#augustwalkersmut

I watch with intrigue as men hurt you, ravish you. Spoil you.

Make you cum. Make you unravel, loosen up. Give in, give up. So we can give ourselves to each other; a tight embrace.

Closeness. Divinity. Divination in each other's eyes and hearts.

I see you, my love, as deeply as I sense that you see me.

It’s a sensibility I have.

Similar to the sensibility I have for darkness, dark experiences and emotions.

They drive me. They make me strive to become better. Do you better. Do better for you. Pleasure you. Be there for you, if you will have me, in times of need.

I need you. Please.

Walk with me. Talk with me. Talk to me. Hear me. Listen.

The raven sings. It’s singing. It's a love song. A song for you, my life. My love. Do you hear? Do you feel it in your chest?

My heart is pounding. The drumbeat to the raven’s melodies and love-songs. Serenade.

Let’s go back home, drink lemonade.

We can put in some alcohol, if you want. Get drunk. Make love. Compassionate, passionate, devotional love to each other.

My devotion is you, to you, my love. Purely. My love is tainted yet at once pure. It’s only source, the only goal is you, your heart.

If you want it. My love. Mine. You are. My heart. Do you hear? Feel it?

Put your hand on my chest, my love. My life. Feel the beat behind my ribcage.

There is a bird in there; captured, encaged. In rapture, enraged, in love and dazed. Bewildered, seeking forgiveness. Seeking expression. There aren’t enough words to explain, to express. My love, my life. You. My heart.

My raven. It sings, it sings such a beautiful song. If you could only hear. If you would only listen. To my love, my life, my heart.

It’s here for you, my love. My heart’s for you, my life. My raven sings, flutters, as my heart, for you, my dear.

My utmost devotion, all that I have to give. Do you feel it? With your gentle touch?

Hit me, hurt me, as long as you feel me, hear my call, my song, my expression.

Tears run down my face, do you see? Do you see how strong my love is? My heart? My bird?

It’s crashing in my chest, it’s pounding in the cage, bursting through. I can’t hold back.

---

The harsh CIA agent sits on the sofa wearing a strained look on his face. It has been a long, frustrating day at work and he hasn’t even had the chance to take off his suit. He stirs the bourbon in its lowball, watching the little vortex that forms in the agitated golden-brown liquid

And there she is, his little kitten. She sneaks into the great living room with the  obvious intent to welcome him back. Wearing makeup like an actress from an old French movie, she dons a sheer pink babydoll dress over a luxurious lace lingerie set and golden high heeled shoes. 

Diamonds sparkle on her skin as the sunlight kisses them through the open window. She never owned diamonds before, she’s  not a materialistic girl, but August loves seeing her adorned with expensive necklaces and bracelets as if she is a doll to play with.    

And his to covet.

With a sweet smile of her face, she begins to dance for him in slow, snake-like movements. Her hands caress her soft skin, twirling her long dark hair before she throws it back and lets it fall against her rounded ass. 

August sips the bourbon and grits his teeth as the spiced liqueur hits the back of his throat. His eyes fix on the treasure, the way those slender hands run through her own body sinfully, approaching the mysteries that belong to him, where his big rough hands should be. He muses to himself; the only person allowed to touch her except for himself is her, and only when he permits it.      

The first article of clothing, if you could call it that, falls from her body like a feather floating down the air. She kicks it away with her high heel and pushes her shoulders closer to squeeze her breasts against one another as they’re still locked inside that lacy Victoria Secret’s bra. 

Also a present from her dear love. Cotton-candy pink, of course. He loves her sweet, the way she is. 

The bulge in his trousers becomes overwhelmingly evident. She eyes it while letting the strap fall off from her shoulder, sucking her lips and putting a finger inside her mouth to let him know how badly she wants to taste his cock. August places the empty glass on the end table next to the sofa, the sound sharp against the surface. He places his knuckles against his mouth and ogles her with pure fascination while his other hand rubs at his erection to slightly ease the need.

She exposes her delicious breasts, hugging a hand over them while her bra slips between her fingers. A large smile slowly spreads on his face. He loves it when his kitten acts so innocent, it makes his cock twitch with double the excitement.

There is an ocean of admiration in his eyes for his little pet, his little piece of gold in a pile of coal that is this horrible world. In her, he sees all that’s pure and delicate in this world, the sweet among the bitter. He likes to pretend she was a virgin when he met her, even though she told him she wasn’t, never wanting to lie to a man like August. Yet he’d like to think he’s the only man who picked her ripe fruits and every time he fucks her, his dirty soul defiles her body and steals some of the purity in her soul.   

At last, she reaches for her underwear. Her dance moves are stilled as she looks deeply into those beautiful malicious blues and allows the flimsy piece of lace fall from her thighs, exposing her silky smooth mound. 

Just the way he likes it.

“Leave those on.” He commands, seeing as she means to take off her jewelry. 

Ever so obedient, she nods and then sensually crouches on the floor, crawling naked on the carpet, hair thrown back and resting on her back.She moves to where he is seated with his legs spread conveniently to accept her while massaging the bulge in his groin. 

He swallows the lump in his throat, watching his kitten give him that sweet naive look. She gazes at him with big eyes, adoring her master, greatly devoted to him. She presses her cheek against his thigh, humming gently as he entangles his fingers in her soft hair. 

“My sweet girl,” he murmurs, tilting his head while looking at her dreamingly. Her creme-painted nails scratch at the hard bulge, tracing the metal of his belt buckle against her tips.    

“May I, daddy?” She asks for permission and is granted a pleasant smile as his hand waves away from her head, allowing her space to work on freeing his painful cock from the captivity of his trousers. Her nimble fingers do quick work on his belt. The sound of leather slipping through the metal clasp makes her shiver and the rich juices that drip from between her legs are becoming a burden, but she is not allowed to touch herself yet.

It’s forbidden.  

August growls as her hand sneaks into his trousers, her small digits taking him in her palm, appreciating how vast and beautiful he is. She shifts her thumb across the pulsating veins, trailing across the ridged surface until reaching the head of his cock where sheer precum drops greet her sight. 

His groans are melody to her ears, music that makes her heart flutter and her core throb. She wants him to unload himself in her in any way he chooses. 

Nothing in her body is scared anymore anyway, he made sure of it. 

She lowers herself, breasts brushing against the soft material of his trousers as her tongue slips between her lips to taste him. Her velvet tongue swirls around the tip, eliciting the most pleasant groans from his beautiful lips. Carefully, he is taken into the warmth of her mouth while her gaze is fixed on his and his cock disappears between her succulent lips. 

August throws his head back, relaxing as his kitten works her mouth up and down his big shaft. Her back arching, her ass sticking in the air behind her. An erotic view for him to feast upon with his ocean blues. 

But it’s not enough. He needs more, he needs to be buried deep inside her lush walls, to have his anger surge through her body and cleanse his soul.

His fingers cup her chin, gently pausing her ministrations. There’s a slight worry in her eyes, afraid she might have wronged him in any way but the enamoured look in his eyes relaxes the surge of anxiety that runs through her heart. 

He takes her hand and guides her to sit on top of him. Legs spread with knees to each side of his hips, she sinks herself onto his meaty erection, gasping as he spreads her walls inch by inch until he is sunken in her depth. Her ankles lift in the air, the heels of her shoes point upward as her head falls back. 

“You’re so big!” She yelps, nearly powerless, feeling full with his cock reshaping her taut canal. The tightness of her cunt makes it impossible to move so she remains still, keeping him inside her abundant warmth. 

He grips her ass, squeezing the flesh and guiding her, bouncing her on his cock while taking her breasts into his mouth. His teeth nip at the tender flesh and then licks at the hollows that his teeth created. 

The thrill of the pain and the comfort that comes after makes her body comply with his invasion.,He leaves her no choice anyway, he will keep going even if it hurts, but he’d rather have her enjoy herself as well.

“Good,” he groans, watching her as she begins to ride him, swaying her hip and dancing on his cock, letting her clit grind against him with every shift she makes. He thrusts up to meet her pace, biting his teeth as he enjoys the desperate look on her beautiful face. She looks as if it hurts to have him in there yet the pain brings her so much pleasure. Her body wants to resist and take him at once whilst she is driven into madness by desire. 

Fire begins to tingle in her core, increasing her pace. Something inside her breaks, and his little angel turns into a succubus in front of his very eyes. Her body is thrown back hanging in the air with only their sex keeping them together. Her hand grabs at his tie for support while she squirms onto his girth in an urgent rhythm.

He grunts, nearly choking as the noose tightens around his neck. It does nothing but make him harden even more inside her already too tight heat. Letting one hand glide at the small of her back, he holds her from falling and puts his right hand to his mouth, coating his fingers with his saliva before pressing them against her clit. 

