her emerald eyes. She moved to brush the tangles aside, but as the winter caressed her bare hands, she shivered; and then quickly replaced them back inside her coat pocket.

Every fiber in her body began to tremble. It wasn't from the shimmering, occasional snowflakes falling down upon the nearly vacant streets of Belton, Mo, a place she had called home for too many years. And it wasn't from the thinness of her dress coat that she continued to shiver, or the fact that her legs were practically bare, or because it was in the middle of December and she still had another block to walk before she reached a little local bar at the end of West and 6th. where a few of her friends were waiting for her.

No. If it had been any other night, the weather would have been solely responsible for the ice-cold shivers coaxing her mind and body into shutting down. But tonight...things were different.

Him...she thought frantically. After all this time, he had come back.

She could never really escape him. She could never truly leave or abandon or dismiss him. She could never reject or deny him. Him, the man whose memory still burns into her mind like an iron steel blade. Him, whose voice still feeds her lonely weakness at night, and who hides in the rhythm of her chest during the day. She was restless; her mind was in constant turmoil, knowing that once again he had left her helpless.

Damn the man...

His memory was nearly as cruel as waking up to cold sheets and an empty pillow. It had been six years, six long years since she had invited him into her life, into her home, and into her body. He had claimed her well, multiple times in that one short night, leaving plenty of marks to prove his greedy ambition.

She could still feel his teeth cutting into the side of her neck, his fingers pinching her aching nipples into hard, round beads of pain, his hands, hard and firm around her throat, holding her wrists above her head, pinning her down to the bed where they had spent hours sating each others' lust.

But one night. One night was all that he had allowed her to take. No questions, no answers, no goodbyes. And in the morning he was gone, like he had never existed at all, like a dark phantom in the bleak folds of her mind that seemed so real so long ago, but were slowly starting to fade.

Until now.

She had seen him only a few short moments ago through the window of a small coffee shop as she walked by on the street. It was only for a few seconds, but she remembered him. How could she ever forget?

The strong scent of his cologne was seductive--overwhelming, even from outside the coffee shop. It pierced her memory with flashes of one dark night and two forceful hands that had literally tore the clothes from her body. His eyes, like silver and gray that burned so cold and bitter through the heat of her own gaze. She could get lost in those eyes; they seemed to captivate her--possess her, as if he were more than a man.

No...she wouldn't go there. She wouldn't allow her mind to wander into forbidden territories. He was gone, dead. He had walked out of her life once and for all, and she'd be damned if she let him back inside.

She brushed aside her silent thoughts, damning them to hell. She spent the next few minutes concentrating on the sidewalk, the wind, the gentle snow flakes, the few passing cars; nothing else. She reached the end of the sidewalk and waited for a vehicle to pass before she could continue on her path, where her destination lie not too far ahead.

But she never made it.

Standing in the darkness, surrounded by falling snow and small streams of light from the overhead street lamps, she heard a sound. A voice. A name. Her name.

She jerked around to see nothing. No one. Not a single soul on this side of the street other than her own shadow that had succumbed to isolation many nights before this one. Narrowing her eyes with unease, she hesitantly turned back around to make her way across the street. But as soon as she stepped up onto the curb, the strong, unmistakable cologne of a certain erotic spice slammed into her, practically knocking her back a few feet.

She slowed her pace, listening carefully to her surroundings, her eyes wide and focused on everything around her.

But she didn't see anything.

She kept moving forward, determined to control what was left of her sanity

Gone. Dead, she steadily reminded herself.

She reached the end of the block and turned a sharp corner when his scent began to loom over her again. And then she heard a voice, his voice, as if she could ever forget it.

"Where are you going, querida?" His Spanish accent whispered in a smooth tone. "Why do you run from me?"

It halted her in her tracks; she lowered her head, closed her eyes, breathed with anticipation and something very close to fear, and then she turned around.

"I didn't think to ever see you again." Her voice was soft and timid, although her expression firm and resentful.

"You have missed me?" A dangerous grin lifted one corner of his mouth.

She narrowed her eyes at his arrogance. "I missed you six years ago." Her voice turned bitter as she stared down the unbelievably handsome man before her.

