Chapter 4 #2
I snapped my fingers, calling to the shadows that lurked at the edges of my consciousness. They responded eagerly, flowing like liquid darkness across the floor, up the wall, around her wrists and ankles. I shaped them with my will, binding her spread-eagled against the wall.
She struggled against the restraints, testing their strength. The shadows held firm, living extensions of my power.
"What are you doing?" Her voice shook, fear and arousal mixing into something intoxicating.
"Taking what's mine." I stepped back slightly, admiring my work.
With another gesture, the shadows continued their advance, slithering beneath the remaining fabric of her clothing, dissolving it as they passed.
Piece by piece, she was revealed to me… the lean muscles of her stomach, the curve of her hips, the strength in her thighs.
When she was completely naked, exposed and vulnerable, I allowed myself a moment to simply look.
The shadows caressed her skin, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake.
Her chest heaved with rapid breaths, nipples hardening in the cool air.
The tattoos on her arms seemed to writhe in the inconsistent light.
"Beautiful," I murmured, and had the satisfaction of seeing color flood her cheeks. Even now, even like this, she responded to praise. Noted.
I sank to my knees before her, the fabric of my dress pooling around me on the stone floor. The blood—hers and mine—had left dark stains on the pale material, a visual representation of our intertwined fates. I placed my hands on her thighs, feeling the muscles tense beneath my touch.
"Tell me to stop," I challenged, looking up at her from beneath my lashes. "Tell me you don't want this."
Her mouth opened, closed, opened again. No words came out. The curse wouldn't let her lie, not about this.
I leaned forward, pressing my lips to the inside of her thigh. Her skin was warm, alive with the pulse of blood just beneath the surface. I felt her tremble as I moved higher, trailing kisses and small bites across sensitive skin.
When I reached the apex of her thighs, I paused, my breath hot against her most intimate place. I could smell her arousal, see the evidence of it glistening in the dim light. The shadows binding her wrists tightened as she strained against them, trying to move closer.
"Beg me," I whispered against her skin.
"Please," she gasped, the word torn from her throat. "Aurora, please."
My name on her lips was the sweetest magic I'd ever heard.
I gave her what she wanted—what we both wanted—my tongue exploring her with deliberate slowness.
Each stroke, each circle around the sensitive bundle of nerves at her center, was calculated to drive her to the edge without allowing her release.
She tasted sweeter than anything I'd ever tasted.
I wanted to bury myself in her, coat myself in her scent.
Her moans echoed through the empty corridors of the manor, a sound more beautiful than any music. The shadows responded to her pleasure, pulsing and writhing against her skin, amplifying every sensation. I gripped her thighs harder, leaving marks that would bloom into bruises by morning.
When I felt her approaching the edge, I pulled back, ignoring her cry of frustration.
I rose to my feet, my movements unhurried despite the urgency I felt.
Her eyes, when they met mine, were wild with need and something darker…
the recognition that I controlled everything in this moment, including her pleasure and release.
I picked up the dagger from where it had fallen, admiring the way the blade caught the moonlight. With deliberate slowness, I drew the blade across my palm, opening a shallow cut that welled with fresh blood. I swiped it over the handle of the dagger. Our blood mixed on the weapon.
"Blood calls to blood," I murmured, the ancient words of the curse flowing through me. "Desire to desire. Pain to pain."
I traced the blood-slick blade down her body, following the curves and angles that I had just explored with my mouth. When I reached the wetness between her thighs, I paused, watching her face as I pressed the hilt of the dagger against her.
Her body jerked at the contact, a strangled sound escaping her lips. The handle was still warm from my grip, now slick with our combined blood. I moved it in slow circles, watching the play of emotions across her face… Horror. Desire. Surrender.
"This is what you came for," I told her, increasing the pressure. "This is what you were always meant for."
"No," she gasped, but her body contradicted her words, pressing toward the touch, grinding against the end of the handle.
"Yes," I insisted, sliding the hilt inside her with one smooth motion. Her body accepted it eagerly, gripping the intrusion as if it belonged there. Perhaps it did. "You were made for me, Bell. Made to be mine."
I established a rhythm, each thrust punctuated by her cries. My free hand explored the rest of her body—squeezing her breasts, pinching her nipples, sliding up to grip her throat. I wanted to touch her everywhere at once, to claim every inch of her as my own.