“Who does this pussy belong to, angel?” He asks, another guttural grunt escaping his lips as his kitten tightens around him while he manipulates her clit into submission.

“Yours, August!” She wails, feeling the warmth increasing, fury burning between her thighs. 

“No,” he rasps, pressing harder against her clit. His cock swells inside her, his sack squeezing beneath her ass. 

“Da...daddy!” she cries out, pulling back with all her might as the fire consumes her, making her melt with ecstasy with him hitting her cervix. He lets himself go right after her, coating her walls with his liquid and continuing to push into her until it drips between them, warm and smooth. 

“I’m sorry, daddy…” she bites her knuckle, letting go of his tie and looking at the mess she made.  

He gives her a smile, with his hand still on her back he pulls closer against him, laying soft butterfly kisses all over her face and then nuzzling her temple.  

“Don’t worry, angel. Daddy’s not mad, not this time.” 

The sound of water streaming down the shower greets you as you walk into your own apartment. You would have been frightened if you weren’t so used to August Walker taking over everything you have and claiming it as his own. 

Yes, even your body. 

Not that it bothers you, you’d make that same mistake over and over again, letting him take whatever he wants. 

He is not expecting you this time, though. You left the office early and decided to unwind at home for a little while, but discovering August has invaded your territory yet again means serenity is certainly off the menu. 

You tiptoe your way toward the corridor, already imagining how the hot water splash onto this man’s Adonis figure when you’re greeted by the velvety sound of his deep groans. Your mouth gapes open with a wisp of surprise and you lean your face close to the door that was left ajar. 

The brooding man stands there facing the tiles, gasping softly as the water stream down his muscles. He holds his meaty cock in one hand, stroking it slowly while his eyes are shut. The voices emitted from his throat are enough to make your panties soaked and your core tingle. 

Fuck! You muse, the way his long fingers engulf his organ, running up and down firm and lingering. His wet hairy chest sinks and rises while the most intoxicating moans leave his lips. 

Arousal clouds your judgement, driving you into performing dangerous actions. You know you shouldn’t sneak on a man who kills for a living, yet sooner than you can even make that conclusion your clothes are on the floor and you make your stealthy way into the shower, carefully setting one foot behind him.

You don’t even manage to touch him and you’re already pinned with your face pressed against the cold tile, your elbow held to the small of your back in captivity. 

You feel August behind you, beginning to lean with his full weight onto your frail body. His erection brushes against the back of your thigh making you shiver with anticipation. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks you with a hint of playful malice in his voice. You are definitely going to be punished for interrupting him while he was pleasing himself.

“I thought I could lend you a hand”

He snorts at your bad joke and then moves even closer, putting one arm flat next to your head to assure you that you crossed the border and have been taken as his prisoner. You still, feeling the length of his very endowed shaft running up and down between the cleft of your ass, teasing your little puckered hole while small beastlike growls graze your ear.

“You’re a fucking brat, that’s what you are” he speaks in a low dangerous voice “what should I do then?”

The question is not for you, you know very well by now you don’t get to make a decision, you only get to beg.

“Please, daddy…” you mewl, one hand holding onto the smooth surface with yield while the other one is left at your lower back with obedience.

“Please daddy, what?” he asks, positioning you to serve his need while his foot kicks your legs apart “Speak up, princess, daddy needs to hear it.” 

“Please I need you” you answer and take a deep breath, preparing your body to whatever wicked game August has in mind this time. 

His cock slides down between your folds in an excruciating pace. He sighs loudly next to your ear, letting you feel every inch and every bulging vein around his cock. 

A hopeless mewl escapes your mouth, your head tilting down, body tensing as he sinks deep inside you, leaving you filled to the brim.

He hums with cruel delight, nested between your folds and remaining still with nothing but the throb of his cock inside you to grant you the slightest friction.

“August!” you beg for him again, this time in a loud pathetic cry.

Pearly tendrils of light shine through the creases of his lids, waking him from a dreamless sleep. A mixture of iron and dream-like mellowness tugs at his nose, like death and fresh roses. It’s so close he can nearly taste it on his parched tongue. Swallowing the scorching dryness in his throat, the fallen man attempts to move but a leaden warmth defies him, hugging softly onto his upper torso and embracing him in the foreign fog of solace. 

A delicate heartbeat murmurs against his, so frail it virtually feels as if it melted into his own ribs. 

As if she dissolved into him.

Cold sweat layers his forehead. Snapping frantically he shoves the girl off of him, curling against the headboard with a crazed neurotic look on his face as if he was touched by a blaze of blistering fire. 

“What the fuck do you want!?” August yells, his voice hoarse and cracked. His glare shoots through her across the small bedroom, his mind rapidly trying to grasp any recollection of the messy chamber. This location is strange to him; the walls feel like they’re closing in, withdrawing the air from his lungs in a place that seems like a warzone. The light-carpeted floor is soiled by a long path of the darkest red, the trail leading back to them.  

The porcelain valkyrie is pushed to the edge of the bed, seemingly like a rare mythological creature. Her long hair drapes her face like a dark veil, pierced by two shiny diamonds that glimpse through, imbued with naivety. Still drowsy, she tries to collect her own senses, rubbing her heavy forehead and releasing a soft groan.

“Relax, stop shouting.” she pleads with lids half shut. Her slender arms spread in the air, suggesting a peace treaty. 

August scowls, his airflow becoming short and quickened. He lets a hand rave over his chest with panic, finding it bare and sticky with dry blood and sweat. A clean bandage is wrapped around his left pectoral and crossed tightly around one shoulder. While the aching sting still bites into the wounded muscle, his energy has slightly renewed, as well as his sanity. 

Or so he believes. 

Making another hasty survey of the room, he finds his belt and armed holster scattered on the floor. He makes a dash for it, immediately aiming the gun in Ingvild’s direction, refusing to fall to whatever game this may be.  

She stares at him motionless, remaining seated with her knees folded and her feet nestled below her behind. “Feels nice doesn’t it?” she provokes, her lips breaking into a faint grin as if the muscles of her face are still learning the concept of smiling. “To wake up with your tits out.”

Looking back at her unamused, his hand waves the gun. A glower shadows his face, painting deep lines in his forehead. The attempt to greet her with an onslaught of insults results in nothing but a painful wheeze as his throat sears. 

“Don’t move,” Ingvild commands lightly and climbs off the bed, completely ignoring the click of the gun and August’s arm that follows her every movement. Her legs nearly float through as she moves gracefully, rushing to the bathroom nearby. She grabs a glass and fills it from the tap before quickly returning to sit on the bed, offering the tall glass to August.

Wary of her peace offering, he hesitates, scanning her for any signs of wickedness and finding none. Something else glints through her big irises instead. The deep lines that dot those beautiful greys seem so brittle, immersed in emotion he can’t define or recognize at all. 

It makes him feel attacked.

Snatching the glass violently, he swallows its content in one gulp, feeling a thirst he never sensed in his entire existence. He places the glass on the nightstand, slamming it so harshly it shatters.  

Ingvild peers at the light sparkling onto the broken shards and averts her eyes back to August’s profoundly ragged face. He glares with blazes of fury, evidently less than inclined to trust her despite her efforts to make amends, and the fact that she nursed him through a stormy night. 

It pricks her heart, more than it ever did when she tried to gain Liam’s affection.

“I could have killed you at least three times in your sleep,” she murmurs and then pauses, attempting to smirk again. “You should really lay off the snacks, I nearly fainted trying to get you to the bed.”

Unphased, he carefully gauges her appearance. Soft, pale light shines through the window, showering her skin with a mellow haze as she sits holding a hand over her forearm, squeezing it nervously. Her glance is filled with rain clouds, the cynicism and the hatred he grew so accustomed to is untraceable. 

A piece inside her shifted, deeming her fragile all of the sudden. In his heart of tar and stone, he knows she speaks the truth, yet the spirit of vengeance won’t let go. Bile rises in his throat, fingers twitching as the constant hunger to touch her prickles his skin. The woman is a natural prey to him, making his mouth salivate. It’s enough to see her defenceless to make him want to gnaw fresh cavities in her flesh. 

But something else boils in his veins. More than just a primal need.

“Why can’t you just let me be?” he asks sharply, teeth gritted and jaw strained tightly. A slight tremor runs through his bones, his body dominated by anger and despair. 

“You came here,” she answers, staring fearlessly between the barrel and his furious gaze. A small frown forms between her eyebrows, the grey clouds inside her lustrous eyes beginning to take wind. “You wanted to retaliate.”

Fragments of the other night begin to slice into the black matter of his brain: her tears, her lips moving slowly, whispering his own words of a vendetta in her angelic voice. 

Like a dream, nebulous and virginal, how beautiful she was surrendering her will to his. 

‘Fight it! She betrayed you.’

