61. Cassidy
I never thought I’d ever experience such a torrent of emotions as I did when I woke up in the crypt with Angelo. But all that terror and pain doesn’t even hold a candle to what’s happening inside my mind right now.
Molten fury roars inside me like a furnace.
He sounds so fucking pleased with himself when he adds, “She kept me so warm and toasty. Even the stink of her burning flesh was worth it.”
I’m so disgusted, so hateful of this man sitting in front of me, I wish I had the power to make him spontaneously combust.
Then I remember the knife.
I don’t hesitate. Why should I? He didn’t.
“Fuck. You!” I scream at the top of my lungs.
I lunge forward and drive the knife into Angelo’s gut. It slides in with barely any resistance until it hits something deep inside him. My wrist twists painfully to the side, but it’s as if it’s happening to someone else.
“Cassidy.” Ethan’s voice is hushed.
He grabs my shoulder, but I shake him off with a barked, “No!”
He had his fucking chance. I’m not stopping him. He can get in here with his bare hands if he wants. But if he expects me to stop, he’s got another thing coming.
“She trusted you!”
I drag the blade free and stab it back into Angelo’s belly. There’s a sickening sucking sound as I pull out the knife, blood pooling in the gashes in his skin.
“You had no right!”
Stab. Suck.
Some of his intestines are visible through his ripped flesh.
“Burn in hell, you sick fuck!”
My shouts become wordless yells filled with rage and pain. I stab him everywhere—his chest, his throat, his face.
Smith steps back when Angelo’s blood sprays in his direction, glancing down as if to check if he got any on his designer suit.
The knife drops from my hand. I fall to my knees, fumbling to pick up the blade again, but my fingers are numb and stupid.
Someone’s sobbing, and I’m not surprised. There’s not just blood on the ground, but bits of flesh and skin and I don’t even know what the fuck else.
I’m hoisted to my feet, and thank God because I still want to gouge his eyes out, but I can’t seem to stand on my own anymore.
When Angelo comes back into view, I almost puke.
He’s still roughly person-shaped, but they’ll have to use dental records to identify him.
I sag back against Ethan. The sobbing becomes a wicked, manic laugh.
Can’t even gouge out his eyes. Someone beat me to it.
Ethan drags me away from the scene of the crime.
I laugh, reach out, and grab a glass of champagne from the tray Myles is still holding. I slug it down my throat, giving the now blood-stained glass a bemused smile before setting it back on the tray.
“We…should go…” Ethan says in a thick voice.
“I have the number of an excellent therapist,” Smith says, the words barely audible over the ringing in my ears.
“But we haven’t even spoken about—” Myles begins, only to be shushed by Richmond.
Ethan lifts me into his arms and carries me out of the Den, into the elevator. When the doors close behind us, he sets me on my feet and starts wiping a damp towel over my hands. Then my arms.
He gently grasps my chin and tips my head back. His gaze moves over my face for a long moment before he dabs the towel over my cheeks and forehead and nose.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.
“I don’t know.”
He licks his lips. My eyes fix on his mouth. “Kiss me.”
“You’re covered in blood. And…fuck knows what else.”
I grab the front of his shirt. “Kiss me. Please, Sir.”
The growl that rumbles out of his throat should scare me, but all it does is remind me just how strong and possessive this man is.
He grabs my ass and lifts me off my feet, slamming my back into the elevator’s mirror. It’s second nature by now for my thighs to wrap around his waist. For my arms to sling over his shoulders. For my hands to grip the back of his neck as he crushes his mouth against mine.
The moment my legs open, the ridge of his hard cock presses against my pussy.
“That turned you on?” I whisper breathlessly between hungry kisses.
“You were fucking magnificent.”
The rasp of his zipper fills the intimate space, then he’s forcing himself into me, stretching my pussy in one hard thrust.
I moan in pain, in pleasure, in relief as sensation floods back into my body.
Was I in shock?
“Harder,” I moan, grinding against him with every buck of his hips. “I want you to hurt me.”
He presses one hand against the mirror beside my head, grabs my ass in the other, and starts pounding me into the wall. My nails dig into his shoulders, and I arch my back as a violent climax comes screaming my way.
“Marry me,” he grunts out, his cock slamming balls-deep into me.
“Fuck, yes.”
“Yes?” Another furious pump of his hips sends me into utter oblivion.
I claw at his back, clinging so tightly to him he can’t pull out.
“Yes, fuck, yes!”
His teeth clamp over the side of my neck, sucking painfully at my flesh a moment before his cock throbs inside me. He groans, crushing me to the bronzed mirror as he tries to find another inch of space inside my pussy.
I whimper in pain, but I’m grinding against him just as hard, trying to force him deeper inside as he spurts his seed into my core.
Ethan rumbles against my throat, licking my skin, nibbling my jaw, then kissing me so softly I start to moan and rock against his hips again.
“Again?” he murmurs into my mouth.
I shove a hand between us and start rubbing my clit. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?” he growls.
“Yes, Sir.”
He starts fucking me again, this time slow enough that I can feel every inch of his thick cock filling me up.
Why do I think I’m about to wake up from a nightmare-turned-wet-dream? Is it because my mind still feels so numb? Or is it because of the way my core aches, like I’m still climaxing, even though I’m pretty sure I was done a few seconds ago?
Fuck, I hope not.
I just told this man I’d marry him.
If this was a dream, then he’s going to get one hell of a surprise when I wake up and start planning our wedding.