Chapter 18 #2
His thumb brushed the back of my hand. “Everyone remembers the ruin,” he murmured.
“No one talks about what came before it—the part where they defied gods and fate just to choose each other. Maybe that’s the point.
Maybe it isn’t about dying together. Maybe it’s about living with something stronger than fear. ”
The words hit somewhere I didn’t know was still raw. I wanted to believe him—to think this thing between us was a promise, not a prophecy. But I’d lived my life expecting the ruin to come. He was the first thing that made me hope it wouldn’t.
He didn’t kiss me right away. He only stayed there, letting me sit in the cradle of his lap, his arms loose around my waist as if afraid one wrong move would break the spell.
The heat of him bled through the thin barrier of my dress, steady and grounding.
Every breath I took brushed his collar, carrying the scent of him—cedar and spice and something darker underneath.
His pulse beat through my chest, matching the thrum that still pulsed under my skin. The air between us was charged, quiet, waiting. The bond sang between us, a sound just below hearing, threading the air like a living thing.
When his hand finally lifted, the motion was slow, uncertain. Fingers brushed my chin, the barest contact, and the hum surged. My pulse stuttered. Every inch of my body reacted before thought could catch up—skin tightening, breath catching, heat rising in places I hadn’t meant to notice.
He hesitated there, thumb tracing the corner of my mouth as if testing whether the world would end if he crossed that last inch.
It didn’t.
When his lips finally found mine, the world exhaled.
The kiss started careful, almost fragile—but I couldn't stand careful. Not with him. Not after everything we'd just confessed.
I bit his bottom lip hard enough to sting, and felt his growl rumble through my chest. His hands fisted in my dress, dragging me so tight against him I could feel every hard line of his body, could feel exactly how much he wanted this. Wanted me.
"Fuck," he breathed against my mouth, and the way he said it—reverent, wrecked—made something crack open inside me.
The kiss turned vicious—all heat and need and barely controlled desperation.
He kissed me like he was trying to devour me, like he could swallow down every secret I'd ever kept.
When his hand shot up to fist in my hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat, heat flooded between my legs so fast it made me dizzy.
"You've been in my head this whole time," he growled against my jaw, his other hand sliding up my thigh with almost bruising pressure. "Hearing every filthy thing I've thought about doing to you."
I hadn't—couldn't—but the accusation sent liquid heat pooling in my belly.
"When I fucked my fist thinking about you," he continued, voice gone rough, "imagining how tight you'd be, how you'd sound when I made you come on my cock. You heard all of it, didn't you?"
I shook my head frantically, but he wasn't looking at my signs. His mouth found that scar on my throat—the one he'd bitten before—and scraped his fangs across it hard enough to make me gasp.
"Liar," he whispered. Then bit down.
His fangs slid into my flesh and the venom hit like lightning. I nearly came apart, grinding down on the hard length of him as pleasure rippled through me. But it wasn't enough—not nearly fucking enough. I needed him inside me, needed to feel him break apart the way I was.
I yanked at his shirt until it ripped, buttons scattering. My nails raked down his chest, leaving red welts, and his hips jerked up hard against me.
"Vicious little thing," he hissed, pulling his fangs free and licking the wound closed. His eyes were black, pupils blown wide with hunger. "You want it rough? Want me to fuck you like I did against that table?"
Yes. Saints, yes. I reached between us and unbuttoned his trousers with shaking hands, shoving the fabric down until I could wrap my fingers around him. He was thick and hard, already slick at the tip, and when I stroked him, he made a sound between a groan and a snarl.
"Careful," he warned, but there was no threat in it. Only desperate need.
I pumped him once, twice, squeezing hard the way I imagined he liked it—the way I'd imagined him fucking his fist. His head fell back, tendons standing out in his neck, and saints, the sight of him losing control made me clench around nothing.
Without thinking, I leaned forward and bit down on that corded muscle hard as I could with my blunted human teeth.
He made a sound I'd never heard before—somewhere between a groan and a snarl—and his hips jerked hard into my grip. "Fuck—Merrit—" His hand flew to the back of my head, not pushing me away but holding me there. "Do that again."
I bit him again, dragging my teeth along the tendon, and felt his cock throb in my hand.
"You like when I mark you?" I thought at him, even though I knew he couldn't hear.
But his response told me everything. "Yes," he hissed through his teeth. "Mark me. Want everyone to see what you do to me."
His hand slid between my legs, fingers finding soaked fabric. "Fuck, you're drenched already," he said, awe and hunger mixing in his voice. "All this for me?"
I nodded frantically, and he pushed my undergarments aside. When his fingers slid through slick heat, we both made broken sounds.
"You're dripping," he groaned, circling my entrance but not pushing in yet. "Absolutely soaking. Tell me what you need."
I couldn't sign with my hands on him, so I bit his shoulder—hard enough to leave a mark—and he laughed roughly.
"All right, vicious girl. I've got you."
He slid two fingers inside me, and the stretch made my eyes roll back. But he didn't give me time to adjust—just started fucking me with them, hard and deep, while his thumb found my clit.
"That's it," he growled against my temple. "Feel how wet you are? How you're clenching around my fingers? You're going to feel so good wrapped around my cock."