“Oh trust me, princess, I still very much want to see you die.” he retorts, the gun beginning to feel heavy in his hand. He reaches to hold his own wrist, giving a fierce glare. “You should have ended it, darling.”

“Yes, I should’ve killed you,” she agrees, her lower lip slightly quivering as she looks at him with desperation. Her chest begins to heave through the cleavage of her top, the same tarnished one she wore that night. It still smells like his sweat. His musk is so stubborn it lingers. 

“I should be a good girl, for Liam, for Icarus. But I have so many thoughts going through my head over and over again, splitting my mind in half. I don’t want to do this anymore, I don’t want to kill for them, I don’t want to kill you. It hurts.”

Shuffling in a swift movement, she crawls toward him, her muscles flexing inward. Her slick manoeuvres remind him of a majestic feline. August’s pupils dilate as the lines of her face sharpen in his sight and the warmth of her body returns to caress him like a pleasant autumn breeze.

Ingvild reaches her slender arm for his wrist fearlessly before he can even muster any protest. Ignoring the gun aimed at her throat, she forces his palm flat onto her chest and inhales sharply. Her heart thunders against his touch, making his own beat accelerate.  

“Right here,” she says, gazing deeply into his eyes as if trying to enchant him. “I have killed close to 470 people since I was 14. I don’t remember their faces, but I do know I never felt this before, not for any of them.”

The azure ocean in August’s eyes gushes with alarming gusts. The scarce physical contact ignited a spark inside him, driving him to withdraw his hand aggressively, putting down the flame before it begins to spread again. 

“What do you want? What do you think this is?” he asks furiously, boring a frenzied look into her eyes. He feels a certain heat rising in his chest. He reasons with himself that it’s just the gunshot wound festering, burning his lungs to cinders.

“I want you,” she answers, her gaze dropping to his lips, admiring the fine shape. A sharp cupid’s bow hidden beneath the coarse hair of his thick moustache. Her hands dream of stroking his sculptured jaw and feel the bristle of his untamed stubble. 

“I want to follow you on your mission.”    

‘She is lying. Don’t trust her, remember what happened the last time you’ve placed your faith in a woman?’

August’s nostrils flare, his mind scouring frantically, bargaining for a reason why she would be different. Twice he spared her, his murderous will weakened by her manipulative spells, clawed by whatever it was she had on him. The voice in his head warns him gravely, yet the fact that here he is, still alive by her merciful hand spikes his doubts, meddling with his thoughts the way only she could do. 

Ever since she stepped into his life he’s been spiralling into a cataclysm. Something that he always gripped with zeal was no longer in his control.  

Leaning closer, he narrows his eyes with spite. The muscle of his jaw contracts, clenching tightly. He grazes the cold barrel of the gun against the supple skin of her cheek. “Why should I trust you?” he spits out, tracing her face further with the hard, crude metal.  “You think that because I broke you in, I actually care about you?”

Ingvild studies his face, not showing any sign of fear as she nods to herself. “You need proof.”

The young woman looks around her, searching for something in the room thoughtfully. Her eyes rest on the nightstand beside August and she leans to it, brushing her entire figure against his broad body for a split second as she reaches for the broken glass. 

“What do you think you’re doing, princess?” he asks cautiously, his eyes following her every move.  He crooks his eyebrow as she sits in front of him with her legs bunched beneath her bottom. Displaying her left arm with her elbow resting on one knee and her palm facing upward, she presses the shard against her wrist. 

August frowns in a mixture of confusion and agitation, alarm bells ringing at the back of his head. Yet no rational thought makes it to his mind as he watches the glass tear through her skin. 

Silence befalls the room. Abruptly so quiet he can hear the buzz of the electric cords running through the walls. Even her breath pauses as her right hand drops the shard on the bed, her eyes remaining poised, darting onto his. Overcome with disbelief he wonders if she actually did it, scrutinizing her flesh which seems intact.  

Suddenly, a spout of blood emerges through her open wrist. 

Dark red liquor licks down her arm, sensually dripping onto her worn jeans and pooling onto the blanket. August’s heart stirs with shock, yet he attempts to force his emotions away. 

“What the hell do you think you are doing?!” 

Keeping her sight on his, Ingvild remains still, not flinching a muscle as the blood pumps out of her severed artery. The pain is excruciating yet the chants in her mind continue to tell her to hold her groans inside. 

‘Show no weakness, prove your strength.’

“You want loyalty.”

“Won’t mean a thing if you’re dead,” he answers coldly, waiting for her to stop the blood, to show any fear or regret. The thick liquid continues to flow down her arm, tarnishing her porcelain skin that begins to turn paler as the blood drains from her body. He gathers the torture must be unbearable yet she won’t even make a whimper.

‘What is she waiting for?’

“I’m not going to save you,” August warns. 

Ingvild shrugs lightly, trying not to move her arm too much. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll die one way or another, by your hand or Icarus’. At least this gives me a choice.”

The drops staining the bed sound like rain tapping against a window ledge, heavy and dull.

August’s brows knit together, his eyes running back and forth between her arm and her face, watching her lips turning light blue, triggering disturbing memories in his mind. “What on earth does that mean?” Heavy frown lines paint his forehead as he recalls her words before she shot him. 

“I have to kill you.” 

“You’re a slave?” he reckons, looking at the colour vanishing from her face as she nods. “How very disappointing, Ingvild.”

“A tool, controlled by men whom I’ve never seen to manipulate the world and sustain the old order, as you wrote in your manifesto.” she shuts her eyes for a mere second, trying to push back the throbbing twinge in her vein as her body screams with panic. 

“They stole my freedom…” she pauses, finding it suddenly hard to speak. “They stole me... what did they take from you?”

“It’s none of your business,” he snaps, aware of how her voice slows down along with her breath. He swears he can hear her heartbeat getting louder as if begging to be rescued. 

“But I am bleeding for you.” she provokes, offering a small weak chuckle. Feeling the euphoria creeping to her mind. “You should tell me your plans like villains do in the movies. I’m dying anyway.”

August snarls. Shaking his head, his eyes hold a rageful ocean, washed with concern. The image of her dying corpse lying beneath him flashes into his memory. A dead angel in the snow, lips frozen in time. He should have left her there in the frozen lake. But for a split second, she was Lacey and then she wasn’t. 

As she slowly dives into her own death, he still wonders why he couldn’t let her drown.

‘For fuck’s sake.’

Ingvild closes her eyes accepting the shadows that seduce her to join them, the pain dwindling as her body gives in. But she’s quickly pulled back by August who holds her hand, covering the bleeding slit with his tattered shirt and pressing into it. His voice comes as distant thunder, vibrating gently in her ears before words begin to make sense again.  

“Hold it up, like this,” he commands her, folding her arm and fisting her wrist tightly. “Where are the bandages?”

Ingvild tilts her chin, her sleepy eyes gesturing onto her bag on the floor where a pristine white pack of badges lies. 

“Keep the pressure on,” he orders her again. His voice is calm as if once again he follows protocols. Yet something stirred, hiding within the silent sea of his eyes which snap at her for a split second. 

They’re tainted by fear. 

Ingvild watches with hushed admiration as he hurries to grab the bandage and returns to her. A small wrinkle rests between his brow, focusing intently on wrapping her open wound. He makes such a beautiful, neat work dressing her injury, she almost feels sorry for making a mess out of his.    

“Have I proved myself?” she taunts, peeking at him through her lashes while he makes work of tying the dressing tightly at her wrist. His elegant hands wrap a piece of medical duct tape around the bandages, twirling the long thick bands ceremonially as if they were silk ribbons.

His stern gaze rests upon her face, noting every flake of her long lashes, watching the different colours shift like thick liquid as daylight breaks onto her glassy irises. Awe plays with the strings in his chest, mesmerized by the innocence in her that refuses to die even after he desecrated her. 

The craving in him seethes. Like a thirsty man in the desert who stumbles onto an oasis.    

‘You can’t let her go, can’t let her slip between your fingers.’

With her wrist still in his grasp, he allows himself to stroke a thumb over the white cotton of the bandage, brushing the suppleness of her skin.

“This is not the devotion I need from you, princess.”

Ingvild flinches like a scared animal, shivering at the foreign tenderness of his touch. No one ever touched her with kindness. Soft, feather-like caresses embark further up her milky skin, making her moan at the pleasant new sensation. Light and careful, his fingers ascend to her neck and press around her chin.  

“Angel,” August murmurs, low and sonorous. His bulky body looms closer, whilst the grip around her jaw becomes tense, drawing her closer until his lips are a mere inch away from hers. “Do you want to be devoted to me?”

“Yes,” she answers, voice still lingering either by blood loss or the passion that begins to cloud her mind.

Consoled by her answer, a small growl builds in the pit of August’s diaphragm, accompanied by a lustful grin that edges his chiselled face. 

