AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He cums directly down my throat and I press my clit hard against his tongue, bright flashes of color popping against my closed eyelids—five-pointed and scarlet as the leaves. This orgasm is hot and rushing and intense, my whole body clenching and shaking, as Ares’ cum rushes down my throat in three rough bursts.
I pull back from his cock, still swallowing.
I like the way he tastes. His cum is smooth and mild.
Ares comes to lay beside me, his arm a pillow beneath my head, both of us looking up into the canopy of red.
Whenever I went hunting with my father and I saw a deer in the woods and shot, killed, and ate it afterward, I always felt like I imbued part of that deer. By consuming it, I took its energy into my body in a very real way. It made me feel closer to the animals and the trees and the cycle of life that goes around and around in an endless loop.
Now Ares and I have eaten a part of each other.
He’s inside of me and I’m inside of him.
Quietly, in that low, deep voice, Ares says, “I love being out here with you. I haven’t felt this good in a long time.”
“I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this good,” I say.
I know I’ve never been this happy.
20
Ivan Petrov
St. Petersburg
Fifteen Years Ago
The next time Marko Moroz comes to the monastery, I hardly recognize him.
He jumps out of his car, limping to the gates before Maks can even reach him, gripping the iron bars in his massive hands and howling, “IVAN!” at the top of his lungs.
I had already heard what had happened, and I suppose I was expecting him, though not so soon, because by my last intelligence, he was lying in a hospital bed in Kyiv with seven bullets in his body.
I can see the bandage on his jaw where one of those bullets went through his cheek, shattering half his molars before exiting right below the opposite ear.
I know what kept Marko alive. The same thing that brought him here: the thirst for revenge.
I had been playing in the yard with several of the dogs—or at least, to their eyes playing. Really, we were training the latest litter. As soon as my radio crackled, I sent my son into the house.
My son paused, looking at me with those blue-green eyes that have always been so startling in his face. He got my olive skin, and hair a little lighter than mine, more like Dom’s. Those eyes must be from some distant ancestor unknown to Sloane or me. They’re deeper than ours, and gentler. Too gentle, I sometimes fear.
“Go on inside,” I said again sternly. “And take the pups.”
Obediently, he scooped up the two fluffy ovcharkas, one under each arm, and ferried them into the house.
He’s a good boy. Calm, serious, and already showing flashes of his mother’s brilliance.
I don’t want Marko to see him.
I nod for Maks to open the gates.
Marko comes lurching up the drive, limping heavily on the leg that received two of the bullets.
“IVAN!” he bellows again, though by this point we’re close enough to see each other plainly.
I walk toward him with an ugly feeling of impending doom. Marko has the appearance of a bill unpaid. My own fate coming to claim me once more.
He looks haggard and wild-eyed. Skinnier than I’ve ever seen him—he must have lost forty pounds in the hospital, or more. He’s diminished in all ways. Yet more dangerous than ever.
