Chapter 41 #2
She froze for a heartbeat, and then she melted. She moaned into my mouth, her hands gripping my shirt, pulling me closer.
That sound undid me.
I swept her up into my arms, spinning us around. I didn't break the kiss. I couldn't. I needed her breath in my lungs to survive.
I walked us backward and slammed her against the dresser. My hands were everywhere—in her hair, on her waist, gripping her thigh to hike her leg up around my hip.
"Cain," she panted, breaking the kiss to gasp for air. Her eyes were blown wide, dark with desire. "Wait—"
"No waiting," I growled, burying my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent. "You wanted to help? You wanted to save me? Then save me, Ophelia. Let me drown in you. I want you to hurt. I want you to burn just like I burn for you."
I reached for the hem of her nightgown, bunching the silk in my fists and dragging it up her body. She lifted her arms, helping me, and I tore the fabric over her head, throwing it aside.
She was naked. Beautiful. Pale and soft and glowing in the dim light.
I stepped back, just for a second, to look at her. The sight of her—bare and flushed, her chest heaving—hit me harder than any spell. She really was the most dangerous thing in this godsdamned house.
I reached for the laces of my trousers, my hands shaking with a need that terrified me.
"The bed," she whispered.
"No," I said, my voice rough. "Here."
I slammed her back against the dresser, knocking a silver tray to the floor with a clatter that we both ignored again. My hands continued their mad exploration, gripping her thigh.
"Cain," she panted, breaking the kiss to gasp for air, her pupils blown wide. She tried to reclaim some semblance of control, her hand pushing feebly against my chest. "The bed... take me to bed. If you're going to consume me, at least do it there."
I froze. A dark, predatory smile twisted my lips. The madness inside me purred.
“No bed for us yet, little ruin,” I growled.
I spun her around to face the tall mirror, hauling her back against my chest. I gripped her hips and dragged her flush against me, making sure she felt the heavy, rigid length of my erection pressing hard into the curve of her ass.
"Kneel for me,” I commanded.
She hesitated, looking at my reflection. Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing ragged.
"I said kneel," I roared, the voice of the Death Heir echoing off the stone walls.
She turned and dropped. Her knees hit the rug with a soft thud. She looked up at me, her eyes wet, defiant, and hungry.
I reached for the crystal decanter of brandy on the nightstand. I took a long, burning swig, letting some of the alcohol sear my throat, but I didn't swallow.
I grabbed her jaw, tilting her head back, and kissed her hard, spitting the warm, amber liquid into her mouth. She gagged, swallowed, and moaned, the taste of me and the liquor mixing on her tongue.
"Good little fucking Aenite,” I whispered, through gritted teeth, wiping a drop of brandy from her lip with my thumb, and then sucking it into my mouth.
She freed my hard and aching cock, pulsing with a need that felt like violence.
"Take it, wife”, I ordered. “Taste your husband. Worship me as your God.”
She didn't hesitate. She took me into her mouth, hot and wet and tight. The sensation was blinding. I tangled my hands in her hair, looking down at her—my enemy, my wife, my ruin—on her knees for me. At last.
I fucked her mouth, snapping my hips forward, needing to feel her choke, needing to feel her surrender. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough.
I pulled away, ignoring her whimper of loss. I hauled her up and threw her onto the dresser, sweeping the rest of the objects onto the floor.
I reached for the red candle burning on the nightstand. The wax was pooling, hot and dark.
"Open your legs," I commanded.
She did, spreading wide for me. Her back arched, pushing her breasts forward. They were pale, perfect, heaving with her breath.
I tilted the candle.
Hot, bloody wax dripped onto her breast. She hissed, curling her back more, her eyes rolling back in her head.
"Does it hurt?" I asked, watching the crimson wax harden on her pale skin.
"Yes, do it again,” she gasped.
"Good."
I leaned down and bit her. Right over the nipple. Hard enough to break the skin.
She screamed, a shattered, beautiful sound. I tasted copper. Blood. Her life force.
I licked the droplet of blood from her skin, swirling my tongue over the wound, soothing the sting I had created. The taste sent a jolt of power straight to my core. It was intoxicating. It was primal.
"You bleed for me," I whispered against her skin, my voice thick with madness. "You will only ever bleed for me."
I couldn't wait anymore. I grabbed her hips, my fingers digging into her flesh hard enough to bruise.
I thrust into her.
It was a single, smooth, devastating motion. I buried myself to the hilt, stretching her, claiming her.
She cried out, her nails digging into my shoulders. "Cain!"
I began to move, pounding into her with a ferocity that shook the heavy furniture. I wasn't making love. I was exorcising the demons in us both. I was trying to merge our souls so I wouldn't have to be alone in my own head anymore.
"Look at me!" I roared, grabbing her face, forcing her to look at the male destroying her resolution.
She met my gaze, her eyes fierce, filled with tears and fire.
"Harder," she begged. “You can’t break me, Cain. So do it."
That permission snapped the last tether.
I drove into her, punishing and worshipping her all at once. I felt her internal muscles clamping down on me, tightening, milking me. She was choking me with her body, feeling she was close.
"I have you," I snarled, sweat dripping from my brow onto her chest. "You are mine. You hear me? You are mine."
She shattered around me, her scream echoing through the room. The force of her orgasm triggered mine.
I threw my head back, a sound tearing from my throat as I poured myself into her. I emptied every ounce of my madness, my fear, and my twisted, impossible love into the only vessel I prayed was strong enough to hold it.
We collapsed against each other, breathing raggedly, the smell of sex, brandy, and petrichor filling the air.
I kept her pinned there, my face buried in her neck, my heart hammering against hers.
But the quiet didn't last. The need clawed its way back up my throat, ravenous and unsatisfied. I had claimed her body, but I hadn't consumed her. Not yet.
I pulled out of her, the sound wet and obscene in the silence. She let out a soft protest, her head lulling back, her body draped over the dresser like a sacrificial offering I had ruined.
"I'm not done with you, Ophelia,” I growled, scooping her up into my arms. Her legs wrapped instinctively around my waist, her head falling onto my shoulder.
I carried her into the master bath and set her down on the wide, cold vanity. She shivered, her skin flushed and marked with my wax, my bites, my grip.
I turned the taps of the massive claw-foot tub, the water rushing out hot and loud. I grabbed handfuls of lavender salts and crushed star-petals, throwing them into the water, the scent rising instantly to mask the smell of our violence.
I turned back to her.
She was watching me, her eyes heavy-lidded, her legs spread slightly, open and exposed. She looked thoroughly ravished and she was leaking me, my very essence. A masterpiece of chaos.