The filthy words combined with the devastating rhythm of his hand had me trembling. Every thrust of his fingers hit somewhere deep that made my thighs shake. I was close—already so close—but I didn't want to come like this.
I pulled back enough to meet his eyes, and whatever he saw in my face made him groan. Rising on my knees, I positioned him at my entrance. We were still mostly clothed—my dress shoved up around my waist, his trousers barely open, his shirt half off—too desperate to bother with anything else.
"Look at me," I mouthed, and his eyes snapped to mine.
I sank down on him in one brutal drop, taking him to the hilt. The stretch burned, too much too fast, but his venom turned the pain into something else entirely. We both froze, breathing hard, and I felt his cock twitch inside me.
"Fuck." The word broke from him. "You're so—saints—so fucking tight."
I lifted up and slammed back down, setting a punishing rhythm. No gentleness, no gradual build. Just raw and desperate. His hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise, not guiding, just holding on as I rode him.
"That's it," he gritted out. "Take what you need. Use me."
The words shouldn't have affected me, but they did. I fucked him harder, chasing the building pressure, and when his hand slid between us to find my clit, I nearly screamed.
"You're dripping all over me," he said, voice wrecked. "Can feel you soaking my cock, making a mess. Such a good girl, taking me so deep."
I wasn't anyone's “good girl”—especially not his—but my body didn't seem to care. I clenched around him, inner walls fluttering, and he groaned.
His thumb circled my clit with perfect, maddening pressure while I rode him. Every downward thrust hit something inside me that made my vision blur. I was close—so close—but I needed more.
I grabbed his other hand and brought it to my throat, pressing his fingers against my pulse. His eyes went wide, then darker than I'd ever seen them.
"You want me to choke you while I fuck you?" His voice was pure gravel.
I nodded, desperate, and his fingers tightened just enough to make my head go light. The combination of his cock hitting that perfect spot, his thumb on my clit, and his hand around my throat sent me hurtling over the edge.
I came so hard I saw stars, clenching around him in waves that seemed endless. Distantly I heard myself making sounds—broken, desperate whimpers that I couldn't control.
"That's my girl. So beautiful when you come," he breathed. "So perfect."
He started to withdraw, and I made a sound of protest at the loss. But then he was moving, flipping us with surprising gentleness so I was on my back on the bed, him hovering over me. Still mostly clothed. Still tangled together.
For a heartbeat he just looked at me—eyes roaming over my flushed face, my heaving chest, the dress twisted and bunched around my body. Something shifted in his expression. Hunger, yes, but darker. More deliberate.
"My turn," he said quietly.
Then his hands fisted in the fabric of my gown at the neckline and he tore it open. Buttons exploded across the bed, pinging off the headboard, scattering across the floor. The fabric ripped clean down the front with a sound that sent another spike of heat through me.
"Been wanting to do that all fucking night," he growled, shoving the ruined cloth off my shoulders and down my arms until I was bare beneath him. His eyes raked over my exposed skin with raw hunger. "Want you in nothing but my marks."
He withdrew almost completely, then slammed back in hard enough to punch the air from my lungs. Then again. And again. Fucking me with brutal, deep thrusts that made the bed frame shake.
"You feel me?" he snarled. "Feel how deep I am? No one else gets to have this. No one else gets to be inside you like this."
Possessive bastard. But my body answered him anyway, still sensitive from my first orgasm, already building toward another.
His hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head to the side to expose my throat again. "Tell me you're mine," he demanded. "Tell me."
I couldn't—wouldn't—but my hands found his face, pulling him down into a kiss that tasted like blood and desperation and something tender, something worth keeping. He kissed me as if he were drowning and I was air, never breaking the rhythm of his hips.
The bond surged between us, humming so loud I thought my bones would shake apart. And then I heard him—actually heard his thoughts cutting through the pleasure-soaked haze.
Mine. Fuck, you're mine. Never letting you go. Kill anyone who tries to take you. Mine, mine, mine—
The possessive litany shattered me. I came again, harder than before, my whole body seizing as pleasure whited out everything else. He followed with a roar, hips stuttering as he spilled inside me, cock pulsing with each surge, my name on his lips like a prayer.
We collapsed together, both shaking, covered in sweat and bite marks and the evidence of what we'd done. His softening length was still inside me, and neither of us seemed inclined to move.
When I could finally think again, I became aware of his hand stroking my hair with unexpected gentleness. The contrast to how roughly he'd just fucked me should have been jarring, but somehow it wasn't.
"I'm yours, too," he breathed against the skin of my neck. "However this ends—whatever happens—I'm yours."
I couldn’t answer him, not really. No one had ever been mine. Not like this. It was so big, so precious, I didn’t know what to do with it.
"And no more secrets," he murmured against my temple. Then his hand cupped my face, tilting it up so I had to meet his eyes. "And your secret?" His thumb traced my cheekbone. "It dies with me. Anyone who tries to touch you for it answers to me first. You're safe, Merrit. I swear it."
The vow settled something raw and aching in my chest. I signed against his skin: "No more secrets."
He caught my hand, pressed a kiss to my palm. "No more secrets."
We were bound now. Blood and fate and choice all twisted together. Each other's ruin, maybe.
But also each other's salvation.