Goldsin (The Chrysophilist Trilogy Book 1)
Goldsin: Chapter 27

The material of the makeshift rope feels coarse against my skin.

I pull and twist my weight, struggling to untie my wrists above my head to no avail. The more I move, the more the material seems to tighten, obstructing the blood flow to my hands. Frustration rises within me, mingling with the bitter taste of desire. Somehow, having control taken away from me makes me desperate for the wrong reason.

Julian flicks the silver lighter he’s holding close, and the dancing flame disappears with a satisfying click that echoes around us. He pockets it, and I press my lips together, calculating what his next move will be and what I can do to get him to free me.

Does he smell my fear—or lack of it?

The comb, a gift Adrian bought me when he saw me looking at it during our walk through the Ballard Avenue Historic District, is now a bronze color as it cools down slightly. He swings it in front of my eyes, making sure I catch his every movement, taunting me into wasting my time studying him, because he knows I won’t find a way out of this.

He can read me like the pages of a diary. I hate him for that.

A wicked smirk plays on his lips the moment he sees I understand the game he’s playing. A shiver covers my whole body. I know what that look means: it’s the same look he gets before stepping into the ring. Only, this time, the dim light playing in his eyes doesn’t show someone keen to finish, but someone who can’t wait to savor every second.

“Don’t even think about it.” I narrow my eyes, glancing from the comb to him.

I know he wouldn’t hurt me. Never physically at least. But the sight of that scalding comb so close to my face, my skin, makes me shudder.

“Don’t what, golden one?” he muses, taking a step forward. “Don’t stop? Don’t give me pleasure . . . Don’t keep me tied up all night?”

I instinctively step back, putting as much distance between us as I possibly can with my hands locked in place. But there’s nowhere I can go. The rope yanks me back, and my bare ass bumps against the cold window behind me, making me gasp. Reminding me whose mercy I’m under and how there’s no escaping it.

Eyes that look like a night sky gleam with mischief. “Enjoying yourself already?” he asks in a light, teasing tone, in contrast to the way his arm muscles bounce with the firm, unyielding grip he holds on the comb.

“Go to hell,” I hiss, glaring at him for how much I detest his enjoyment in all this.

“I already am.” He smirks. “Or I wouldn’t be able to sin against your body.”

For a moment I’m frozen, caught off-guard by the rawness in his words. I feel the heaviness of his revelation sliding down my spine. It’s like he just peeled back a layer of himself and showed me how deeply he really feels for me.

Then why did you push me away? Why did you hurt me when we feel the same way?

Anger seeps into me, stirring all the conflicting emotions tugging at my insides. He’s a hypocrite, or simply a sadist, because I can’t find any better reason for the way he’s treating me.

He grabs the body oil once more, dipping the still scorching comb into it. Then he stirs the liquid for a few seconds until the oil heats up and he can pour it onto my skin, tearing out another gasp from me.

A soft burning sensation spreads over my body as the searing droplets fall down my curves. And when the skin becomes too sensitive, his strong hands come down next, massaging the oil into my skin.

Sending shivers down my body.

Making me bite down on my tongue so I won’t give him the satisfaction of hearing me.

“See how your body reacts to pain, golden one?” he whispers, hand brushing over my breast, covering it all before feeling its fullness. “To my touch?” He leans in close to my ear. “It aches for it.”

“Y-you’re wrong.” I try to suppress the need from revealing itself. “My body doesn’t . . . it doesn’t like what you’re doing.” Am I trying to convince him or myself? “You’re delusional. It’s shuddering away from . . . from your touch, not toward it.”

Lies. Lies. Lies.

“Is it?” He moves his fingers lower, carrying on with their torturous dance across my oiled skin. “Your body can’t lie, golden one. It’s craving my touch.”

My façade of defiance cracks and my body betrays me, yearning to get closer—for him to touch me everywhere. A spark ignites between my legs, and I sway forward involuntarily.

“Shut up,” I say through clenched teeth.

He’s right. I can’t ignore the way his touch ignites every single cell in my body. Like a magnet, wherever he touches comes to life, luring him to never leave.

“Make me,” he dares. Low and dangerous. His eyes are now the color of the abyss, the darkest shade they’ve ever been. “Tell me you won’t kill Victoria.”

“No.” I spit at his face, and the corner of his mouth twitches before a low chuckle rumbles in his throat.

