"You know exactly what it is," I manage to choke out.
He smirks, a flash of white teeth in the moonlight, and then he leans forward. His tongue licks a slow, agonizing path from the inside of my thigh upward. I whimper, my fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him closer in a silent plea.
"Patience," he whispers, his hands moving up to grip my waist, pinning me so hard against the tree that I can feel the ridges of the bark through my shirt.
"I want to feel every heartbeat. I want to know exactly when you lose yourself to me."
He buries his face in me like a starving man, his tongue finding the center of my chaos with a devastating precision. My kneesbuckle. I would have collapsed into the mud if he wasn't holding me up with such brutal strength.
A loud, unrestrained moan breaks from my lips, echoing through the silent, dark forest. He was right. The only hand that should be suppressing my voice is his, but right now, he wants to hear every shattered sound I make.
He drinks me in, his movements steady and rhythmic, driving me toward a cliff I didn't even know existed. The world starts to blur. The trees, the moon, the fear. It all melts away until there is nothing left but the sensation of his lips and the overwhelming power he radiates.
I’m a pathologist; I know the human body inside and out. I know where every nerve ends. But he... he isn't just touching me. He's rewriting me. He’s devouring my soul.
As the first wave of release starts to crash over me, he pulls back just an inch, looking up at me again.
"Who owns you, Madeline?"
He demands, his voice thick with a hunger that matches my own.
"Tell me who owns this moment."
"You," I gasp, my eyes fluttering shut as the peak hits me, my body arching into his.
"Only you..."
He catches me, his arms wrapping around me as the tremors take over, holding me close to his chest while I sob for breath. I’m a mess, covered in mud, half-naked in a dark forest, held by the city’s most dangerous phantom.
I’m leaning against the cold, rough bark of the oak, my legs still trembling from the aftershocks of a pleasure that felt more like a surrender.
He holds me for a moment longer than necessary, his strength is the only thing keeping me upright. My mind is a chaotic messof professional ethics, pure terror, and a new, dark addiction I can't even name.
He is the person who put Jake on my table. He is the shadow that ruined my peace. And yet, as I breathe in the scent of him, I feel more alive than I have in years.
He slowly pulls back, his hands lingering on my waist before he reaches down to pick up my discarded clothes from the mud. He doesn't say a word as he helps me step into my pants, his movements efficient and strangely devoid of the heat from moments ago. The "care" is back, but it’s cold now. Clinical.
"I have to go," I whisper, the words feeling heavy in the night air.
"I... I don't even know who you are. To me, you’re just a stranger. A title. The Arbiter."
He pauses, his hand stopping mid-air as he was about to tuck a stray, damp lock of hair behind my ear. He looks at me, and for the first time, the predatory mask slips just enough for me to see the man underneath. A man who looks tired, haunted, and ancient despite his handsome features.
"The Arbiter is what the city calls me, Madeline," he says, his voice a low, melodic vibration that seems to blend with the rustling leaves.
"It’s a role I play for the Elite. A judge for those who think they are above the law."
He leans in, his lips brushing against my temple one last time.
"But you... you don't answer to a title. And I don't want you calling me by one. Not anymore."
He takes a step back into the shadows, his silhouette starting to dissolve into the darkness of the trees.
"My name is Deimos."
The name hangs in the air between us like a curse. Deimos. The Greek God of terror. It fits him so perfectly it makes my blood run cold.
"Go home, Madeline," he commands, his voice now coming from the darkness, further away.