“Then show me your devotion.”

“No…” she protests lightly, finally breaking into a true little smile that glints brightly in her eyes. The radiance almost makes him want to take it from her by force. “I’m not a toy.” 

August smirk widens at her response, exposing his sharp fangs that beam at the faint hint of rosy hues that circles her cheeks. 

“Did I stutter?” Authority paints his voice, his grip putting pressure on her nape and pressing her chin up with the pad of his thumb. The patience in him wears thin, greed weaving in his gut yet he vows to hold back as much as possible, unwilling to tear down her wings. 

She must submit freely.

Fallen by his power, she watches the darkness pour into his eyes, his lips pulling apart slightly, anticipating the moment when he can steal the air from her lungs and nibble into the plumpness of her lips. Whatever strength in her wanes, bending to his will. She meekly takes his lips into hers, suckling him above and below, feeling the rough graze of his moustache. 

It’s nothing like the violent kiss they shared in the pit, yet something in her quickly awakens: a hunger like no other, turning the kiss more demanding. Like fire spreading, their tongues quickly engulf each other, dancing feverishly. August’s growl vibrates all the way down her sternum, his hands roaming down to grope every patch of skin. 

A mewl of protest breaks from her as he leaves her lips, followed by a deep sigh as he begins to kiss down her throat. The scruff of his coarse facial hair makes her blood rush and her heart pumps with exhilaration, nearly halting from the bliss of his touch.

“I want everything.” August blurts out, tugging her shirt over her head and then biting her breasts over her bra. The canvas of her skin is tainted by deep-grey and purple shades. Flicking the clasp of her bra, he wonders briefly which were from their fight and which formed as he fucked her so aggressively. He feels nothing but pride in knowing he will make new ones right now. Brand her as he claims her his own. 

Sharp teeth sink into her tender breasts, coaxing yips of pain, marking her with wet little cavities while his fingers fiddle with her jeans, urgently huddling it down her legs along with her underwear. Impassioned, she shifts from her position, kicking away the last remnants of her clothes. The chill air tickles her wet flesh, making her exhale with ghastly need. More wolf than a man, August leans back, his torso layered with sweat that glistens of the dark fur of his torso. The fabric of his trousers is stretched painfully over the massive bulge and mindlessly she reaches out to feel him, kneading the outlines of his erection through his pants. 

‘Fuck, her touch...’ 

Fervent groans tremor through his sinew as she squeezes him harder. She frees him from his trousers, running a hand up and down his shaft, astounded by his vastness and the correlation of smooth velvet skin over rock-hard muscle. 

Still sore, the pounding heat of need rocks at the centre of her cunt, possessing her into swaying her perky breasts against his cock. Pearly beads of precum exude from the tip, coating the erected peaks of her nipples.

“Fuck!” August pants and swallows hard, as the battle over his self-control drains him. Patience has always been his virtue in bed, his power over women. Release in control by sodomy that inflicted true pleasure. 

But not with her. She strings different tunes, singing seductive hymns to the animal in him. 

He wants her. He needs her. He must have all of her.  

‘I deserve her.’

Drawing back against the headboard, his hands snap at her hip, lifting her with ease to stand on her knees right above his cock. Ingvild nibbles at her bottom lip, her eyes falling onto his hardened shaft which lies heavily against his abs. 

If not for all the injuries she caused him, the large man’s Adonis-like form would have looked like a renaissance statue cut out of marble. 

“Come here,” he commands, removing one hand from her to seize the base of his huge cock which towers with glory amidst the dark bundles of curls. “Take me in”

A stream of arousal rushes inside her, making her quiver as she lowers her soaked crease onto his erection ever so gingerly. Cries of overwhelm break from her lips. His girth splits her apart, whilst his wolf-like glares bore into hers with the triumph of conquest. 

Every push stretches her wider, forcing her body to succumb and accept him despite the painful effort. August is too big, his vastness tears whatever innocence is left to her, and he is not even fully within.

Shivering, she halts, hearing August’s snarl of protest when realizing she has her nails cleaving crescent-marks on his pumped shoulders.  

“All the way in, angel,” he commands, and then bucks his hips into her and snaps her down onto his pulsating shaft, giving no notice to the scream she lets out as he sears her. 

He drives himself in until her ass slams onto his thick thighs. She can feel his hot flinching cock buried within the dark pit of her gut while his sack strains against her clenched cavern. 

“Good girl.” August praises, pressing her against his chest as they both pant and groan in harmony. Calls of pleasure and cries of pain mingle into a sinful symphony.

But suddenly he stills, and his hand snaps at her neck. Thumb pressing at her artery, he makes a small thrust, causing her to whine as little sparks kindle in her cunt. 

“August, please.” she whimpers, trying to ride him to ease the aching despair that boils in her cunt. He fills her to the hilt yet gives no friction but the thundering throb of his thick veins. 

“Devotion.” he replies, his free arm fishing for the leather belt perched on the floor. With one determined wring of his wrist,he wraps it around her neck, giving her a nice little collar with a leash made of the thick strap. 

His finger brushes up and down the leather erotically, staring at the girl’s hazy grey orbs to see if he can find a drop of protest.   

Instead, she presses her hands on his furry torso and desperately begins to mount him with teetering gasps. The noose tightens with the sway of her body yet the tension and the grind within is far too agonizing to stay still; the need to have him sunken in her depth of her soul defies any will to breathe.

August gapes his mouth with awe, groaning loudly as he feels her drenched cunt gripping around. She’s impossibly tight, his fresh little flower, crying out so hopelessly as if it hurts, as if being fucked by his large cock is so pleasurably unbearable yet her life depends on it.

“Poor little tight cunt,” he taunts, urging her to fall faster back on his thighs while bucking his hips into her with deep slams. “you missed this?” he asks with a groan, tying the strap around his fist and pulling her closer to meet his hooded gaze, “You missed me fucking you, angel?”

Unable to make more than strangled sobs, she nods with glassy eyes, feeling the squeeze around her arteries while her cunt convulses and blazes with ecstasy. Flames bloom in the pit of her womb, every assault of his cock inside her pushes the heat further through her nerves. Desperate, she is reduced to nothing but her pursuit of forgotten euphoria. 

The fervent flames lick up her spine, darkness whispering in her mind. Yet she leans back, letting the noose devoid the oxygen to her heart and brain as her body falls lost into a delirium.

August feels her pussy tensing around his cock as the belt halts her airflow; through the heated waves of pleasure, an alarm blares. “Careful,” he rasps, reaching his fist to her throat to replace the belt and pulling her until her chest grinds into his own. “Don’t damage what’s mine!”

Her reply is a cracked wheeze, her body jolting as he fucks her into a punishing rhythm. Hot and burning, stoking inside her, balls thudding and battering her hole, the chant of their wet skin colliding in a violent dance accompanies the chaotic symphony of their moans. His angel latches onto him, wrapping tighter and tighter as her body accepts his offering of rage, sucking and milking him dry.

August pulls her face against his, fingers flexing around her jugular, lips grazing her own and then hovering to rob her of her feeble exhales. 

“You want to breathe?” he snarls.

Ingvild nods, feeling the storm of fire about to erupt inside her. Her canal gripping him so tightly she can feel every tendon and ridges of him grazing her walls. Tears well in her raincloud eyes, her heart shrinking as she feels him, all of him, consuming her with his existence.

“Then come for me, angel.” 

With his words, she arches back, letting the fire implode in her loins and sweep her into a rapture so intense her entire body shakes around him. All she can feel is August, filing her soul, seeping in deeper than her thoughts. 

Tears spring down her cheeks, emotions and pleasure whirl at her heart at once.

“August!”

Hearing his name on her lips spikes the savage spirits within. Reduced to a beast, he takes hold of her hips, flipping her over and riding between her thighs. His hands pin her down by the neck and he ravages her through her climax. He can feel the flinch of his cock, swelling larger inside her narrow space. The innocence of her essence devours him. All the hate and pain diminishes and for a brief moment, he is allowed into heaven, feeling nothing but bliss in his chest. His shouts of pleasure echo into the room, his body jerking into her as the hot, white ribbons of his thick seed sprout into her womb.

Falling down to earth is always the hardest part.

Taking a hard swallow, he leans his sweaty forehead against hers, rolling it slowly and listening to the silent hisses from her mouth. Still basking in the afterglow of his orgasm, he pulls himself to his elbows fighting the spasm in his muscles and their will to collapse. His brow suddenly crumples at her sight: her eyes shine with a wide spectrum of emotions that glisten sadly down her temples. Shivering sobs escape from quivering lips, trying to find words that never make it to her tongue. 

