Chapter 21 August
August
What the fuck was she thinking?
I took her out of the great room, ordering everyone to stay where they were. I could kill her. I could kill everyone in that room. That fucking idiot who thought he could touch my Winnie?
He’d better fucking run before I get back in there.
But then I noticed it. The flush still blooming across her cheeks.
The way her chest heaved, shallow breaths slipping through parted lips.
How she couldn’t stop herself from smiling.
She was radiant in that chaos, in the aftermath.
And I had done exactly what she wanted me to do.
Which only pissed me off more.
I took a step toward her, fists clenched, and she matched it—like she was daring me to keep coming. Like she wanted to see how far I’d go.
I slammed her against the wall but held the back of her head so my hand took most of the impact, the sound echoing down the corridor. “What are you doing?”
She smiled, damn near glowing in the dim light, and ducked under my arm to ascend the stairs. Impossible, defiant, beautiful woman.
I was in front of her again, my hand wrapping around her throat before I even knew I’d moved. Her skin burned beneath my fingers.
“I thought you said you felt nothing,” she whispered.
My hand flexed.
“But it sure looks like you hate me right now. Maybe a little jealous, even.”
That smile again. That beautiful, infuriating smile that I wanted to kiss and erase in the same breath.
“What are you trying to do?”
She looked up at me, innocence painted across her face. “What was it you said? Take everything you hate and make it yours.”
“Winnie,” I warned. I told her we couldn’t be together. I thought she understood.
“Well, I’m already yours, remember?”
Her hands trailed down my chest, nails scratching lightly over the fabric, until they reached the waistband of my pants. My whole body responded—tight, aching, furious with want.
No. You don’t want this.
“Hurt me. Break me. Show me just how much you hate me.”
I pulled her lips to mine, hard, savage. She whimpered into my mouth, and I slammed her against the wall again, needing to hear it again.
“We can’t,” I whispered against her lips, even as my hands dug into her waist like she was the only real thing I’d ever touched.
She looked up at me with those damn eyes—emerald and endless and shining with the storm we both refused to outrun.
“Ruin me, August.”
I wanted her to hate me. Hate me to the point that if it came down to it, she would burn this castle down and me along with it if it meant she would be safe. And I thought, even though she wanted me, she did hate me. Just enough.
But then I remembered—
We thrived off hating each other.
There was madness in her eyes. The same kind I saw every time I looked in the mirror. Reckless. Wild. Beautiful in its ruin. She didn’t want to be saved—she wanted to burn alongside me.
And maybe, just maybe, I adored her for that.
She was just as twisted. Just as cursed. And she wore it like a crown.
And gods, I needed her.
I kissed her again—wild and desperate—like every moment without her had been oxygen-starved, and I was finally breathing.
My hands slid up her sides, fingers skimming the curve of her waist, the line of her ribs, until they tangled in her hair.
She moaned into my mouth, her body melting against mine as her hands tugged at my shirt, fumbling with buttons, trying to tear me open.
We didn’t move. We couldn’t. Not when every part of us screamed for more. Her leg hitched up over my hip, dress bunched around her thighs, and I ground against her. I wanted to devour her. Right there on the stairs. Let everyone hear who she belonged to.
She slid her fingers beneath the hem of my shirt and dragged it up over my skin. My name left her lips in a broken breath, and I swallowed it with another kiss, deeper this time, rougher.
Footsteps.
Shit.
Voices—closer now. A pair of guards, maybe, or servants. I didn’t care. I wanted to rip their throats out.
“I told them not to leave,” I growled against her skin.
She blinked up at me, dazed and breathless. Beautiful.
Mine.
I didn’t wait. I swept her into my arms and carried her through the corridor, past paintings and candles and whatever poor soul happened to catch a glimpse. Let them see. Let them whisper.
She was mine tonight.
Even if it killed me.
I didn’t bother setting her down gently. The second the door to our chambers slammed behind us, I had her pinned to it, lips back on hers, our bodies already lost to the fire.
Her fingers clawed at my shirt again, this time more desperate, more demanding, until I tore it off over my head.
She made a sound—a low, breathless gasp that only spurred me further.
My hands yanked at the back of her dress, finding the fastenings and ripping them apart with a growl.
