Marrow

JACK

Bitter notes of angelica and sweet vanilla pervade my cold room. Kyrie’s presence is as overpowering and consuming in my domain as the very perfume she wears, even in her unconscious state.

Like the angelica flower itself that hails from an arctic landscape, she’s designed for me, her wilted petals waiting to be revived.

I remove the needle and lift her slack body into my arms. Gently, I lower her to the gurney and sweep the backside of my fingers along the side of her expressionless face. I smooth the russet waves away from her closed eyes, admiring the way the thick fringe of lashes lay motionless above the high ridge of her cheekbones.

Syringe gripped in my hand, I drop close to her ear and whisper, “You know how to make me fucking feral, petal.”

I toss the depressed syringe on the stainless-steel tray as I head to the thermostat. The temperature is adjusted down a few degrees. Not so cold she’ll freeze, but chilly enough I can make out how her warm breath fogs the air in the florescent lighting. The artificial light also washes her skin in a pale hue, her naturally plump, pink lips tinged the lightest shade of blue.

How I first saw her in the department body cooler, when she tested my restraint, pushing every one of my buttons until I was forced to either strangle her or fuck her.

My cock grows harder at the thought. Easing the confining pressure of my slacks, I lower the zipper, my ravening gaze trained on the sleeping beauty helplessly lying victim in my territory.

How many times have I envisioned her just like this. From that very first moment I heard the tinkling cadence of her laugh, and it slinked, like a fucking thief, right under my defenses. Taken off-guard, I wasn’t prepared when I turned to see her, with her beaming smile, a bright ray of sunshine invading my dark haunt.

I looked into the captivating pale-blue of her eyes and I knew—in a fraction of a second—she would be my destruction.

And all the dark, depraved thoughts I fought to keep at bay as I tried to remove her from my reach—I felt powerless. She was so fucking beautiful. Her scent tormented me. Her laugh stirred a fiery heat beneath my cold skin as I tried in vain to imagine what her screams would sound like in that tinkling cadence.

She consumed me from day one.

How I craved with ruthless fury to punish her for that.

That goddamn shirt with the neck tie was damn near my breaking point, and I knew I had to remove her, or else I’d snap.

I fed the hunger by first sketching her, memorizing every slope along the contours of her face. Every tempting, sexy curve of her body I branded into my memory with each stroke of charcoal.

The only one of my subjects from whom I never removed the flesh. Only ever allowing myself to fantasize what her delicate bones would look like, far too wary to put the imagery in physical form, for fear I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.

When I couldn’t get her blue eyes out of my head, I bred my Himalayan blue poppies to match the exact shade of her striking irises, my entire greenhouse a shrine to her beauty.

At any point, I could have ended my torment. I could have relented and sliced her open to torturously peel back her skin until I was rewarded with the prize I knew lay beneath; that delicate hyoid I felt when my hand was choked-up on her pretty, slender throat. A true star for my trophy case. I could have reduced her to ash, a memory easily blown away from my mind, and scattered the remains in the poppy beds.

The need to surrender to the tireless craving and make her disappear was a fraught one I battled every day I walked through the university doors. Because if I didn’t—if I let this obsession continue—it would result in breaking my own rules.

She tempted me to defy my nature.

She was a threat.

And right now, the provocative sight of her soft skin is too great a temptation, beckoning me to reach for the scalpel on the tray.

Reduced to savage need, I tear through the last of my feebly bound restraint as I storm toward her sedated, angelic form on the gurney and slide the razor-sharp blade of the tool beneath her shirt.

The sound of shredding fabric licks over my skin in sick satisfaction as I draw the scalpel up the center, slicing the garment I gave her and her lacy bra to expose her body to me fully. I let the shirt fall away from her breasts, admiring her hardened nipples, the even rise and fall of her chest.

I take my time, letting my gaze study every inch of her naked body, bare and vulnerable.

I know Kyrie wasn’t born a killer. She has a conscience, a soul, empathy. She desires to love and be loved—and despite my limitations there, I will do my best to give her what she needs. But this…

This is all for me.

Debauched. Deviant. Corrupt.

The unholy way in which I’m about to take her would make angels repent.

With depraved hunger, I allow myself to feel the twin scars below her lower ribs. My fingers map the beveled edges, tracing the coarse indents where the blade split her skin.