August observes her carefully, removing his grip from her neck gingerly and reaching out a thumb to dry her tears. The crystals in her eyes were broken to dozens of many pieces that reflected the light back in various shades. A look of a lost child that carries an oddly familiar sensation, something that makes him cold and warm, as if Ingvild is inside his blood and he is inside hers. 

They had killed each other after all and then brought one another’s hearts to beat again. In his twisted mind, it made for a more profound intimacy than sex.

“Easy, babygirl.” he speaks unusually compassionate, dipping a finger in the wetness beneath her eyes and then slips it into his mouth, tasting the salt onto his tongue. “That was intense for you, wasn’t it?”

She nods silently, the emotional release tingling through her aortae, making her skin prickle with goosebumps. She never felt like this: whole, vulnerable, and belonging. She never felt anything at all, all her life. Her body tries to control the jitters in her muscles yet her body seems suddenly inexplicably cold.   

“Sh... it’s okay,” August whispers, capturing her lips into a chaste comforting kiss. “I’ve got you.” he murmurs and allows his lips to trail lower, pressing soft butterfly kisses over every patch of skin and bone, descending through the plains of her naked flesh, tasting the mixture of their sweat. His fingers find the large crescent scar in her lower abdomen, tracing the withering stitches in a sick memory of their first night together.

He feels no remorse. Had he changed his action, she wouldn’t have been his right now.  

Ingvild finally manages to release a sound, moaning with exhaustion as she eases into his care, her lungs and heart catching up when her body begins to float. With whatever strength left in him, August holds her the way a groom holds his bride, and carries her in his firm arms. 

~*~

The bath is filled hot near to the brim. Mountains of foam edge onto the water, looking like fluffy little clouds. This bathroom is not as nearly as luxurious as the one he had in Bergen. It’s painfully plain, like something out of an 80’s film, yet right now it looks like the most outrageous, spoiling delight. 

Sitting on the stone, his hand whirls the water, testing the heat before stepping in.   

“Come here,” he beckons, reaching toward Ingvild to join him as he sits down, releasing a deep sigh of relief as the hot water soothes the pain. The bath is hardly big enough for a man of his size, his knees buck up, peeking above the water. 

Ingvild takes his hand, stepping to sit at the spot between his thighs, making sure not to wet the bandages on her wrists. August’s arms guide her to melt back against his broad chest carefully, avoiding friction with the gunshot wound that begins to ache more and more as the last of the endorphins dwindle. He breaks into a small groan and lands his chin atop her head while glaring into the water with rising concern.  

“They will come for us.” Ingvild finally manages to find words, her voice still husky as her jugular strains. “Once they know you’re not dead, they’ll hunt us. We need to move, fast.”

August weighs her words. He muses over the sacrifice she made, and for whom? The man who stabbed her and nearly left her to float in a frozen lake? ‘She chose, you didn’t force her.’

 Indeed, it was her free will that brought her to him.  

“We should,” he answers, rinsing some water onto her torso and rubbing her forearms clean. “Just relax now, you won’t do me good all broken.”

“You care about me,” she teases, a small smile creeping on her lips.

“We will make for my safe house from here, and then we can take the train to Manchester,” he answers, ignoring her comment.

Ingvild catches some foam in her palm, squeezing the dissolving material between her fingers lightly and then blows it with the weak airflow that comes from her lungs. Little specks of bubbles fly into the bath. August watches them with her silently.    

“For the plutonium,” she utters.

“Yes.”

Tilting his head slightly, he looks down to see if there is any disgust or fear shadowing her face, yet finds none. The girl continues forming little abstract shapes in the dwindling white hills, twirling her fingernails on the tiny bubbles. The edge of her spine peeks between the thick strands of her hair, while hues of purple, nearly black, hug her nape. The girl is forbearing, enduring as she was taught; he wonders if it’s to please him, or if it pleases her as well.

Cupping water in his hands, he begins to wash her skin, pouring onto the back of her neck and her shoulders. He brushes his fingers through the brown waves of her hair while she leans her head back and closes her eyes.

It’s as if years of tension peel off from her, uncovering truths she fought to hide. August was right, and so was Liam; no one ever loved her. But now in the arms of a monster, she suddenly senses what she imagines would be care and affection. His touch is no longer clinical and it feels as if vines are growing onto her limbs, twirling around her and pulling her to become one with him. 

In her mind, she can’t help but start picking into the not-so-distant past, recalling being his hostage and the conversations they had when they still hated one another. The anguish that resonates in his eyes didn’t speak of hatred individually toward the world, the specks of brown held a fair amount toward himself as well.

“What did Sloane do?” she asks curiously. “In Bergen, you mentioned she did something to you.” 

She feels August’s sudden halt, his long digits entangled in her hair, pulling slightly while his chest sinks inward. His inhale takes into a heavy suction and his nostrils flare. He didn’t think of Lacey since he woke in Ingvild’s arms. 

“She tricked me.” his eyes focus onto nothing and his fingers resume their course through Ingvild’s wet strands. He becomes slightly agitated, unlacing the small knots that formed at the edge with force. “She suspected me and never liked me- for a reason, of course. She knew someone was distributing secrets and weapons beneath her nose, so she sent a spy. In my case, it was my partner.”

“A woman,” Ingvild continues, the realization hitting her softly. “Lacey.”

Her name on Ingvild’s tongue sends a shiver creeping from the base of his spine. 

“Yes,” he answers dryly and clenches his jaw. “We were partners for months. She got close. She... was loyal, she understood me or so I thought, but then I found out, she wasn’t.”

Ingvild hears the shift in his tone again, in their reflection on the water she sees him staring forward with grim shades painting his eyes. The corners of his lips tugged down as he broods.

“It sounds like you loved her.”

August remains silent, giving no answer. It resonates in her right away - betrayal burnt hotter than the wound itself. In their carnal twist, August burned her, but it wasn’t her carnal devotion he sought for. 

“Where is she now?” 

“Dead.” he answers, releasing a deep sigh of silent rage, not even bothering to shy from the truth this time. Ingvild was bred into a world of monsters; she breathed them, she killed them and he was just another beast for her to slay. Yet she chose to stroke her hand on his snout regardless of what she knew.

“I killed her.” 

In his mind Lacey walks away, her blue heels tapping on the floor, echoing before she gives him one last glance. She turns away, her golden curls dulled by the lack of light as she vanishes into a mist of smoke and shadow. 

Ingvild feels a slight relief at the thought of Lacey being dead, for some reason she can’t explain to herself.  August returns his gaze to her again, removing his hands from her hair. His hand wraps around her jaw, pressing her head to look into his piercing glare. He looks for fear but finds none.

“Try to rest,” he commands and then wraps his arms around her possessively. “Long days are ahead.”  

“Will you read me your manifesto?”

August looks down on her face once more, wondering for a moment if this is another hallucination. A terrible thought crosses his mind and his heart flinches; what if in these moments he’s actually bleeding to his death in the pit, his mind playing tricks as he breathes his last breath?

But the softness and warmth of her body feels more vivid than ever. Stronger than the doubt that creeps into his mind. 

“There has never been peace without first a great suffering. The greater the suffering, the greater the peace. As mankind is drawn to his self-destruction like a moth to the candle...” he chants, accompanied by Ingvild who also recites his words in her gentle voice. 

_________________________________________________

The feral beast held her against the wall, his crude hands restraining her wrists and stretching her arms above her head. He forced his lips onto her mouth, alternating little suckling kisses between her upper and lower lip. A small part of her still wanted to fight back, stricken by the horrors she had witnessed and by his blood-soaked shirt that soiled her white silk top.

Like a hammer to the back of her head, those sick, gory visions kept hitting her. Their screams echoed in her mind, grown men screaming in absolute terror. Small prickles covered her skin and an involuntary whimper forced itself from her mouth in sheer fright, yet when August ran his agile fingers down her sensitive skin with shocking tenderness, her body threw itself onto his, surrendering every will to whatever sick desires he had planned for her.

If only she had no knowledge of how twisted his mind was.

August often came to visit. It started as a mandatory evaluation, every man and woman working for the CIA who went on risky missions had to be observed for mental impairment. She was intimidated by him the very first time he stepped into her office. An overwhelmingly beautiful creature: tall, with strong features. All the women in the HQ knew of “The Hammer”.

That nickname wasn’t solely for his success on the field.  

Suave and relaxed, he appeared to be a complete gentleman, yet as a therapist, she knew better than to look at the beautiful shell. What she saw inside made her spine crawl; A depraved animal with obscure darkness burrowed in his eyes. 

Everytime he stepped into the room the air took out.

He insisted on keeping their weekly meetings. Entering her office bringing an extra cup of coffee. Strong, the way she liked it, as he observed. She feared it was poisoned, especially when his gaze pierced into hers, urging her to drink it while she hesitated.  

Yet he never showed any interest in her, not even the slightest. She found it odd, considering his reputation amongst women. 

