the seven devils [completed]

chapter forty

CHAPTER FORTY

WARNING: SLIGHTLY MATURE/MATURE

Tom Riddle's lips fell upon her in a harsh kiss, and he pulled at her hair to bring her face closer as he wanted to taste every tear that had fallen on her face, feel her sorrow and agony. Varya whimpered and threw her hands around the boy's neck as she pulled him down until their bodies were utterly flushed, and her head spun, and everything buzzed.

He pulled her off the bed and slammed her against the wall, hands immediately going to her waist as he hoisted up her legs to circle his hips. Tom pressed himself against her as he continued to move his lips in absolute fury, biting down on the lower one until he felt metallic on his tongue, and heard the girl whine softly. God, he wanted to hear more of that.

Her nails clawed at his neck and scalp, and then the witch twisted a hand in dark curls and pulled at his roots until he broke away with swollen lips and wild eyes. Tom looked at her with a gaze filled with the most sinful desire, wide and responsive, and he made to dive back in mashing of lips and pants, but the girl stopped.

"My neck," she breathed, and he immediately pressed wicked lips against her collarbones, hands hoisting her up and trailing her thighs up and down, slipping devilishly under the cotton fabric of her skirt. He traced smooth fingers on the inside, then immediately gripped her flesh, so hard Varya let out a yelp and threw her head back in intoxicating pleasure.

Riddle pulled at her stocking, letting the elastic band slap against her legs in a painful tug, and he smirked against her neck when he felt her shiver in pain, then let out a soft groan as the girl moved against him.

"Stop that," he panted and restricted her movement with a steady hand. No, she had to work for it more; otherwise, how could he enjoy her torment as she squirmed underneath his hold? He looked at her and his breath caught in his throat. Her lips were parted in a circle of opalescent reddish nuance, and her onyx eyes carried a dazed mixture of pleasure and defeat that he wanted to relish in. So he pulled at coiled midnight locks and brought her lips to his own yet again, moving frantically as they tried to consume whatever passion was between them— love, hate, it did not matter at that moment, all just a foggy cloud of heightened pulse and roaming hands.