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𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥
𝐈𝐫𝐥
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ʚ 3rd person ɞ
THE CEDAR-LINED of the closet seemed
to shrink with every breath they took. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of mothballs and the sharp, metallic tang of Tom's mounting agitation.
Outside, the muffled sounds of the New Year's party were a distant memory, replaced by the frantic thrum of two hearts beating in a space far too small for the secrets they carried.
"It's stuck." Callista whispered, the words barely ghosting into the dark. "Tom, it's really stuck."
Tom didn't move to try the handle again. He stood as a pillar of cold, dark shadows, his presence looming over her like a physical weight. In the narrow sliver of light from the hallway, his eyes were two pools of midnight, fixed entirely on her.
He wasn't thinking about the lock; he was thinking about the way her pulse was jumping in the hollow of her throat.
"Then let it be stuck." He rasped. His voice was a jagged edge, stripped of its usual silver polish.
He stepped deeper into her space, his knees slotting between hers, forcing her back until her spine met the unyielding wood of the shelves. The proximity was a spark to a fuse. He could feel the heat radiating off her and it made his own skin feel impossibly cold.
Outside, Athena's voice began the final descent.
"Ten! Nine! Eight!"
The muffled countdown was a drumbeat to his desperation. Tom's hand came up, his long, pale fingers sliding into the hair at the nape of her neck. He didn't just touch her; he anchored her, his grip possessive and unyielding.
He had spent his life building a fortress around his heart, a sanctuary of logic and cold ambition, but in this closet, Callista was dismantling it brick by brick.
"Seven! Six! Five!"
He leaned in until their breaths mingled, his gaze dropping to her lips with a hunger that was almost violent.
"You look at me as if you're terrified." He murmured, his thumb tracing the seam of her mouth. "Are you, Allie? Or are you just realising that you're never going to get away from me?"
"Four! Three! Two! On—"
"Happy New Year!"
The closet had become a pressure cooker of unsaid things, the air growing thin and sweltering as the wooden walls seemed to pulse with the rhythm of their shared breathing.
Tom didn't just want her; he wanted to dismantle her. He wanted to reach inside her chest and weave his fingers through her very soul until she couldn't tell where her light ended and his shadow began.
As the muffled cheers of "Happy New Year" bled through the door, Tom's restraint finally snapped. It wasn't a clean break; it was a violent, jagged rupture
.
He lunged, his mouth crashing against hers with a starving desperation. He tasted like peppermint and cold winter air, but his tongue was a searing intrusion, claiming her mouth with a proprietary arrogance that made Callista's head spin.
She let out a soft, broken whimper against his lips, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the lapels of his heavy coat, pulling him closer until there wasn't a microscopic gap left between them.
"Tom." She gasped into the kiss, her voice a ragged plea.
He didn't answer with words. He growled, a low, animalistic vibration in his throat, and hoisted her up by her thighs. Callista's legs instinctively locked around his waist, her skirt bunching up around her hips.
He slammed her back against the shelving, the wood groaning under their combined weight, but he didn't care. He was a man possessed, his pale hands diving beneath the hem of her robes to find the silk of her inner thighs.
His skin was deathly cold against her feverish heat, a shock that made her arch her back and cry out into the crook of his neck. He began to trail a path of biting kisses down her throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive cord of her neck, marking her as his in the dark.
"You're shaking, Allie." He rasped against her skin, his breath hitching. "Tell me you want this. Tell me you're mine."
"I'm yours.." She gasped, her fingers digging into his scalp, pulling his hair until he looked up at her. Her eyes were glazed, blown wide with a terrifying, beautiful devotion. "Only yours. Please, Tom..."
The look he gave her was predatory, obsessive and dark. He reached for the buttons of his waistcoat with shaking fingers, his gaze never leaving hers.
He wanted her to see him. He wanted her to witness the exact moment he surrendered his legendary control to her.
He shifted her, his hand sliding up to cup the back of her head, his thumb forcing her chin up. He kissed her again, slower this time, a deep, bruising swell of a kiss that tasted of obsession.
His other hand wandered, tracing the curve of her hip before sliding dangerously, possessively, toward the center of her heat.
Callista's breath caught in a sharp, jagged sob as his fingers brushed against her. The friction was maddening, a slow-burn torture that made her move against him, seeking more. Tom let out a choked sound, his forehead dropping against hers, his eyes squeezed shut in a mask of pure, exquisite agony.
"I have spent my life wanting things." He whispered, his voice trembling with a rare, raw vulnerability.
"Power. Knowledge. Immortality. But none of it... none of it compares to the way I want to ruin myself for you." He moved then, his touch becoming more insistent, more demanding.
The closet was no longer a cage; it was a sanctuary. Every slide of his skin against hers was a promise of a future that would be written in blood and devotion.
Shes the greatest weakness to Tom, and in the suffocating heat of that small space, he intended to learn every inch of her, to memorise the way she sounded when she whispered his name, and to ensure that no matter where the fates led them, she would always carry the mark of his touch.
"Don't look away." He commanded, his voice a silken thread of honey and iron as he pushed her further into the shelf.
"I want to be the last thing you see when you close your eyes tonight."
EDITED.
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༶•⛧┈♛ 𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐷𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑙 ♛┈⛧•༶
Raven 💌
lowkey a bad chapter
bc idk how to write kiss
scenes LIKE HOW
but yay they kissed
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