It was as if she bore him, a blank page to be discarded.

Now, she finally knew why. He wanted to have her, in ways that made the blood in her veins turn into ice. What frightened her the most was how alive it made her feel. Her heart was beating for the first time in her life.

August trailed his tongue across her lips, tasting both the sweetness and the salt of the tears from the lush flesh until she welcomed his succulent tongue inside, opening her mouth with a deep gasp which only grew fiercer as the air trembled through her chest.

With his tongue savouring her mouth, his hands descended down her throat, wrapping his nimble fingers around it, testing how much air he could suspend from her lungs before she’ll collapse. A pained sob followed after, making him loosen his grip. Her breath was hers once more as August trailed his hands further below.

He groped and explored the shape of her body possessively before hoisting her up in his arms as if she was weightless. 

Ceremonially, he carried her through the abandoned corridors, seeking for shelter to make her his own.

Papers and wood debris were everywhere across the large meeting room, evidence of the harrowing battle that took place in it earlier that evening. Screams of terror ghosted the room. A pool of blood caught her attention, her mind lost in disturbing images. 

But August forced her gaze away, cupping her chin and kissing the corner of her mouth gently. 

“I’ll never hurt you, angel.” He murmured as he nudged her to lie down on the large mahogany conference desk with a small shove on her shoulder. His hands ran up her knees, forcing her legs apart and pushing her skirt to expose her underwear.

Wetness gathered at her mound, resulted by fear and primal arousal. The sight of the wet patch against her white cotton undergarments made his nostrils flare with excitement. 

She wanted him inside her, even after she saw the monster that he was. 

“No one will ever touch you,” he chanted, his deep voice pleasant, melodic, stroking her ears like the most soothing song. It did everything but calm her, especially as she felt him expose her to the cold air. Discarding her of what kept her chaste.

One by one, her barriers against him fell apart, with and without her consent.

“August…” she called out his name with concern coating her voice. She lifted her head to watch as he knelt between her thighs. Bloodstained hands claw her pure flesh, keeping her pinned against the hard polished wood. 

Her breath came out in tremors, quick and hissing as his breath caressed her luscious cunt. His teeth nipped at the tender skin that surrounded her womanhood, leaving small wet purple arches. The yelps that broke from her lips only made him more and more eager. He inhaled her scent and rubbed his face against her cunt, making her feel the coarseness of his stubbles and his thick moustache.

“No one will ever touch you, but me.” 

Her fingers got entangled in her long hair as August suckled on the hooded pearl, now wet and slippery. His tongue lapped around it in a slow, circular motion that made her cry out with desperation as bliss pushed against the gates. 

Arching on the desk, she threw herself open, accepting the warmth that streamed between her thighs. Blood boiled hot with arousal. 

August sent his arm to climb up her body, stroking up until his hand met her jaw. His thumb caressed her chin, smearing more blood on her face. He held her tightly while his tongue coaxed her into sweet ecstasy. 

Even with him on his knees she felt owned, conquered; and he hasn't even invaded her yet. Her walls throbbed and twitched, clenching around an empty void furiously as August made her undone. 

He licked her juices as if she was the sweetest nectar, his tongue flicking over his lips as he rose to his feet. “You taste just like I imagined - like honey,” he stated while his fingers reached to unbutton his shirt.

Still breathless, she leaned on her elbows, her feeble legs pushing against the slick wood. She looked at August as he started undressing, offering his vast body to her eager eyes. His godlike figure stood naked in front of her, marked by deep purple stains that decorated his muscular chest.

Her eyebrows twitched upward, wide eyes glassy with wetness that seamed at her lids. That’s what he longed for. It wasn’t just her fear that he held but also her sympathy. She felt for him, she saw him. Even when no words were uttered between his lips in those excruciating psych-evals, he sensed her penetrative gaze, trying to cure the rot that grew inside him.

He was incurable, yes, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t get to keep her. 

“All of it, I did for you.” He exclaimed, watching as she slightly flinched back on the desk, her heels slipping down the surface as she tried to cower away. Terror still took its reins and it only made him more desperate to be inside her, to show her he would never hurt her. His hands seized her ankles, pulling her flat down, bringing her close until she laid sprawled.

He climbed on top of her, his thick thighs resting between her slender legs. She didn’t fight him, yet her body tensed. Ignoring her anxiety he tugged and peeled off her clothes, his lips praising her body with soft butterfly kisses on every piece of skin he exposed. 

She was even more beautiful up close than from what he remembered of the late nights he spent stalking outside her window. 

Entangled in her legs, he combed his fingers through her hair and gazed into her eyes. There was so much hurt and fury in him, as intense as a firestorm. His eyes bore words he would not utter. It made her heart sink since August Walker was a tortured soul and it sucked the fear out like poison, leaving nothing but the desire to solace the hurt. 

Palming his gruff cheek, she kissed him back with sweetness and closed her eyes before her back fell to the surface. Easy, slow, light as a feather, she finally succumbed to August’s desires. He flashed a victorious smile and reached between their groins to guide himself into the delights between her thighs.

Moans of pleasure overwhelmed the room as their bodies finally united. August was endowed, bigger than any man she had before and he made no delay to let her adjust, slamming into her hilt with one powerful thrust. Her nails dug into the wings of his back as he split her in half. The pain seared inside, her walls resisted him, attempting to force him away, yet she ignored the warnings of her body as she clung to his flesh, desperate for more.

Something once dormant arose within her, that same acceleration of emotions she had before each of their sessions. She pushed it to the darkest pits of her mind, choosing to keep it ignored yet the moment their bodies became one she was drowning in her own emotions.

Dying of love.

“August, please!” she mewled in his ear, wrapping her legs around his muscular ass, her walls pulsating around his throbbing girth. “Please fuck me.”

He pulled away slowly, watching the despair on her sweet, beautiful face before slamming into her again. Bloody trails formed at his back as her nails scratched his skin. With a pained grunt, he took her wrists and slammed them down on the desk. 

Holding her restrained, August hammered into her tight cunt. Low roars emitted from his throat, more of the animal than the man, countering the delicate broken cries that sprang from her lips. Opposing beings, they collided, coveting each other’s flesh. His rhythm was hard and rough, bottoming out with every push and shove that was plunged into her. 

He fucked with fury, unloading his self-hatred, seeking to be cleansed within her body. 

Willfully she accepted, uttering sweet cries of love in his ears while his cock invaded and defiled her clenched walls. With every thrust she fell deeper and deeper, her lower back lifting completely from the surface, wanting to be made whole.

Moans and succulent sounds of skin slapping together hazed her mind into euphoria. The same liquid fire that burnt between her thighs began to spill from her womb, and her entire body shuddered. As August cock grinded against her cervix, the fire surged through, her orgasm released with rage, making her fall apart around him.

August felt her walls clutch him with zeal, attempting to forbid him from advancing yet it only made him grow furious. 

“I want to come inside you,” he growled at her ear and bit into her shoulder as he fucked harder, enviously seeking for his orgasm. Her answer was nothing but a surrendered whimper. Pushing upward she wrapped her legs tighter around him, anticipating the hot gush of his liquid inside her.

She was a sweet little angel, who made him feel deserving of love. As he looked down on her beautiful gaping face, knowing that she now forever belonged to him, his cock swelled larger and he came inside her, releasing his seed into her depth with grunts of triumph. 

His hands still clenched tightly at her wrists. Her fingers became pale and numb, deprived of blood. But she made no complaint or protest, too enthralled with the man who claimed her, who was now both her guardian and her warden. 

Gentle kisses covered her sweaty brow. His hands brushing the sticky hair away. 

“They will come after us,” he whispered huskily, and she watched as his blue eyes darkened yet again.

“But I’ll keep you safe, angel, always.”

“Sit down,” August commands coldly, his hand pushing her bony shoulder, forcing her to sit on the bed. Ingvild’s behind lands on the mattress with a bounce, her gaze remaining on the strange menacing man as he moves through the room with harsh steps. An irritated look mars his face as he looks for something.

She exploits the sparse moment of false freedom, searching for his well-concealed arsenal. Liam’s words of wisdom from her days of training echo in her mind. “There is always a slip,” an absentee of the mind. This large dangerous man might be an equal opponent yet he is just a man. 

And this agent of chaos had his plan interrupted, ironic as it may be. In his fine work of hiding most of the weapons from her reach, he remained negligent, keeping his handgun next to the laptop on his desk. 

Keep in mind he carries that knife with him. The scar on her torso should be a keen reminder.

“Can I at least have my undergarments back? Or do you plan to keep me here naked, Mr. Walker?” she calmly asks.

“I don’t plan to keep you.” August speaks with no real emotion in his voice. He has left her clothes to dry on the radiator throughout the night. Her tactical suit is still damp but her ridiculously small underwear and bra seem to have dried. He picks them up, then carelessly throws them at her face before grabbing the large medical kit. 