He looked the same as she had remembered, the same as in all of her nightmares: Black, coal-dust hair that was cut short above his ears, although left longer on top. Those same silver-gray eyes that looked more cold than winter's frost painting the ground in white. He was tall, his arms were long, his hands big and curled into tight fists. Even under the warmth of his winter coat she could see the intense muscles of his shoulders and stomach aching to be revealed.

"And what about now?" His deep voice demanded, "Are you missing me, now?" He started to walk closer, forcing his delicious scent of male power and erotic spices to dance around her, making her feel nearly hazy and disturbed.

"No." She said firmly, right before she turned around and began walking away.

"Why do you run from me?" He asked again, only this time it was closer, more demanding.

But she didn't answer him. She kept walking until she finally arrived at the bar. But when she moved to open up the front door, a strong hand reached out to slam it back shut.

"Answer me." He growled.

He was suddenly standing too close. The strong scent of his cologne, the minty taste of his breath; his entire nearness was too much--overwhelming, intoxicating.

And for one moment, one very short moment, she thought about defying her natural instincts to hate him.

She looked angrily at his hand blocking the door, and then her eyes quickly jerked up to pierce him with a dark glare. "Because you used me. Because I haven't seen or heard from you in six years. Because you are following me down the street at night like some crazy stalker." Her voice rose and her eyes darkened even more. "But mostly because I don't even know you."

He moved closer, cornering her against the door with no hope for an escape. "You know me." His voice deep and harsh. "And I know you. Don't deny me, querida." His eyes flashed with a dangerous spark as he lowered his head to breathe hot fumes down the bare side of her neck. "I always win." He breathed in her ear, pressing her more firmly against the door.

She sucked her breath in sharply, closing her eyes and tilting her head to the side, revealing the side of her slender neck as he had silently commanded. Goosebumps laced her skin from his wicked affliction; it tormented her, arousing immense pain to heat between her legs at the first feel of his teeth against her throat.

"Shall I mark you again, querida? Would you like that?" He murmured softly before lifting anxious hands to rip open the front of her coat. "Tell me where you want to wear my mark?"

She was pressed so hard against the door that her shoulders were beginning to bruise. She could feel the doorknob digging into her lower back, rubbing hard against her skin and bone, but she welcomed the pain. "I...I..." She breathed hard, her words and thoughts halting the moment he raked his teeth down the side of her neck, leaving a long, tiny trail of blood behind.

"Answer me, or I will mark you everywhere." He growled deeply, moving to the front of her neck and starting across the small patch of skin above her blouse. And with the same aggressive movement, he yanked open the white fabric of her shirt, sending the buttons flying to the ground and the sound of tearing fabric loud and deliberate.

Her bra came next.

He tore into her skin, claiming her left breast with a violent bite until she could feel the skin starting to break.

Her hands wove tightly into his hair; she pulled hard, but to no avail. She was bound, by the sharp blade of his teeth and by two large hands that had curled around her arms and slammed her hard against the door.

She let out a scream, but he was quick to slap a hand over her mouth. "That's it, baby; fight me. Where did it get you last time?" He ripped her hand out of his hair and knotted both of her wrists together inside one of his. And still covering her mouth with the other, he slowly let it fall to touch her bruised neck and down the trail of her lightly bleeding chest, until he reached her stomach and waist.

He began to explore her cold, naked skin with firm, aggressive fingers, taking his time teasing her, tormenting her, forcing the heat between her legs to rise and smother all other emotions except feeling this man inside her once more.

"You bastard." She managed to choke between breaths, "Let go of me." She demanded, unable to control her rage of frustration and lust.

Damn the man a second time.

"Is that really what you want, querida?" His eyes looked like winter and snow as he glared at her. He moved his hands down further, further, until he reached the hem of her skirt. And with a violent jerk, he knotted his fingers into the fabric and tugged it clear up to her waist. Then he clawed at her nylon tights, taring into them with relentless tension that both frightened and aroused her beyond her limitations.

"Stop." She breathed heavily, her eyes dark and wanting, her breasts fully exposed to the brutal wind of winter, her nipples hard and aching to feel his fingers pinching and tugging to bring them pleasure and pain. "I want you to stop."

