Chapter 15
Ilove you?
Of all the stupid fucking things that I could have thought of, I love you was the first thing that came to my mind after what was, no contest, the most mind-blowing orgasm of my life. After being fucked within an inch of my last rites, I’m not too sure I could have thought of much else though.
“You realize I can hear all of your thoughts, right?” Daxton smirks as he presses a warm kiss to my shoulder, his finger massaging over the marks where the chains bit into my wrists.
“Oh, God.” I squeak, tugging my hands away to cover my face.
“Hey,” he coos, lifting my hand to his mouth, his kiss warm against my skin. “It was cute…and painfully honest.”
As his fingers lace through mine, I notice something that wasn't there before—when did he become warm? His usually cool skin radiates a heat unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.
“Let’s not make a big deal out of it, shall we?” he answers my thoughts as always.
Daxton’s eyes flash with something unreadable as he shifts beside me. The mattress dips under his weight, and for a terrifying moment, I think that he might pull away.
“Then, just tell me.” I pull him closer. “You know I’ll never let it go.”
After a moment, he huffs, “Fine. When you told me you loved me, even if it was in your mind, somehow I think you may have changed something for me.”
“How?”
“Now you’re asking a question that I really don’t know the answer to—but I have a theory.”
“Well, are you going to tell me?” I ask.
He gives me a peck on the lips, then smirks. “No, not until I’m sure.”
“You’re infuriating, you know that?” I sigh, tapping my fingers against his chest. The warmth radiating from him still throws me off. I’m used to his cool touch, the chill that always made me shiver in all the right ways.
His laugh rumbles through his chest. “And you still love me.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling. Something fundamental has shifted between us, and I’m terrified to examine it too closely. The way he’s looking at me now—like he loves me too—makes my heart race.
“Who says I don’t?” His voice drops to a rough whisper
My heart stutters in my chest. “What?”
“Who says I don’t feel the same way?” His fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare skin, sending shivers up my spine. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I do?”
I try to keep my mouth from hanging open like a damn idiot, swallowing hard, afraid to believe what I’m hearing.
The room suddenly feels too small, too hot, and the sheets tangle around my legs like anchors.
Outside, rain starts to patter against the window, a gentle soundtrack to the thundering in my chest.
“You can’t just say things like that,” I manage.
Daxton’s lips curve into a smile that’s both gentle and predatory. “Why not? Because it scares you? Or because you don't believe me?”
“Both,” I admit, the word barely audible even to my own ears. My fingers fidget with the edge of the sheet, needing something to do besides touch him. Because if I touch him now, I might fall apart completely.
He props himself up on one elbow to look down at me.
His eyes are impossibly vibrant even in the dim light, pupils blown wide.
“Let me be clearer then.” His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing across my lower lip—a touch so tender that it hurts.
“I’ve known since the night I saw you stuffing your face with Jell-O shots at the party—fuck, maybe I even knew before then. ”
“I was not stuffing my face,” I protest weakly.
“You were, and it was cute.”
I roll my eyes, but can't stop the blush spreading across my face. “Fine, whatever. I was enjoying myself.”
“And I was enjoying watching you,” Daxton says, his fingertips trailing down my neck to my collarbone. “That's when I knew I was in trouble.”
“Trouble?” I raise an eyebrow, trying to sound confident despite the way my pulse quickens under his touch.
“The kind that ruins you for anyone else.” The sound of his words has that gravelly undertone that makes my stomach flip. “The kind that makes you do stupid things like fall in love with a stubborn, frustrating, beautiful mortal who drives you absolutely crazy.”
I search his face for any sign he’s teasing me, but all I see is raw honesty. The vulnerability in his eyes makes my chest ache.
“I didn’t plan this,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “Everything about you just feels…”
“Different?” he finishes for me, his fingers gently brushing my hair away from my face.
I nod. But all I can focus on is the electricity where our skin connects.
