cindersoul9

[cindersoul9]

Rapture. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley noun. /ˈræptʃər/ a feeling of extreme pleasure and happiness mdni, 18+ . . . . He’s got eyes that look like they belong to a saint. Endless brown mixed into reflective pools that betray the mask that shroud them in the dark.

It should be harder to love him—to trust someone who hunts with the appetite of a starved beast. He’s seconds from wrapping those thick fingers around your throat, drawing a fist around your neck and spoiling your flesh. 

But there's something hypnotizing about the way he draws you close, laying you down softly against the plush sheets he bought. Shades of pink, a stark contrast to his hulking shadow. The beast does not speak, he bites. He carves his mark along the slope of your neck, painting skin until it blooms. 

His skin is a blistering heat, wrapping around you like a furnace wrought from rigid metal. There’s no telling between need and want in his embrace, his cock sinking inside your sticky folds and making your bones quiver.  A warped form of ascent. A pit-stop in Heaven before you come crashing down, stuck in this special Hell that threatens to split you in half. 

Here, the Devil has a face. A wretched one carved with a crude knife, his sharp smile pressed against your chest. His nose digs into your skin, desperate for the sweat that clings to the surface. He whispers praise against your collar, swiping tears from your soft cheeks with his tongue as he sinks deeper. The beast begs to consume, abandoning flesh and seeping into the shadows that envelop your naked body. 

“Ready?” He’ll hiss between his agonizingly deep thrusts, words mistaken for fire as you can only nod. He snickers. You hold your breath.

And when he shudders to a stop, growl caught between his teeth as his spend dribbles pink from your folds, you’ll remember how it burned, your bones kindling his flames as you thank him for keeping you warm for another night.