He lifted his mouth into an evil smirk. "No, you don't. I know what you want, querida. I know what you need. You and I are alike. Both sinners, both beggars, both starving for more." He was staring directly at her, something he had never done before. His eyes tore into her mind, into her soul; it felt as if he were literally seeing into her head and reading her every thought. "We both need the pain. It excites us. It keeps us alive, querida." Then his fingers plunged deeply inside her, not one, but two, ready to make and mold her body into his own twisted creation for the second time.

She gasped as he entered her, stretched her, moved inside of her with urgent force that nearly brought her to her knees. She screamed again, but this time from pleasure, unable to contain it, unable to control her need.

She threw her head back against the door, moaning quietly as she wrapped one leg around his waist. He had let go of her wrists, finally trusting her that she wouldn't deny him.

And she couldn't. Not now. Not ever.

She reached to rip a part his coat, then she grabbed the front of his jeans to tare open the annoying button and zipper. She reached again, this time finding what she desired most. She gripped the long length of his swollen cock and squeezed tightly to release the first few drops of his lust.

He growled deep in his throat as he quickened the pace of his fingers, allowing his thumb to hit against her clit with every move.

She latched onto his shoulders, digging her nails deeply into the back of his neck, drawing a small amount of blood to leave her own mark upon his skin. She moaned again, again and again, her eyes snapped shut to welcome the gradual explosion of her orgasm.

She raked her nails deeper, harder, her moans becoming louder, more frequent. And then when she had thought she could receive no more pleasure, he slipped a third finger into the slick, wet walls of her body, moving faster, harder, to the point of near pain. And then she came. Long and fast, like she had never came before. Her moans were loud, unstoppable, her body trembling with pleasure and exhaustion, her nipples hard and aching against the frigid wind that chilled her to the bone. But she ignored it; she couldn't think about that, about anything, except this one man and his demonic methods of torturing her.

Even after she had come, he left his fingers inside her, moving slowly, in and out, stretching her more, rubbing hard against her clit, while he breathed hot air down the side of her neck. "Tell me, querida; are you missing me, now?" He knotted one firm hand into the short length of her hair, forcing her head to jerk back and her eyes to stare up at him in a mixture of surrender and surprise.

"Tell me you've missed me." He demanded before removing his fingers to spin her around to face the door. He held her there, hard, still gripping her hair until her scalp burned with pain. "Say it, querida. Tell me how much you've missed my sex." His voice was deep and demanding, almost cruel, as if he, too, had missed everything her own body had to offer.

"I've missed you." She confessed with tears in her eyes, "I've missed you every damn day since you left." Her voice was raw with emotion, her hands pressed hard against the door, her back arched and her head pulled back to hear the deviant chuckle that escaped his breath so very close to her ear.

And then his lips touched her neck, his teeth lightly nipping at her bruised skin. "You are mine." He vowed deeply, "No other man will have you. I'll kill you before I let someone else touch you. Do you understand me?" He pulled harder on her hair, forcing her to scream her response.

"Yes. Only you. Forever." She cried helplessly.

And then he entered her, his cock fully stretching her tight walls to fit his swollen length. He entered her hard, aggressive, knowing she was wet from her own sweet nectar that stained his fingers with her lust. Again, he slammed into her, pulling hard on her hair and breathing heavily down the side of her fully exposed neck. He nipped at her shoulders, moaning deeply against her freezing skin as he came inside her.

And then finally, he released her hair. He rest his head on her bare back and kissed his way up to meet her shoulders. There, his voice vibrated against her skin, heating and cooling her body as he removed his cock from her spent pussy. He pressed himself against her, staring deeply into her fiery green eyes that looked back at him with surreal satisfaction. "You bare my marks," He lifted to trail moist fingers down her neck and across her chest. "And now you carry my scent and my seed." He kept touching her, as if he couldn't stop, as if he were about to claim her body once again with the same amount of desperation and need. "Don't you ever forget that, querida."

And then he was gone.

She was left on fire; so hot. His touch still melted her bones into wax. His kiss sank down into her soul, further, burning everything, all that was left of her sanity along the way. She had been seduced, taken, stripped of her determination and anger, her innocence...all of her faith in believing that she could ever recover from this man's seduction, power, and control...and now, she was left to miss his touch, his lips, and his love. Now, she was left to crave his memory, defenseless and defeated, yet once again.

And nothing had ever felt so sweet.

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