The garments are warm and pleasant to the touch. Ingvild manages to slip into her underwear beneath the bathrobe with haste before August returns to sit in his chair. 

Appearing determined, he unzips the blue medical bag, preparing some bandages and pulling out a bottle of antiseptic. “Open up,” he speaks, gesturing at the white cotton robe around her body. 

She stares at him oddly, her hands latching onto the fabric. 

He sighs, rolling his eyes at her. Fine lines of irritation are drawn on his forehead. “The bandage is wet and needs to be replaced. Do you want your wound to get infected?” 

Cautiously she observes him, wondering what brings a malicious man who tried to kill her only a few hours ago to tend to her wound. It seems like any action he performs is robotic, as if he is still in the CIA, following protocols. Curiosity sets her mind, driving her to follow his request with obedience and untie the cotton bind that holds the robe together.     

August keeps his leer on his face, whether she is frightened by him or not he can’t determine. She seems trained in hiding or faking her emotions.

As most women are.  

His fingers pry the robe open, just enough to uncover the fusty bandage on her torso. 

Carefully, his eyes descend from her face to her chest, unable to ignore the way the fabric hangs on the edge of her small perky breast. The roundness of it appears tempting enough to sink his teeth in and leave a nice, bleeding bite mark for another scar on that beautiful pure skin.  

You love it when they’re pure.

He brushes that vampiric thought away, trying to keep a clear, indifferent mind as he begins to peel the medical tape from her pale flesh.    

The coldness on his face is mesmerizing. There is not an inch of care as he removes the old bandages and exposes her ghastly injury. The crescent line is bulging out, looking purple and irritated while the damaged skin around the area of the wound is white with a tint of blue. She stares at it with almost clinical fascination, her gaze tracing the shape and the amateur-looking stitches without saying a word.

Not even a complaint about damaging her fine-looking body?

“You haven’t answered my question.” His deep voice disturbs her exploration, forcing her to avert her gaze to his face. He is stern, focused on the wound as if he has any care for her well-being. Using the back of his fingers, he moves one side of the robe to further examine the status of the stitches. 

“Which one? You ask so many August, you’re like a really boring date.” 

If truth be told, the last 14 hours have been anything but boring. She kissed death on its fickle lips and was brought back to life by the devil himself to later share moments of carnal euphoria in front of one another. 

All in a day’s work. 

Yet she prevents him from having that pride, gifting him with snide in her voice and one of her trademark scornful smirks. He smirks back, giving her just as much as hatred in return while opening the bottle of alcohol and pouring some of it onto the sterile gauze. 

Oh princess, I’m about to enjoy how much this is going to hurt.

“One: I asked you who Liam is.” he raises his voice and presses the damp gauze onto the wound without warning. His eyes shine with child-like anticipation, waiting for the scream that never leaves her controlled breath. The torment in her glassy grey eyes is apparent yet her face is stoic, not even a twitch of a muscle as she swallows her suffering and keeps her pride.

Impressive. 

“Let’s play a game then,” she suggests, her voice strained as she forces herself to speak without any sign of tremor from the searing pain that’s inflicted upon her. August cocks one eyebrow up, curious to hear her suggestion.

“Quid pro quo.”

His head tilts to the side, considering the idea. If anything, August Walker always loved to speak about himself, even when people didn’t know it was himself he was speaking of. Hiding behind the pseudonym of John Lark, he speaks about his horrifying actions as if he was some ghost or a myth, while all the glory was always his.

“Whatever.” He agrees to her terms and continues to wipe the wound clean, applying a wisp of more alcohol to cleanse the blood clots that formed around the stitches. He imagines this hurts like hell, if he was in her place right now he’d be squirming with agony yet she keeps her composure, eyes still as death.

Ingvild watches as he leans closer, his head nearly rests on her chest. He takes his time, patiently examining and cleaning the injury he inflicted on he. August Walker is a patient man. She takes a mental note before deciding to answer his question. “Liam is my job trafficker.”

“You mean your pimp?” he mocks her, his stormy blue eyes granting her a glimpse of his disrespectful reaction before he places the bloodstained gauze away. 

He is answered with silence, cold and unyielding, just like her. “Does he or anyone else know I’m here?” he asks, taking an antiseptic ointment and applying it onto a new piece of gauze.

“Are you not a man of your word, August Walker?” she asks and leans back as he presses the bandage onto the wound. “Quid pro quo, remember?”

No, I am the great deceiver.

Her eyes are at him, claiming sincerity from a man who tried to lie and trick her from the moment they first met. But then again, she also was never honest with him to begin with, pretending to be just a girl when she was anything but.  

A deep arduous sigh escapes his mouth. He takes a larger piece of dressing and places it onto the wound to cover the entire area.

“Fine, ask away.”

She stares as he takes the medical tape and cuts it into smaller pieces, placing the first piece between her skin and the dressing. He then smooths his finger over the tape to keep the bandage tight on her wound.

“Why do you want to destroy the world, August Walker?” 

August pauses, lifting his eyes again to meet her face. She has her chin resting on her fist, staring at him with pure and sick fascination. Almost as if she’s excited to hear the history of this very bad man. It occurs to him in that very instant that the girl who was sent out to eliminate him has not a drop of idea of who she’s been sought out to hunt. Typical Erica Sloane, he thought, let the dogs sniff him out but tell them nothing. 

“You really know nothing do you, little girl?”

“I got your file, it tells me everything about you: army service, height, weight, all your operations, skills, achievements, and ex-girlfriends. All the boring stuff.” She explains, watching the frown that forms on his face as if his ego is bruised. “I know that you tried to detonate a nuclear device almost a week ago, but I don’t know why, it’s as if, pieces of the puzzle are… missing?”

She nearly hisses as August places the last piece of tape on her dressing, the careful, clinical touch from before is now replaced by a crude, punishing one. “Did Erica mention what she did?” he asks, pressing his thumb against the tape to create more pressure. “Did she tell you about the rot in the CIA and the government? A system so biased and corrupt that it forces people like you to fall victim to the sickness the old world order created.”  

Ingvild watches him intently, ignoring the punishment his fingers wrongfully inflict on her wound as if she’s the one to blame. There is a blazing hot fury in his eyes but also an emotion she hasn’t seen before, deeming those ocean blues to look like an animal that was injured, or stripped off of its pride. 

Curious, she thinks to herself while his thumb tightens another tape to her skin and slides onto her torso, grazing the naked skin unkindly. 

“I am going to fix the world, princess.” He answers with a rasp in his voice, glaring fiercely into those rain cloud eyes when something hard and cold pushes beneath his chin. The black barrel of a gun, of his gun, sinks into the softness of the tender flesh beneath his jaw.

There is a sick smile dancing on her face as she holds the gun to his face, her finger resting on the trigger, flirting with it while August stares at her in a mixture of surprise and fury.

“No you won’t,” she speaks, and pulls the trigger.

The empty metallic click rings in his ears, but not even a twitch or a wrinkle forms at his face as she pushes her finger against the little nub. She pulls the trigger for the second time and then for the third. All the lines in her brow become apparent, her eyes narrowed with hatred and frustration as she continues to shoot the unloaded gun with gritted teeth. 

August grabs her wrist tightly, pulling her hand away and forcing the gun out of her hand. “You really thought I didn’t see you take my gun?” He asks with an arrogant smirk on his face. “That I’d be stupid enough to leave a loaded gun unsupervised with a woman like you, princess?”

She utters a small growl, staring at him with deadly determination while trying to wrest her wrist free from his grasp to no use. “Stop calling me princess. I will kill you, August Walker.”  

August hisses with disrespect while staring deeply into her eyes, as if seeking for something in them. Her glare is bewitching. He imagines she has great power over every man who stands in her way like a black widow, luring her prey into the web. 

But he is not falling for these tricks. These days are long gone.

With the brisk move of his hands, her wrists are captured and she is forced flat onto the mattress. He places one knee over and shoves her crudely to lie straight between the pillow before slamming her hands onto the bars of the bed. There are no screams of fear or protest from her mouth, but small whispered grunts as she slightly squirms beneath him instead. 

It would have been so fun to break her, to strip her from her tightened control and expand her range of emotions to new heights of fear and suffering. But time is not his ally and he imagines it would take more than a few hours.  

With wrists so slender he manages to easily subdue her with one hand. Ingvild sucks her breath, watching as the large man hovers above her, appearing much larger and stronger than he did before. If not for her injury, she would have fought him and flipped him over before he knew it but he disarmed her without difficulty. He made her weak and it only makes her heart throb and her skin crawl with tingling anger.    

“Don’t try to fight me, it’s not gonna help,” he warns her as he reaches one lengthy arm to the nightstand where remnants of the rope are hidden. 