Julian takes a step away from me, his arms crossed over his chest. If the tattoos on his arms could come alive, they’d devour me whole. “This”—he waves his hand up and down my body—“was an entirely altruistic act. But maybe I should reconsider my tactics.” His stare turns somber.

“I don’t care what you do.” I yank my hands one last time in an attempt to free them. “I just want you to untie me and leave!”

Lies. Lies. Lies.

He barely touched me, and I’m already squirming with need. Even the faintest brush of my skin and my body is ready to react. I’ve fantasized about Julian a lot of times in the dead of the night, but this is the first time I’ve experienced this raw need. My body is eager to succumb completely to his touch; to finally let someone else take care of me. To tie my hands and leave me just to feel for once.

“We’ll see about that.” His silent promises are loud enough for me to hear.

My body strains from holding its weight on my wrists and toes. The pain in my shoulders and my back calls for my attention, but I can’t seem to think of anything else but him. I feel like a marionette as he deftly pulls on my strings.

I can’t tear my eyes away from him.

He takes his shirt off, revealing his toned chest and the ink that adorns it, before disappearing into the bathroom. I follow each dip of his muscles, the ink giving depth to them, and for a second I forget I’m naked and tied up. I’ve seen him without a shirt so many times, yet it still irks me how affected I get.

I try to twist my hands, hoping to find a weakness in the knot, but all I achieve is grazed skin. Just as I hiss from the pain, Julian appears with a soaked shirt in his hands, beads of water following him on the floor.

He stops in front of me and in a slow act of torture regards me—every inch of my body—as he twists the shirt in his hands. Then I hear the snap of the material before I register the stinging sensation on my thigh, and a scream rips out of me.

The cold, wet fabric against my heated skin awakens all my senses. A surge of adrenaline rushes through me, leaving me gasping for air.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He whips the side of my ass next, and I feel a hot streak of pain go through me. The sudden shock tears a scream out of me before it turns into a guttural moan.

My body trembles and my fingers claw at the ropes as I try to even my breathing.

“Fuck you,” I grit out.

“Later.” He smirks then whips the sensitive skin of my lower abdomen, making me hunch from the surprise.

And the pain.

My legs tremble with each colliding lash on my skin. Waves and waves of delirious pleasure flood my judgment.

“Tell me, golden one . . . what do you want?” he purrs, reading my mind, feeling my desire even as I fight it.

He moves closer.

“For you to untie me,” I croak, hiding the desperation in my voice.

Lies. Lies. Lies.

“Your body says otherwise.” Lost in thought, he traces a finger along my thigh. On the red patch he left on my skin from the whipping. “But I won’t give you what you want . . . Not unless you tell me what I want to hear.”

“Never.” I gulp down the desire to let him do with me what he pleases. To lend him full control and see where he guides me. This is what falling into the abyss of pleasure truly feels like.

He just stares at me. Then, without warning, he whips my body again. This time harder. Faster.

Everywhere he sets his eyes on my body gets branded with the shirt as he flogs me.

Each hit leaves me gasping for air, craving for more as I slowly lose myself to the sensation, to insanity, as I keep my resolve from shattering. I clench my jaw, meeting his stare head-on even as my body trembles and my lower lip threatens to tear from the force I’m biting it with.

“God, you look so fucking good like this,” he groans, watching my every reaction through his hooded eyes. “Your body is practically begging for my touch, isn’t it?”

I don’t answer. I can’t.

If I open my mouth I might explode. The way he’s making me feel would come out in the form of a moan. A plea for him to make me come.

Biting down on my lower lip harder, I restrain myself from moaning out loud as he flogs my nipple. Goose bumps erupt, and I feel my body shake with . . . need.

My orgasm builds.

If he continues, I might rip his clothes off and fuck him senseless. Or just collapse from the overwhelming sensation flowing over me.

I—

My lips part, and I rub my legs together, attempting to relieve the pressure as it mounts within me.

I’m so close.

I arch my back, the cold glass of the window heightening my perception, and my head falls back.

A wave of ecstasy floods through me, and just as I’m about to come, it quickly disappears.

Julian stops, leaving me hanging in complete desperation.

“You bastard!” I wheeze, boiling over in frustration. Tears threaten to fall down my cheeks from the electricity of the emotions coursing through me.

He wraps his hand around my throat, constricting my air supply, and presses his lips against mine. “Tell me, how much do you want to come?”

I wet my lips, battling with myself—losing myself in his tempting eyes.

Should I give in to him or not?

