Unbind (Alchemy #6)

by Elodie Hart

Because if Tom Ellis reminded us of anything in Lucifer, it’s that Satan is in fact a fallen angel… and he looks every inch of the celestial being he once was.

This is about restoration by proxy. About making amends. I’m imagining giving it to Natalie so hard that I’ll obliterate any pain I’ve inadvertently caused her. What a crock of shit.

When I was allowed to go visit him, he looked like a mummy, his head and body all bandaged up, with plasters over his nose and just one big black eye peeking out. I screamed when I saw him. I remember that much. They couldn’t get me me stop.

Oh you poor child

I wonder what she thinks of it. The house, I mean. I wonder if she likes it. It’s not that I want to impress her, exactly.

You 1000% want to impress her dude

‘Thank you for letting me look after you,’ he says softly, and then he’s gone.

Awweee🥺

‘But I’d much rather talk about the coffee table book porn.’ ‘Bollocks. Give me the dick porn.’ ‘It was there. It looked big. It looked hard. It looked like the answer to nuclear warheads and cancer and food inequality and every other problem facing mankind. Okay?’

She enjoyed my home, sure, but certainly not my company. She may as well have been a fairytale princess trapped in a brute’s dungeon for all the graciousness she exhibited. Persephone, even, condemned to Hades’ underworld.

She’s a shadowy hollow in the woods on a too-warm day; she’s a balm for this weary traveller.

Where can I come?’ She swallows. ‘My boobs. My stomach. Not my face—you haven’t earned it. And if you get it in my hair I’ll kill you.’

As he wrestles his eyes away from my boobs and up to my face with a slow, seductive smile, it occurs to me that being naked in Adam’s arms and shoved up against one of his beautiful bookshelves may be what perfect happiness feels like.

I’m sure Mr Adam Wright doesn’t indulge biological trifles such as refractory periods.

I’d love to take away all her headaches and allow her to focus only on the work that makes that soul of hers sing. As I unfasten her seatbelt and pull her into my lap, I vow this to myself: If it’s in my power to do it, I will.

‘Ugh! Enough vagueness!’ Maddy shouts. ‘I’m a horny pregnant person! I need all the salacious details!’

Doesn’t it turn you on, imagining him putting you over his knee or getting you on all fours, and then peeling down your panties and spanking you while he finger fucks you? Imagine how serious he’d look. I’d put money on him being a natural disciplinarian.’

‘Seriously? You’ll let me kit your entire house out?’ ‘I’ll let you brief a team of professionals on how to kit my entire house out, yes,’ I clarify, sliding my iPad towards her and wondering exactly what I’m letting myself in for.

WHAT A FUCKING DREAM

It’s funny how black and white things seem when you’re young, isn’t it? We’re so incapable of accommodating shades of grey.

‘Are you feeling okay?’ ‘Yes,’ I reply. It’s true. I’m growing more and more lost inside this dark, wonderful prison.

It’s so arousing to have him pump me like this, as though I’m the answer to every puzzle, every problem he’s ever encountered, like if he can just fuck me hard enough, bottom out deep enough inside my body, we’ll both emerge on the other side whole and new and awe-filled.

‘Do you want it rough?’ ‘You know I do,’ she moans. ‘I want to feel your balls slapping against my thighs as you fuck me.’ Sweet Jesus.