“I’ve spent so long convincing myself I was better off not feeling anything at all, because feeling gets you hurt, feeling makes you acknowledge the things that you are better off packing away,” I continue.
“All my life, I just—I built these walls.
And somehow you just walked right through them like they weren't even there.”
“I have a knack for doing that, don’t I?” He chuckles.
“Shut up.” I grin like an idiot, smacking his chest lightly. “Say something sweet.”
His smile falls, and his eyes find mine in that way that sends a shiver through me.
“You, Mackenzie Vidente, are my fate. I don’t know what I’ve done right in my existence to deserve you, but sometimes things just…
happen.” He shrugs. “Not everything has to have an explanation, as long as it has meaning.”
A warmth spreads through my chest that has nothing to do with the afterglow still humming through my veins. I reach up, tracing the sharp line of his jaw with my fingertips, half-expecting him to disappear like some post-orgasmic hallucination.
“So what now?” I ask, my voice small in the darkness—I’m almost mortified that I’m about to turn into one of those “so, what are we?” girls. “Where does this leave us?”
Daxton’s expression becomes serious, all traces of teasing gone. “Wherever you want it to.”
I chew on my lower lip, the gravity of his words sinking in. This isn’t some casual fling anymore. This is Daxton—powerful, dangerous, infuriating Daxton—laying himself bare before me.
“What if I want everything?” The words tumble out before I can stop them.
His eyes darken, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “Then you get everything.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” He pulls me closer, his body warm against mine. “Though I should warn you, ‘everything’ with me is…complicated.”
I laugh, a nervous sound that breaks the tension. “When has anything with you ever been simple?”
“Fair point.” His fingers trace the curve of my hip, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Daxton’s eyes darken, and he pulls me closer until our foreheads touch. “But I need to know—you still want this even knowing what I am? What this means? That only in death could you be with me.”
I think about the implications—the danger, the complications—but then I remember how it felt when I thought he might not feel the same way, that hollow ache in my chest.
“Yes,” I breathe, crawling on top of him, his hand drawing me closer instantly. I am still a little nervous about the dying part, but I know one thing is for certain—“I love you.” Fingers tangled in his silver locks, I press my lips to his. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Daxton whispers against my mouth, the words vibrating between us like a lovesick spell. His hands slide down my back, gripping my hips with a possessiveness that makes me shiver. “More than I thought possible.”
Rain drums harder against the window now, creating a cocoon around us as the world outside fades away. I can feel his heart racing beneath my palm. It never beat like this before; it used to be so faint like it was a whisper away, but now it matches the frantic rhythm of my own.
“You know,” I say, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes, “for someone who can read minds, you sure took your time figuring this out.”
He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Maybe I wanted to hear you say it first.”
“Bastard,” I whisper without heat.
“You’re a bastard,” he corrects. His eyes flash with something primal, and before I can catch my breath, he flips us over, pinning me to the bed with his body. His weight presses me into the mattress, his hands capturing my wrists above my head. My pulse races wildly beneath his grip.
“Say it,” he growls against my neck, his breath now warmer on my skin. “Say what you are to me.”
I try to find my voice as his thigh slides between mine, and I fight the urge to arch against him. “I’m not saying anything.”
He chuckles, the sound dark and promising as his lips brush my ear. “Stubborn as always.”
His free hand traces down my side, fingers playing at the sheet wrapped around me. I shiver despite myself. We’ve been dancing around this for some time, this dangerous game of push and pull, like a tug of something deeper.
“You know what happens to stubborn little mortals?” he murmurs, teeth grazing my earlobe. He lifts the sheet just enough to press between my thighs, so I can feel the head of his cock pressing into me.
“Daxton,” I gasp.
“Relax for me, goddess.” He thrusts inside of me, and I almost cry out, but he muffles my scream with his mouth—I don’t think I’ll ever get used to his size, or the extra surprise that massages my walls.