Something tickles the side of my hips. Up, under my breasts, then back down my stomach, getting a little stuck every time it runs over the oil. Heightening every agonizing feathery touch.

“Tell me,” he whispers, tightening his grip around my neck. “How do you feel right now?” He tilts his head. “Are you drenched between your legs?” He moves the feather closer to my bundle of nerves. “Does the thought of all the dirty things I could do to you while you’re tied up and helpless make you even wetter? Do you like the idea that people could be watching us through the window?”

I’m panting. Not from the lack of oxygen, but from his descriptive questions. From his words as they heighten my arousal, stealing the strength from my legs as the oil-slicked feather brushes over my clit, making my body twitch with need.

I can’t take it anymore.

I need him. And I need him to make me come.

“Please,” I whimper.

“Say it.” His thumb caresses the pulse in my throat. “Tell me you won’t kill Victoria tomorrow, and I’ll give you what you want.”

Gritting my teeth, I’m tempted to resist and disobey him, to spit in his face and tell him no, but the sensation between my legs is overwhelming. It’s too sensitive for me to just ignore.

My body is burning up with each second he taunts me with the promise of release.

I want him.

I want him more than the thought of killing Victoria right now.

“Fine.” A small part of me wheezes at the defeat, but the rest of me buzzes with anticipation. “I won’t kill Victoria. Now make me fucking come.”

He crashes his lips to mine, hungry for my taste as I fight for his. Our tongues meet, desperation evident in the way we cling to one another.

He plunges two fingers inside of me, and I gasp into the kiss. His lips devour any sound I make at the sudden intrusion. Thrusting his fingers fast, he adds another, and I moan in appreciation.

His other hand, wrapped around my throat, strains, squeezing my neck hard as he feels the pulsing sensation of my pleasure building between my legs. With each thrust, he hits the sweet spot inside of me and pleasure builds.

Until it becomes too much to bear.

A groan vibrates against my lips as I nip on his. With all the teasing from before, it won’t take me long to come.

His fingers slide in and out, slick with my desire, and he can tell I’m close. He tightens his hand around my neck, completely choking me. I should be scared, but the lack of oxygen only intensifies the pleasure. I’ve never felt more alive than I do now.

My vision blurs, eyes drooping closed as I stare at him, his eyes glued to mine. The darkness that was there before is now gone, replaced by a warmth that envelops me as he breathes in all my pleasure.

I come undone, soaring along on the most intense orgasm of my life.

“Julian!” I choke out.

At the sound of his name, hunger shines in his eyes and he quickens his movement, meeting the tremble of my body with each thrust. My body convulses, and he thrusts deeper. Harder. Faster. Needier. Desperate.

His jaw clenches, and he watches as I submit to the pleasure he’s driving into me.

Once the orgasm abates he removes his hand from my throat, allowing me to gulp in a lungful of air as I struggle to catch my breath, my body still quivering from the force of my climax. My vision fills with black spots as light slowly filters back in.

I stare at Julian. Both of our chests are heaving as a mixture of satisfaction and hunger simmers right under the surface.

Licking my lips, a grin spreads across my face.

“More,” I beg in a demanding whisper.

A predatory glint shines in his eyes, pupils darkening with lust. “Fuck, you’re insatiable.”

Lowering his pants, he doesn’t waste any time.

In a second I’m being lifted by my ass. I wrap my legs around his waist, and then he’s inside of me in one powerful thrust.

Pressing me hard against the cold window, he steals the satisfaction he gave me earlier, with his fingers.

I’m deprived now, stripped bare of any relief.

I need more. I want more.

“So wet for me,” Julian growls, and I moan in response.

I’m more than just wet for him. I’m his.

I urge him deeper, moving my hips in sync with his thrusts. I wish he would untie me so I could make him mine too.

“Anyone could see how much you want this,” he teases, reminding me of the window. Of the spectacle we’re making of ourselves. “You’re dripping for me, Aurelia.”

Hearing my name leave his lips is almost overwhelming. The back and forth of his teeth and his tongue as he nibbles on my jaw fuels my desire. But it’s the thought of someone possibly watching us from outside that really does it for me.

I clench my fingers around the restraints binding my wrists, wishing it were his skin instead, dreaming of my nails digging into his back, scratching him until they draw blood.

But I can’t, so I bite his lower lip. Hard. Until the metallic taste of blood shakes my senses. I lick the crimson droplets away, savoring the taste before pulling him into a heated kiss.

The sound of his groans mixes with the thudding noise of my body as it gets pushed back and forth into the window. His hands part my ass with each thrust, slamming harshly into me.

