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No idea what that means, but it seems to choke Liam up. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” Wells’s eyes find Liam’s in the rearview mirror, conveying reassurance. “Take some time.”
“Yeah.” Liam buries his face in my hair, breathing in what can only be a rancid aroma of captivity, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Thanks, Chief. We need it.”
Not long after that, we finally veer into the gated driveway of the grand French chateau I’ve been calling home. Everything feels more tentative than before. Death’s proximity heightens the importance of every decision, those concerning my family too.
Since Ty appears unscathed, he enters the front door, distracting the Noires and Natasha from our disheveled state as we bolt up the back stairway from the garage entrance. Liam quickly strips both of us down in his bathroom and shoves me into the hot shower. All his movements are hurried and hasty, like he can hear a ticking countdown. To what exactly?
His intensity is frightening, as is the way he’s watching me. There’s something he’s not saying.
Once we’re both wet, he brushes my teeth, instructing me to spit near our feet. I’d be grossed out, but the pink water pooling at our ankles and the crimson drips drizzling like rain down my legs must desensitize me to what would ordinarily be disgusting. This is a far cry from the life I anticipated. Maybe no less a prison. I’m not sure.
He attacks my mouth, his tongue sweeping into me with velvety strokes that are more possessive than ever before.
It’s vicious and beautiful.
Claiming and commanding.
Lethal and starved.
Everything he was in that first kiss at the barn when I felt myself snap, craving the freedom only his shackles seem to offer. Now, it’s even more.
He hoists me up to his hips, curling me around him as the scarlet sprinkling hustles down the drain. In perfect unison, he tweaks one of my hardened nipples with a delectable sting and thrusts inside me, groaning against my gasping lips, the sensation of him filling me nothing short of a divine excursion.
“Give it to me, Ace. I want it all. Every. Fucking. Thing.” The tone of his delivery is downright murderous, hoarse and riddled with some sort of torment, so I don’t say anything in return.
But even as I moan in ecstasy, I’m aware that a kill still dresses me.
Pressing me against the slick and dewy polished concrete tiles, he drives his hips forward in punishing pumps, his lips wetting my ear with a freakish dip into my thoughts. “You’re ravishing like this, Carver. The pieces of that motherfucker still stuck to your skin as I fuck you. And your sopping cunt tells me you love it. My filthy girl.”
He’s so depraved. Warped and wicked. I’m not sure why that does me in, but the restless, exhausted twitch of my muscles and heart and soul cling to everything lewd and unholy inside him. Maybe it’s what I’ve been searching for all along. Although I don’t recognize this version of me even if it does feel fitting.
The past two months have me so screwed up, but as he tips me over the blissful cliff, I don’t even care. It all melts into the oblivion he propels me toward, his grunts echoing off the walls to swirl in with the haze of steam and the bloody desecration still marring us.
Is this who I am? Someone who carves rapture out of ruins, who loses herself to euphoria at the foot of evil tombs?
“Mine,” he snarls, biting my collarbone in a branding chomp while spilling into me.
Fuck, that jolt of pain only extends my unraveling. Maybe that’s all the answer I need.
I’m his.
As we float down from our high, he drops my legs, pulling out, only to push his cum back inside me while staring at the action like he’s memorizing it. The gesture and his staunch resolve have my insides fluttering into a gooey mess.
“I want you always fucking filled with my cum, for it to be constantly dripping out of you.” He grips my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his mossy greens, the gold flecks pulsing with a menacing warning as he cups my pussy with the other hand and slides his cum-coated fingers off my jaw and across my lips, repeating his caveman utterance. “Mine.”
Guessing he’s waiting for an answer, I offer it easily. “Yours, Liam.” I might not have reconciled all that means or what the future looks like for us, but I can give him that much today.
After I confirmed I was his, he soaped me up without a word, scrubbing my hair and nails and crimson-stained skin, checking over every inch of me until he was satisfied it was all gone. Then, he wrapped me in a towel, combed and braided my hair, and left to gather our things.
Caretaking but distant.
We ate a swift dinner a couple of hours after sunset and said our goodbyes, Ivy tearing up through every word.
At one point, Liam hauled her against him, dragging her index finger to brush just under his ear as he trilled a sweet, “I’ve got Celeste, and I’m always with you, High Society.”
That finally calmed her down.