The fabric slipped from her shoulders, revealing inch after inch of flawless skin I’d dreamed about every night.
She didn’t shy away. She pushed into me, dragging her nails down my chest as the dress pooled at her feet. Gods, she was beautiful. Untouchable. And yet completely mine.
I kissed down her neck, across her collarbone, my fangs scraping lightly against her skin, and I felt her shiver. My name left her lips again like a plea, and it almost undid me.
I needed to go slow. I needed to have some control.
But I didn’t.
She made me lose it. Always had.
I lifted her, and her legs wrapped around me instinctively. Our mouths never broke. My mind was screaming restraint, but my body didn’t listen. Every part of me burned for her. Every inch wanted to claim.
“Tell me to stop,” I whispered against her lips.
She didn’t.
Her fingers slid into my hair, tugging, guiding, her breath warm against my cheek. “Don’t hold back this time.”
I hated how good she looked asking for it. Hair wild, pupils blown wide, body arching toward me like she knew I was going to lose.
That was all it took.
I stepped toward the bed, but then I hesitated—just long enough to glance at the desk.
Don’t hold back.
She wanted it all. She wanted to make me angry so I would give her everything I had tried so hard to stop myself from doing.
So I changed course.
With one arm still wrapped around her, I swept the books, inkpots, and parchment off the heavy desk in a single violent motion, sending them crashing to the floor. Her eyes widened, but not in fear—in anticipation. She loved this. The frenzy. The rawness.
I laid her across the desk like something sacred and sinful all at once.
Her hair spilled over the wood like black ink, her back arching as my hands trailed up her thighs. I kissed my way down her neck, across her collarbone, down to the swell of her breasts. Her fingers gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white, legs trembling around me as I worshiped every inch.
She moaned—soft at first, then louder, more urgent—and it took every ounce of willpower I had not to lose myself completely. I wanted to take her hard, fast, right there. But gods help me, I needed to feel all of it. To make her feel all of it.
Her hands found my hair again, tugging me closer. I kissed lower, slower, her breath shuddering every time my mouth touched her skin. Her thighs tightened around me as I pressed a hand flat to her stomach, holding her steady.
I was shaking. With need. With hunger.
And with something deeper. Something that clawed its way up my throat and lodged there like a vow.
I dropped to my knees before her, hands gripping her thighs, parting them slowly as I looked up at her—watching the realization dawn in her eyes. She gasped, fingers slipping from my hair to cover her mouth.
Good. I wanted to surprise her. To worship her. To ruin her completely.
I lowered my head between her legs and kissed the inside of her thigh—once, twice—until she was trembling above me.
Her body jerked when I finally tasted her, soft and wet and fucking perfect.
Her hand flew back to my head, clutching tight, her breath coming in sharp little gasps as my tongue moved with practiced cruelty.
She was already falling apart.
And gods, I loved that I could do this to her. That no one else would ever know this part of her. Only me.
She moaned my name—high, broken—and I gripped her hips harder, dragging her closer, burying myself in her until there was nothing but the sound of her falling to pieces on my tongue.
When she came, it was violent. Her legs locked around me, her body arched so high I thought she’d break in half. And I kept going. Just a little longer. Just enough to feel her sob out and try to shove me away, her hands weak and shaking.
I stood then, lips wet, heart thundering, and met her eyes.
“I’m not finished,” I said.
And I wasn’t.
Not even close.
She was still gasping when I brought my fingers to her entrance, slipping one in slow, curling until she moaned again. Her body clenched, still sensitive, still riding the edge I’d left her on. I added another, thrusting gently at first, then harder.
“You want it all, Winnie?” I murmured, voice dark with promise.
“Yes,” she whimpered, her hips rolling against my hand.
I bent over and kissed her stomach as my fingers slowed. “Yes, August. Say my name. Say it like I’m the only thing you want.”
She bit her lip as she looked down at me, her eyes gleaming with unfiltered need. “You’re all I want, August,” she whispered as her body trembled with desire.
I let my teeth scrape against her stomach as I dragged them up to her breasts, nipping at the soft swell until she arched into me.
The tip of my cock nudged at her entrance, slick and ready, but I held back—barely—as I took in her scent.
There was no going back after this. Every instinct screamed at me to pull away, to rebuild the crumbling barriers I’d tried so hard to keep between us.