A violent anger rises up from the bowels of my pitch-black soul, furious that another man dared to touch her, to harm her, to try to destroy her. Rage lashes my viscera, the scalpel clenched in my trembling hand as I visualize the unhinged way in which I’d first torture, then mutilate him.

The massacre I committed in this very cold room would pale in bloody comparison to what I’d subject Winters to if he stood before me now.

I killed him too quickly.

And I hone this feral lust. Fixated on the sleeping beauty spread before me on the gurney, I discard the scalpel and reach into the hollow of my slacks and grip my rock-hard cock. A tight hiss escapes between my gritted teeth as I squeeze the base, then track my cold palm up the rungs of my shaft. I stroke the length, hips thrusting in time with each pass over my raging erection, as I stare at her parted thighs, the pretty pink clit peeking between her smooth lips, and I can almost taste the wet heat.

With my free hand, I clasp one of her ankles and part her legs farther. I spread her knees until they touch the steel railing on either side, opening her up wide to me, posing her like a precious doll—one I can place in any lewd position I desire.

After I discard my slacks, I drop down over her slumbering body and breathe in her scent just to stir the hunger before I bite into the fleshy swell of the bottom of her breast. My fingers seek the warm slit of her pussy as I coax her taut nipple to pebble harder with my tongue. Sinking two fingers inside, I groan at the soft give of her flesh, no resistance. Her slick arousal coats my fingers as I plunder deeper, so inviting.

She doesn’t move as I drive in and out, becoming more feral as she soaks my fingers. The need to fuck her with merciless depravity locks every muscle along my vertebrae. My teeth find purchase in the delicate junction between her neck and shoulder, where I devour the taste of her skin, my tongue trailing along her clavicle.

I withdraw my fingers from her hot little pussy and arch myself over her splayed form. A hard shiver racks my muscles as I trace the slippery pad of my finger over her colorless lips, then my gaze falls to the peaks and shadowed valleys cast by her bones.

A sick yearning to finally relent and peel back her layers grips me with fierce, untamed need, and before I can leash the desire, I’ve reached across the shelving unit and grasped the soft charcoal stick in hand.

Free hand braced to the chilled rail of the gurney, I rear up and position the stick to the bottom of her pelvis. I start by outlining her hips, using the span between the pubis to pinpoint the lumbar vertebrae.

At the sternum, I apply pressure and drag the soft tip up the column until I reach the thick manubrium, where I lighten the strokes. Branching out, I contour each rib along the cage. The clavicles I trace next, saving the column of her neck for last, where I tilt her head back and take my time shading around the mandible. My heart riots and my cock throbs as I outline her hyoid from the memory of my touch.

I raise up and gaze across her beautiful body, the silhouette of her skeleton only a vague overlay sketched on skin—the definition missing; the precision absent—but the depth and size accurate enough to turn me into a ravenous beast.

I brace my palm to the negative space of her belly and bury the head of my cock inside her slick entrance, captivated as I watch her sweet pussy eat each rung. I lower myself just enough to savor the delectable taste of her mouth, drawing in a deep breath between her parted lips as I inhale her into my lungs.

The sheer yearning to shred her tight walls with my studded cock is a demon clawing at my insides—to feel titanium hit cartilage and the vibration ricochet through my cock as I scrape across her bones.

This twisted love nurtured in the dark belongs only to us.

The sight of her drawn bones is a torture so divine, I’m barely restrained as I thrust into her with animalistic fury. I smear my hand across her pelvis, smudging the charcoal before I fasten my hands to her hips and rut into her with base, carnal want.

I could break her. My doll is so delicate, I could shatter her to pieces. A growl works free from the base of my throat. “So goddamn perfect, lille mejer. I want to fuck you so brutally I turn you inside out.”

I’m not the one in control here. She owns me. Every fiber of my being, every cell coursing through my marrow, she is the one dominating me, and I’m simply the depraved monster subservient to her commands.

Her body directs my next course, and I willingly obey, giving my little reaper exactly what she craves. I pull out of her slowly and gather her wetness, using my slick fingers to lube the puckered ring of her ass.

I glide my palm down my cock once to spread her arousal, then I push into the little pleated hole, thrusting all the way to the base of my shaft, where I feel her tight channel clench around me in reflex.