Then I feel his thumb tracing over my puckered hole, and my breathing urges him forward. I want him to touch me there, to mark something never touched by anyone else as his. Adrian never did, and I was too self-conscious to ever ask him.

Julian puts pressure over it with his thumb and shivers rush down my spine, leaving me craving for more. Then he smears my wetness over the area, and I feel the heat flush over my face before he pushes his thumb inside.

I gasp. Every thought leaves my mind at the searing pleasure.

“God, you’re so tight,” he breathes out. His pupils dilate. He quickens his thrusts before groaning, “This is mine.” Then he pushes his thumb inside, eliciting a whimper out of me. “My brother may have taken your virginity, but this . . . this is all mine.”

He starts to move his thumb in and out, burning me in the process, until the pressure from his finger hits the pressure from his dick, making me see stars.

His words, along with the pressure growing between my legs, send a shudder of pleasure through me, igniting a flame only he can stoke. This possessive side of him is strangely satisfying. Adrian was never possessive with me, only controlling, so seeing Julian this blinded by his need to own me is somewhat intoxicating.

Addictive, like I hold all the power.

The rawest form of pleasure builds between my legs, and I moan loudly as he continues to fuck my ass in sync with his thrusts. The combination is too much. In seconds I feel myself hurtling toward another climax.

I cry out, my voice breaking at the intensity of the orgasm. His reaction is immediate and as intense as mine. He doesn’t take long to reach his peak. His breath hitches before a groan resonates deep within him. His body goes taut above mine, and with a final shudder of pleasure he releases himself inside of me.

I watch him from under my lashes, gasping for air as his grip on my waist tightens for one heart-stopping moment before it slackens. His eyes are still as dark as they were before, and I lose myself in their vastness. It’s as if he’s trying to commit this moment to memory.

He didn’t use a condom, but I’m not concerned since I’m on the pill. Still, the tiny voice in the back of my mind nags about the risks we keep taking. Next time I won’t give in to him if he doesn’t use protection. Although I’m worried my resolve will be as frail as it was tonight.

We stand like that, panting and staring into each other’s droopy eyes, until Julian carefully unties my wrists. I rub at the sore skin, flexing the muscles here and there. Then, when my legs threaten to give out, still weak and trembling, he lifts me up into his arms and lays me down on my bed, taking in the sight of my exposed body while his eyes flicker with something soft, something tender, that leaves warmth spreading through my chest.

But just as it appears, it’s gone, leaving a trace of numbness in its wake.

He opens my legs, gathering his leaked-out cum with his finger before sliding it inside of me. I hiss at the touch, still sensitive and sore. It makes me shudder a little, but he covers me with the bedsheets. A soft moan leaves my lips at the warm feel of my bed as it lulls me to sleep.

“Don’t wash yourself.”

His low voice filters in, and I blink my eyes open, staring into a brewing tempest. I’m about to protest when his next words steal away any reasoning that remains within me.

“I want to know you’ll be walking around tomorrow with my cum between your legs.”

His crude words bring a flush to my cheeks. I can’t walk around with his cum dripping down. Anyone could see it.

“Julian, I can’t⁠—”

He brushes the back of his hand over my reddening cheeks, and the tender gesture stuns me. He leans down, pressing a kiss to my lips, and I forget what I was about to say.

If doing what he tells me to do gets me this level of tenderness from him, I have no problem doing so.

He deepens the kiss, gripping my chin to close the distance between us. A flicker of desire forms in my lower abdomen, and I know if we were to go at it again, it wouldn’t take me long to come undone.

I’m so consumed by the moment that when he straightens back up, the motion feels abrupt. He looks down at me, and the mixture of emotions in his eyes is long gone. In its place is his stoic, emotionless expression.

Without saying a word, he turns and leaves.

And I’m left alone again, with only my thoughts to pester my mind, clouding the remnants of what just happened between us.

The atmosphere turns cold again, creeping closer, as reality pushes through the cracks before sinking in.

All the warmth he enveloped me with is snatched away in seconds, leaving me with this itching sensation all over my skin. The wetness between my legs burns now with the doubt that this was all an act of manipulation. That maybe he didn’t really mean each caress and kiss. He managed to play with my resolve, molding it with the promise of pleasure.

No. Impossible. That’s not it.

But now he’s gone . . . the fog of lust is lifted.

Tomorrow I’m killing Victoria.

Even if it kills us in the process.