But I gave in.
I bit her, hard, just above her left breast. The moment her blood hit my tongue, it was like being struck by lightning—sweet, intoxicating, laced with something only she possessed.
My mind blurred, my body caved to instinct as I plunged into her, driven by a need so deep it bordered on madness.
The taste of her flooded me, shattering whatever restraint I had left.
She cried out, nails raking down my back, and I gripped her breast with one hand while the other slammed the desk against the wall. The rhythm came fast, rough, relentless. I couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to.
The desk groaned under us, the thick wood bending with every punishing thrust. I hit it harder, again and again, until it began to splinter, the legs quivering beneath our weight.
One final slam and the wood begged to break away, a sharp crack echoing through the room as the surface finally gave out beneath her.
But I caught her. My arm locked around her waist, lifting her as if I’d never broken stride.
Still buried inside her. Still moving. I carried her to the bed without pausing.
My mouth was on her breast, licking the drops of blood that ran before we landed, and I thrust into her deeper, harder, desperate to have all of her.
Each thrust was more punishing than the last, but she didn’t break.
She met me—stroke for stroke, moan for moan—like she was made for this. For me.
Her fingers clawed down my back again, harder this time, and I hissed through my teeth as I felt the sharp sting of her nails breaking skin. The pain only anchored me deeper in the madness, made me feel more alive in her grasp.
“Again,” she whispered. “Bite me again.”
Gods, she didn’t know what she was asking. Or maybe she did.
Her neck was bared, her head thrown back against the pillows. I could see the rapid flutter of her pulse. I hovered above it, panting, lips parted—torn between worship and hunger.
“I can’t,” I growled. My body trembled. “If I do, I’ll take too much.”
“Do it,” she whispered. “I trust you.”
Those three words nearly undid me. She was mine. Trusting me. Offering herself up like a prayer I didn’t deserve.
I leaned down and sank my fangs into the curve where her neck met her shoulder.
The moment her blood hit my tongue again, it was like I was no longer in control of my body.
A low growl escaped my throat as heat surged through every inch of me, drowning thought and reason in one violent flood.
I felt the edge of my sanity fray, instincts roaring louder than logic, and I gripped her harder.
My hips slammed into hers. The bedframe cracked.
She gasped, a strangled moan breaking from her throat as I drank, as I fucked her, as I came apart inside her. I pulled back before the line blurred too far, dragging my tongue over the bite and kissing the spot like it was sacred. She was trembling beneath me, breathless and wild and perfect.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” I whispered against her skin, forehead pressed to her neck.
She laughed, shaky and wrecked. “Then why do I want you to do it again?”
I stared down at her, chest still heaving, sweat cooling on my skin.
Because she was just as mad as I was.
* * *
A low golden light poured through the curtains.
She was warm beside me, tangled up in the sheets, in me. Her leg slung across my hip, her hand pressed flat against my chest like she was trying to anchor herself. Or maybe me.
I stared at her. At the soft line of her jaw, the way her lashes fanned across flushed cheeks, the faint bruise from where I’d gripped her too hard still blooming just above her hip.
Last night. Gods, last night.
It hadn’t just been sex. Not for me. I could still feel the echo of it—her body around mine, the way she’d said my name, the way I’d finally stopped fighting and let myself have her again. I told myself it was to protect her. That keeping my distance was noble. But it wasn’t. It was cowardice.
Because I loved her.
And I was terrified.
She shifted beside me, her brow tightening faintly before her eyes opened. I opened my mouth, but she pressed a finger to my lips before I could speak.
“I know what this was,” she said barely above a whisper. “And I know what this is going to be.”
I blinked, frozen.
“Just sex,” she said, pulling the sheet tighter around her.
Something inside me cracked. Loud and jagged. She wasn’t looking at me. Her voice was too even. Too practiced. And before I could speak—before I could tell her she was wrong—my cowardice returned.
“Right,” I said. I forced my voice to stay steady. “Just sex.”
Her shoulders relaxed, but not in relief.
And I knew then I’d let her believe it.
Because if I told her the truth now, if I admitted that I would rip the world apart to keep her, I didn’t know if either of us could survive what came next.
She stood, but I caught her wrist. She turned to me and looked at me with her brows scrunched.
“On your knees, Winnie.”