Chapter 10
EVER
Eli swallows what must be every doubt in existence before speaking, if I go by the exaggerated movement of his throat. “You matter.”
My heart short-circuits, the flow of blood interrupted with his two simple words that mean everything. And nothing. I matter only because he wants me to fix him.
“And that’s why I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep you hating me,” he says.
Doesn’t he see how remarkably he’s failing? I knock the back of my head into the wall. “Why? Why would you want that?”
“But first, I’m going to make you feel better,” he says, ignoring me, then drops his pack from his shoulders, sheds his suspenders and finally pulls his shirt over his head while moving from a crouch to his knees.
He balls up the black fabric and tosses it across the room onto the bed, seemingly using every muscle possible.
My breath snags in my lungs. That smooth chest, the ridges of his abs. What is he doing to me?
“Lie down,” his deep voice commands, eyes flashing with mischief.
“You can’t touch me.” It’s not a threat or a taunt, purely fact, one I lament.
“Lie. Down.”
“On the floor? There’s a bed right there.” Shit. Why bother speaking?
He smiles. “You want to get in bed with me, little prisoner?”
“I told you not to call me that.” Because it reminds me of before. When things were different. And that’s not okay. Because what if I can’t have him? I need him. Something about his body, about being close to him, it dulls the pain inside. Like a drug.
And I can’t stay away.
He leans in, his mouth a hair from my ear. The slightest movement from me would make him howl in pain, but his words have me frozen. “You might feel differently about that if my fingers were knuckle-deep in your pussy again.”
I hold my thighs tightly together, but it does nothing to stop the swelling. Or the wetness.
He laughs, low and quiet, no doubt smelling how he affects me. “I thought so.” I must take far too long to respond because he sighs loudly. “Never, do you want me to make you come or not?”
What if I took a break from holding back, from trying to hate, only long enough for release? It’d be meaningless. At least for him.
My fingers fidget in my lap. “You can’t.”
“Pants.” That’s all he says.
My lips tremble. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“I know.” It makes it harder when he doesn’t deny it. His perfect nose scrunches to the side in consideration. “It’s going to hurt like Malachite’s death stare.”
I huff and pull my knees closer. “I didn’t mean because of the pain.” He arches a brow at me. “I can’t simply forget everything and fuck you.”
“You could.”
I punch my fists together. “I swear on your balls I’m going to lose it. Because you’re right. I could. And it would be spectacular.”
He smiles again, the green specks in his eyes growing with the warmth he lets into them. I stare at the scar on his jaw instead. I don’t want to think of Kelter when I look at him.
“That reminds me, I have something for you.” He rifles through his pack and retrieves the small sack he stowed away earlier. It drips.
“Is that blood?”
“Maybe.” He drops it between us.
Curiosity prevails. I take the red-soaked sack and stick my fingers in between the scratchy fabric, pushing it open. I peer inside. At wrinkled flesh and hair and blood.
I gag. “What the fuck is this?”
“Those are the balls of the man that threw a knife at your back.”
Something goes awry in my brain. The part that’s supposed to be appalled. “Elivander Merinson Hux the Second—you brought me another man’s balls?”
“I can’t tell anymore if you’re obsessed or hate them.”
I don’t know either. I eye the blood splattered on his clothes with new appreciation. “You did something nice for me.”
“I’m making sure you know the fucker is dead.”
Right. “These should be on ice so I can enjoy them longer.” I hand the bloody sack of balls back with a coy smile. “And this doesn’t change anything.”
“I’m done waiting. Pants. Off. Now.”
But that voice might.
The way he crowds over me with his dark aura wrapped around my throat, the sway he has on my desire—it does things to me.
And makes me do things. Like wiggle out of my pants.
He gives me room to extend my legs and kick the fabric loose from my ankles, then looks down at my bare thighs, a hungry groan escaping his throat.
I let my legs fall wide open. “I don’t see how this is going to work. I have no control. I’ll suck your magic and torture you.”
“Sucking and torturing doesn’t sound too bad.” He leans in, planting an arm on either side of my shoulders against the wall.
“You can’t be serious.”
“It’ll be worth it.” He nods to convince himself.
“Why can’t you block the magic? That’s your thing since the beginning of time, right? You did it when the Centress first attacked me.”
“I tried when she put her hands on you again. I couldn’t do it.” His face lowers to kissing range, his eyes darkening. “I couldn’t block her from taking your memories either. And I can’t block you.”
“Why not?”
“Nothing about you makes sense.” His tone shifts, rousing the knots low in my stomach to unravel. “But maybe torturing me will motivate you to control yourself.”
“What if I like watching you writhe in pain on top of me?”
“Then we’ll both be sore tomorrow instead of only you.” And with that, he pushes away from the wall and seizes my neck. In the same second, his entire body tenses, hands tight around my throat. His head twists to the side, jaw clenched, eyes blown wide.
And fuck… it’s beautiful.
He releases me, collapsing on the floor.
I push my back flat to the wall, breathing heavily.
A silky, dark peace trickles over me, the satisfaction of seeing him twitching before me too strong to deny.
I’m tempted to grab him while he’s down.
Not to hurt him. It’s the exhilaration of the darkness I seek.
But I can’t let this part of me take root. “You’re insane.”
He lifts his head and smiles. “Again.”
“No!” I turn and crab-crawl backward toward the bed and up onto it, but he crawls after me.
His hand lands on my underwear, his fingers curling under the band and pulling it away from my skin.
But the pain consumes him straight through the fabric, a glow creeping up his arm.
I try to get away, to free him of this torment.
Because I hate how much I love the depths of pain he’ll face to touch me.
My underwear stretches between us, tighter and tighter until he finally lets go.
It snaps back, and he rolls away, lying flat on his back on the bed.
The way he pants, the lingering pain around his eyes—it’s addictive. But I can’t be like my mother. “Stop hurting yourself!”
“You stop hurting me,” he growls, then flips himself on top of me, grabbing my arms and pinning them above my head in a single motion.
My body accepts his smashing weight in warm, decadent waves.
But the pain hits him again. He squeezes through the torture, ten fingers digging far too deep into my muscles.
His face breaks into a perfect picture of agony.
Damn. My mind. I try to control myself, searching through the floods of magic for a wall, a stop, an end to the gush of energy, but it flows stronger.
Light shoots through the raised veins in his arms. He presses his forehead into mine before ripping himself away and going limp.
“Stop! Teach me how to control it. I’ll do anything.”
His head rises again, that dark aura around his sweaty, heaving body. “Anything?”