Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
GEMMA
The sun had long since set, the pier moonlit. Grim held me tight to his chest, like I would disappear. I traced his tattoos with my finger, distantly wondering what was happening in my world. Blood still caked my fingernails, splattering across my soft manicure.
I was giddy, excited. Finally the outside matched the chaos inside me.
I traced the outline of a tattoo just below his collarbone—an upside-down cross. It stood out, a slightly different style than his other tattoos, but like all the others, there was a line drawn across it.
“Why is this one different?”
He didn’t have to look to know what I was talking about.
“That was my first.” His hand covered mine. “Before I took my ink. When I was still Santos.”
I looked up the meaning of his name after the night on the beach, the first time Grim asked me to call him by it. On its surface, it meant saint—irony of all ironies—but the name itself was rich with meaning and history.
Some tales spoke of a cursed “Santos” bloodline, descendants of a saint’s betrayer, doomed to bear the name in irony.
In old Spanish superstition, invoking “los santos” could ward off curses or bad luck, but using it carelessly or mockingly could invite divine retribution.
Holy name, unholy fate.
“What happened?” I asked. He tensed a little, and I quickly added, “You don’t have to tell me.”
“I killed someone,” he said.
There was a hollow ache in his voice that I didn’t understand. Grim was no stranger to murder, after all.
It was more vulnerability than I’d ever seen from Grim. I wanted to press. I wanted to dig into him.
But I kept quiet, wanting to keep this moment even more.
He dragged a hand lazily down my arm to the elbow, then back to the shoulder. For what must have been the hundredth time since last night, I couldn’t believe I was here. I couldn’t believe I was with Grim, in his bed, and his touch was so gentle.
Knowing how violent those hands could be, that hands that murdered were caressing me gently, made my stomach do flips.
“Do you ever think about it?” I asked. “That…that night.” His jaw was sharp from my angle, eyes staring ahead.
I waited for it. For him to lie or tell me no, that I was the delusional one.
“Every day,” he said.
I shivered.
“I knew you would always be with someone else,” he continued. “You were fucking engaged that night. At the same time, that night sealed something I already knew. It was always you. Would always be you.”
He flipped me to my side, his body cradling and imprisoning mine. He slid his hand between my thighs, and something between a groan and growl slipped out of him as he found me wet. His cock branded my ass, and I reached for it, sliding him back inside me.
Our groans harmonized.
“You feel so fucking good.”
His hand slid around my neck in a gentle, possessive hold that had me seeing stars. I arched against him. His rhythm was nothing like the savage energy of earlier. It was slow, deliberate. I felt every inch of him inside me.
He tilted my head and crushed his lips against mine. My sharp gasp heated his mouth.
He kissed me as he rode into me.
Thrust his tongue into my mouth in a slow, brutal rhythm that matched his cock.
He licked the side of my neck, up to my ear, then back to my lips. I was twisting, coming undone, breaking under the need. My nails dug into his arm.
“Please,” I begged.
“Please what, Rich Girl?” His words were a vicious heat on my ear.
“Please, let me come. Please.”
A rumble of approval shook his chest, and his pace picked up into something violent. He slammed into me, harder, demanding.
My abdomen tightened. Small, helpless whimpers fell from my mouth. Undignified. Very much not becoming a Crowne. But I was so close. I couldn’t see past this need.
“That’s it,” he rasped. “That’s a good girl. Come on my cock.”
His praise, coupled with the way his cock swelled and throbbed inside me, pushed me over the edge. We came together, in a mix of groans.
“You’re mine, Gemma Crowne,” he said. “I’m never letting you go. Ever.” The last word disappeared into a low growl.
He held me tight to his chest as he finished, one arm wrapped around my chest, the other still on my neck. Still inside me, his come dripped along my inner thighs.
Slowly, the hazy afterglow of my orgasm faded.
I’m never letting you go.
My gut twisted at the possession in his voice. I wanted that, I wanted it too badly. But he’d have to let me go, eventually. The nightmare still waited outside this dream.
“I should probably get going,” I whispered.
I tried to pull away and his grip on my neck tightened. “Why?”
“It’s been hours,” I added. “People are probably freaking out. Maybe I can clear things up.”
“And what are you going to do about it, Gemma? What’s your solution? How do you rewind and go back to before?”
I opened my mouth but said nothing.
I don’t know.
He slid out of me and I felt empty. Hollow.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my back to him. I felt the mattress dip with his weight as he got out of bed.
That familiar coldness crept in, the one that always followed any type of intimacy with us.
He came to stand in front of me, and my throat went dry. His abs slick with sweat, outlining every cruel, rigid detail. His inked cock meeting my eyes. Dirty, reckless thoughts swept my mind.
It would be so easy to put him in my mouth. So easy and so right.
I shook my head.
“I’m the Reaper. I live in hell.” He bent down and thumbed my chin. “You don’t get to leave hell.”
My lips parted at the intensity in his eyes. At the soft way he spoke.
Just as quickly as it came, it vanished.
“You chose this.” He stood back up, folding his arms. “Don’t start acting like a damsel now.”
“But…” How will this work? What about my family? What about his very real job as the king of the Underworld? I didn’t ask any of this, my tongue tied. Instead I asked, “But how?”
He shrugged. “People will die.”
“I can’t…I can’t stay here. People will wonder.”
“It’s been one day. Pretty sure your family will think you’re off getting drunk somewhere.”
That hurt, so I laughed. “Fuck my family. They wouldn’t notice if I were gone for months. I have more followers than the president, than Ariana Grande, than fucking Beyoncé. They’ll notice.”
One time I went twenty-four hours without posting and people thought I’d died.
By my count…we were about twelve hours away from that.
“Tell them the truth.”
I blinked.
“You traded in your pretty crown to fuck the worst man in town.”
His voice was hard. The gentle rasp I’d felt against my skin now replaced by cold iron.
The anniversary party was coming up. My mom—
Oh God, my mom.
Was she okay?
Grim grabbed his pants, sliding into them. Then he turned, like he was just going to leave.
“Wait—I can’t stay here. I have a life! I’m the most famous girl in America. People will notice if I’m gone.”
“You shoulda thought about that before you tattooed death on your neck,” Grim spoke, his voice rough.
Goose bumps went up my spine. He’d said it like my life was ending.
I stared at where blood still caked and splattered on my body. “Our two worlds will never work together. You said it yourself.”
“You’re right.” A soft grin quirked his lips to the side. “Welcome home.”
He slammed the door shut.