“Probably not.” He smirks, hooking my leg around his hip. “But let’s give it the good ol’ college try.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry as he forces himself deeper, electricity shooting through my body with a jolt that makes me cry out against his lips.
The feeling of him inside me is somehow both familiar and brand new, like we’re discovering each other all over again with this confession between us.
“Fuck,” I breathe, digging my fingernails into his shoulders. “That’s not fair.”
“I’ve never claimed to play fair,” he says, voice strained as he holds himself still, letting me adjust. His eyes are hungry, watching every microexpression on my face. “Not when it comes to you.”
I rock my hips experimentally, loving the way his breath catches. The rain pounds harder outside, and thunder rumbles in the distance. Appropriate, I think hazily, given what’s happening in this bed.
“Mine,” he growls, beginning to move in slow, deliberate thrusts that make my toes curl. “Say it.”
“Make me.”
Each thrust sends sparks shooting through my veins, building on the sensitivity left from before. I’m still tender, still buzzing from our earlier session, but somehow I want more. I need more.
“You're insatiable,” he murmurs against my throat, and I realize he’s reading my thoughts again.
“Stop that,” I gasp, clenching around him deliberately, satisfied when his rhythm falters. Two can play this game.
His laugh is strained as he pins my wrists tighter. “Make me.”
I challenge him with my eyes, even as my body surrenders to the delicious pressure. This power struggle between us has always been our dance—sometimes I want to fight him tooth and nail, and sometimes I just want to give in.
He shifts his angle slightly, hitting that perfect spot that makes my vision blur. A moan escapes before I can stop it.
“That’s it,” he whispers, satisfaction evident in his voice. “Let me hear you.”
I bite my lip, determined not to give him the satisfaction. But my resolve crumbles when he releases one of my wrists to slide his hand between our bodies, his fingers finding my most sensitive spot with practiced ease.
“Cheater,” I accuse breathlessly.
“Strategist,” he corrects, circling his thumb in a way that makes coherent thought impossible.
The storm outside matches the one building within me—wild, uncontrollable, electric.
“There you go, goddess,” he pants, his breath ragged. “Give it to me.”
I’m not sure which stars burst behind my eyes as my orgasm detonates, laying waste to any resolve I had just moments ago. “I’m yours, Daxton!” I can’t even think straight enough to alter my scream. “Fuck, I’m yours, do whatever you want to me.”
“Those are dangerous words,” he murmurs, humming as something sharp pricks my neck—warmth trickles down the side of it before his warm tongue laps over it, the tang of metal swirling between us.
I gasp as his teeth sink deeper, my body clenching around him in response. The pain blends with pleasure in a way I never thought possible, making my vision swim. His tongue continues to lap at the wound, and I feel myself spiraling into something beyond ordinary sensation.
“What are you—” I can barely form words as he continues to move inside me, his rhythm never faltering.
His eyes are glowing white, pupils like slits as he hovers above me. Blood—my blood—stains his lower lip, and I’m a little disturbed by how sexy I find the sight.
“I marked you,” he says simply, his hips still moving in a rhythm that makes it hard to focus on his words. “Not completely, but enough.”
“Enough for what?” I gasp as he hits that perfect spot again. His eyes burn into mine with a dark possession that leaves me breathless.
“Enough that others will know that you belong to me.” His voice drops to a husky growl. “Enough that no other man—mortal or immortal—would dare look in your direction.”
My body arches against his, craving more of him as heat spirals through my core. The bite mark on my skin pulses in time with my heartbeat, as if it’s alive, connected to him by some primal magic I don’t understand.
“I didn’t agree to—” My protest dies on my lips as his fingers tangle in my hair, tugging just enough to expose my neck further.
“You did,” he whispers against my throat. “Maybe not with words, but your body has been begging for my claim since the moment we met.”
I want to deny it, to push him away and reclaim some semblance of control, feminism and all, but the truth burns.
“Say it again, Mackenzie.” He dips his head, breathing in my breath.
“I’m yours,” I whisper.
“And I, yours.”