Page 62 of The Cannibal

His hands moved from my head, down to my neck, the touch softening.

“Did you?”

“No.”

“How nice of you to answer your poisoner.” I couldn’t help a sneer pulling at my lip as the words escaped.

He refused to answer, his eyes now wandering.

“What am I to you, Silas?” I demanded.

His hand brushed over my exposed shoulder, then against the upper chest. There was no readable expression on him. He pressed his palm to the skin, a flare of anger in his eyes. I could only be grateful he didn’t look at me directly for whatever was running through his mind.

“Was I even a lover to you?” The more I spoke, the more unsteady the words.

“No.” His breathing picked up, our noses nearly touched with the suffocating proximity. I could feel every struggled breath.

“Was I always food?” I blinked away the tears of defeat.

A gasp came when his lips brushed against my cheek, then jaw.

Would he kiss or bite?

“Silas,” I strained, craning my neck away from him, “what am I?”

He pressed his mouth to my neck, my skin nearly caught between his teeth, as if he had to remind himself he couldn’t bite, that he could not taste me any longer.

“Mine.” The word released like a wish to the Lord himself. “You have always been mine.”

“No, I want you to say it.” My hands balled in his shirt, his body pressed firmly into mine. One of his hands was still on my chest, his breathing steadying on my neck, his other hand holding my face so firm it was like he was afraid to let go.

“My wife,” he whispered between kisses, his shoulders shaking, “my wife.”

He didn’t stop the kisses. Then he dragged the hand on my face across my cheek and to my mouth, something cold against my lips.

Halfway on his index finger was the engagement ring.

He hooked the finger in my mouth, pressing under my tongue.

Only then did he pull away to look at me, his lips so close, I truly thought he was going to pull my mouth open and stick his tongue in.

“Do not.” His finger pressed harder under my tongue, the ring rubbing against my teeth—“take it off again.” A small smirk played on his lips when he glanced at mine. “Or I may make you swallow it next time.”

I closed my lips around his finger obediently.

As he withdrew, it slipped off his finger and danced on my tongue.

“Understood?” He gently pulled at my bottom lip, his first playful gesture.

I slipped the ring on the tip of my tongue, then stuck it back out.

At least it brought a playful sneer to his face.

It was like his anger evaporated from his body. Visibly burned off the tension he was holding on to so dearly. Yet the thing that didn’t move was his hand over my heart. Once he noticed again, all I saw was deep-seated guilt.

I retracted my tongue and stood on my toes, a gentle hand on his face to guide his cheek forward, and a soft kiss on his skin.

Like he was turned to stone, he didn’t move, and I slithered past him. My hand slipped from his cheek, to his neck, then across the chest before it left him completely.