“Goddamn.” I fall over her, my hand sinks into her chilly hair where I thread my fingers, bowing her body beneath mine as I grip her closer. “I’m going to take your sweet, perfect ass, and you’re going to feel every painful thrust until you’re forced to open those beautiful eyes of yours.”

I fuck her hard, with merciless need, surrendering to the fiend within that craves to consume her. With every unguarded thrust, her ass clenches around my cock, taking me right toward the fucking edge.

At the dosage delivered, the sedative has an elimination half-life of forty-five minutes, and I can already feel her muscles gathering stronger, hear her breaths panting faster. Her eyelids twitch, and the sight of her rousing from sleep shreds my goddamn sanity.

“I want your eyes on me, Kyrie,” I whisper into her ear. Hips bearing down between the warm apex of her soft thighs, I rut into her ass, unhinged, wild. “Open your fucking eyes, lille mejer.”

She gasps in a sudden breath and her eyes flutter open, the crystalline blue seizing the rampaging muscle inside my chest. A growl rips free and, as her pretty mouth parts to release a moan, I seal her lips with mine to swallow the sweet sound.

Her ass squeezes so hard around my cock, my blood blisters my veins. I reach between us and swirl the coarse pads of my fingers over her clit, savoring her uncontrollable muscle twinges of pleasure.

She takes me right over the cliff with her, shattering me as she breaks against me, our bodies braced for the impact. My release claims me entirely, her tight hole milking my cock as I fill her.

Chest on fire, I crash to my elbows so I don’t crush her, her mind and body still coming out of the sedation. “Christ,” I breathe out across her collar, then drop a tender kiss to the hollow notch in the center. “You turned me inside out, petal.”

A small laugh escapes her, and I feel her fingers trail through my sweat-slicked hair. “Considering you’re still in my ass, I feel really relaxed.”

A breathless chuckle slips out, and I rise up to kiss her lips. She’s groggy from the sedative, will likely be for the next several hours. I quickly clean us up and slide on my pants, the need to take care of her hurrying my actions.

Kyrie sits up on the gurney and glances over her bare skin. “You drew a skeleton on me,” she says, no shock held in her tone. “I’m not even at all surprised, Jack.”

I scoop her into my arms, appreciating the little yelp. “Just be glad I stopped there.”

I carry her naked out of the cold room and into the main part of the house. When we reach the hallway and completely bypass the guest room, Kyrie taps her fingers against my pec. “Where are you taking me?”

“Just trust me.”

“I do,” she says, and I look down to meet her glassy eyes.

I swallow. She does trust me, completely. “You didn’t have to prove it,” I say.

She shrugs slightly in my arms. “Now you know.”

We enter the bathroom of my bedroom and I lower her to the tile floor, making sure she’s steady on her feet before I move toward the soaking tub in the corner.

Turning the tap to a lukewarm setting, I test the water flowing out of the faucet, then I once again scoop her up and deposit her in the shallow pool in the tub. She shivers, her teeth chattering, and I spoon water into my palm and ladle it over the gooseflesh along her back.

Having Kyrie in my domain goes against my nature. I share this life with no one. I’m built for secrecy, for solitude. It’s a design for more than just my survival; it’s constructed to protect any innocents from getting caught in my web.

But it’s the moment she grabs the unused bottle of bubble bath to add suds to the water that I know I’ll never let her go.

She tangled herself in my web, and I’ll have to carve her out of me to remove her now. She’s in so deep, fused to my bones.

If that day ever comes, that loss will resonate down to the core of me. I will have no desire to survive without her.

As I pan more water over her shoulders, she circles her dainty fingers around my wrist. “What is it, Jack? You’re more pensively somber than usual.”

A faint smile ghosts my lips. I lean in and place a kiss to her temple. “I just want to make sure you’re all right.”

“And…”

I release a lengthy breath. “And I’m thinking about Hayes, and other things.” I shut off the tap. “It’s getting complicated around here. Not sure how much longer Westview will be habitable for me.”

She looks away, gathers a dollop of sudsy bubbles and spreads the soapy water over the charcoal lines along her chest. “I trust you,” is all she says.

Her words stay with me, filling the dark space of my thoughts when we’re lying silently in bed, waiting for sleep to claim us. They stay with me long after that.