“Convenient,” she teases fearlessly and watches as he moves back and slings the rope over the bars and around her hands several times. His hand tugs at the binds, making sure it’s tight enough to make her hands turn white due to the blood circulation being cut off. The rope hurts her skin, her fingers splay succumbing to the pain and a small moan leaves her lush pink lips.

There it was, the sound he’s been waiting to hear all day long. She’s yielding to her suffering, letting the pain flow through her form. Letting go of the binds, his hand moves to hover above her face, the phantom of a memory of those same eyes soaked in pleasure in his mind. Ingvild stares back silently, yet the bemusement in her eyes is distinguished. She looks like an animal, unsure and untrusting of the predator who stands before her.

August allows his thumb to stroke her cheek, feeling the small flinch beneath the tip of his finger. He traces the outline of her jaw, giving her a small hazy grin. His lips inch closer to hers, his eyes shutting as he visibly inhales the scent of her body. “Don’t provoke me angel, I won’t stop even if you cry.”   

Her eyes focus on the freckles at his nose, secretly counting them before her gaze drops to his lips, studying the shape beneath the coarse hair of his moustache. August awaits for that rewarding expression of fear to shadow her face yet she gives him not an inch of vulnerability. Twice he had the empty pit that is her soul naked. Once at the lake, the other in the shower. This is a woman he saw in two of her very worst moments in life yet her composure is a desert of ice. 

“Huh…” He huffs with intrigue and shifts away from the bed, leaving her captive and helpless with pain building in her wrists.

“Where are you heading next?” Ingvild teases, knowing she will not receive a solid answer. Her eyes follow August as he rushes through the room, trying to learn every detail that may provide a hint of where he is heading next.

Ignoring her he grabs the leather traveling bag, placing it on the desk and pausing as he begins to carefully calculate his steps. The sun highlights his tall frame as he stands still. Ingvild stares at how the light makes him look golden and almost god-like. 

“Will you just leave poor little me like this?” She asks with false sweetness on her tongue, her hands tugging  the ties fruitlessly, making the bars shake and the pain in her wrists worse with the friction of the rope cutting into her skin.

August chuckles, turning to look at her as she attempts to provoke him. “Don’t worry love, housekeeping will pick you up at one point.”

He collects every item meticulously, sweeping through the room to make sure nothing is forgotten. The room appears more tidy and organized than it was before he walked in, except of course, for the half-naked woman tied to the bed posts. 

I’m sure it will make for some hilarious stories among the hotel staff. 

His mobile phone buzzes, a message from Knight_of_Darkn3ss has been received. 

“Fucking idiotic nerd name.” He mutters and shakes his head as he opens the message:

“I have arranged an exit point for you. The Love boat leaves in 2 hours. Better hurry, Lark.” 

“I’ll keep coming after you, Walker Texas Ranger…” She sounds peaceful as she makes her threat, as if she’s speaking politely of the weather or asking him about his day. “I always finish a job.”

He slips the phone back into his pocket and turns to stare at the girl who is no longer afraid to die. Now vamping with death instead, she lies relaxed in the sun-shower of the bed, surrounded by a sea of white sheets with red floral patterns. They look more like splatters of blood from where he is standing.

She doesn’t fight the bind that holds her anymore, remaining calm with her hands above her head like a sacrifice.

“Should I have left you to die then?” August asks darkly, making his advance toward her with long, heavy strides. His eyes are shadowed with lust for the kill, like a hunter that hunts for sport. He hovers above her once more, staring deep into those icy grey eyes. 

“I wanted to grant you the gift of always knowing I took your life and gave it back.” He answers cruelly, and bites his lower lip. His hand hovers over her form, moving like a maddened composer. “Enjoy whatever life I gave you, sweet Ingvild. Don’t play the hero and try to save the world, or try chasing me. I won’t be merciful next time.”

A cold grin begins to spread across her face, slowly growing into vile laughter that thunders in his ears. “I don’t care if this world burns, let it go to ashes.” She stares at him sincerely, her grin now replaced by a determined hateful glare.

“All I care about is the job. I will terminate you.” 

The world was indeed in her last concern. It was never kind to her and she cared very little about the stupid people who harboured it and even less about the ugliness and toxicity that it stenched from. Her only concern in life was to never fail a mission. And Liam, who was the only person she had what she believed to be a relationship of some sort. 

Bewildered and impressed by her brutal honesty, he nearly allows himself to fall deeper into the trap that is being offered in front of him. The temptation to delve deeper and seek those vulnerabilities, to rip her to shreds now when she is in her weakest moments. But he clears his mind from thoughts, forbidding them to pester him of ghosts from his previous life. He is a man on a mission and now he must leave the girl behind.

“Farewell, dear Ingvild.” 

Ingvild watches carefully, trying to comprehend his actions as he crouches above her, imprisoning her square chin with his forceful fingers. As he sinks closer, his breath caresses her skin, and she smells the scent of coffee and cologne mixed with his natural musk. Her heartbeats become abnormal, as if preparing her body for battle. She tries to escape his grip as his fingers travel to her throat, realizing he means to snap her neck. 

But instead she is assaulted by the tender brush of his lips, slow and feather-like they land onto hers. August feels a delicacy so tender that his instinct is to sink his teeth in it. Yet he reverts from it, pulling away before these thoughts grow into actions.  

Silence takes the room as he departs, making strong hasty strides while grabbing his traveling bag. Ingvild watches how his long coat flings in the air like a cape of a villain as he hurries to the door. He doesn’t look back, not even when he shuts the door, leaving her alone in the room with her lips tingling.

*~*~*

It took nearly 20 minutes to fight for her freedom. She tugged, pushed, and tore off the skin from her wrists until the wooden bars gave in before her hands did. At one point she felt as if she was close to blacking out. She was injured, starved, and dehydrated yet she endured. Adrenaline is spiking liquid in the tendons of her throat, keeping her fighting like a berserker.

Being beaten was a physical concept she never experienced before. She got her ass kicked in the past, during training, during a combat. But she won and bested every target. Even Liam who was heavier and skilled eventually fell on his back with her heel shoved onto his chest.

August Walker taught her the true meaning of failure and lack of control. The more thoughts of killing him sprang in her mind, the more it felt like butterflies that were locked fluttering in her chest.     

Dressed in her still damp suit and a pair of gloves, she unlocks the door to her apartment with a meek hand. She’s not so surprised to find Liam sitting on her couch with a look of disdain on his face, not even bothering to look concerned at her sickly pallor. 

She gives him an odd glare as she shuts the door behind her. “Were you waiting here all day long with the same face and didn’t move until the moment I walked in, or did you time this?”

“Where the hell were you? I couldn’t call or trace you,” Liam ignores her joke, giving her a stern glare while quickly observing her messy appearance. “This isn’t like you, Ingvild, you are not clumsy.” 

“I dropped my phone into the toilet while I was on a date,” she teases again, shaking her head at him with fake disbelief and then throws her key at the stand near the door. August’s folder is on the coffee table in the living room, just where she left it before leaving on her failed mission. 

She ignores Liam’s unsatisfied face, bouncing on her feet lightly and then sitting down next to the coffee table while grabbing the file to reread it.

Liam glares at her with a clenched jaw, his lips stretched to a thin line while he looks at the girl as she acts so juvenile. Legs crossed together while her eyes sift through the documents urgently, she tries to find anything that will give a clue.  

“You think this is a game? You know the terms of your contract, don’t make me remind you what happens if you fail.” He looks at her, reminded of the day he collected her from the orphanage, a weird little girl with a murderous look on her face. Much of her remained the same. The ability to know what really went through that complicated mind of hers was impossible..She was blocked, incapable of feeling anything but starvation in her heart. He only assumed it was for violence.   

“I want to read his manifesto,” she lifts her gaze to meet Liam's face. Curiosity is shining on her weary eyes. “Why was it not in the file?”

The older man shrugs, curling his mouth. “Sloane didn’t include it. It’s irrelevant to your mission. Have you made any progress in tracking him?”  

“I was naked in bed with him,” she answers nonchalantly, giving him a fake smile and then returning her eyes to the section on the file that mentions his past relationships. Her finger travels down through the list, mouthing the names of his many conquests. No wonder they called him “The Hammer”. There were so many of them. 

“Are you going to answer me, Ingi?” 

“I need a new phone and I need to get to England tonight if possible.” She finally answers, closing the file and jumping to her feet which she immediately regrets for the astonishing pain in her torso. All day long, since the moment she opened her eyes to find herself in August’s bed, all she wanted to do was throw up from the pain and scream into a pillow. 

Liam gets up from his seat as well, the older man towering above her and taking a step forward while studying the determination on her face. “What’s in London, girl?” 

“A lead.”    

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