Page 165 of Sorrow & Strangers

“Yes, actually, an apology would be lovely,” I growl, narrowing my eyes in warning as he continues to advance on me slowly.

“You’ll have a long wait. An eternal one,” he says, stopping barely an inch away, hovering over me.

“You are not to touch me unless I give you permission,” I snarl.

“Oh, you begged me to, remember?” he says, his smirk lining his voice. Over his shoulder, the spell starts to play, and I watch as his lips move against my ear. I hear the need in my voice as I beg, “Please.” He shows me how my hand clenched his shirt in an iron grip, holding his body to mine. It plays from his perspective, and I can see how completely undone I am, how wanton.

“Any other lies you want to tell me?” he whispers seductively. My core tightens, not just from his voice, but my body remembers how it felt when he was near me, when he was touching me, when his warmth infused my skin.

“Can we just train?” I ask, pushing down the memory. “I want to get home.”

The stranger nods, but I can still feel the smugness radiating from him. I ignore it and close my eyes, and I immediately feel him start to probe at my mind. He starts slow, his touch featherlight as he wanders. I gently redirect him, and then he puts more force behind it. He pushes a little harder, and I push him back, which elicits a growl from him, so I redirect him again. Every time I allow him to get closer to the memory, taunting him with it, he finds it beyond his grasp. I feel his frustration intensify, and he becomes more determined to reach the memory. The tendrils of his power poke at the edge of it, and I shove him back so hard he stumbles back.

“Little fae,” he growls, and my fists clench. “You’re supposed to trick me.”

“You’re supposed to respect my boundaries, so I guess we’re both being annoying,” I growl back.

“Being annoying?” He crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re pissed about this morning.”

“Fucking right I am.”

He watches me. “What are you truly angry about? That I marked you as mine, which you are? Or that I didn’t fuck you as you crave?”

My core ignites with a mixture of desire and anger. “I don’t want you to fuck me.”

His power lunges at me, but this time, he isn’t seeking my memories. Instead, he’s giving me an image of his own.

I’m on the floor, on my knees, wearing lacy black lingerie that barely covers anything. He reaches out and cups my chin, tilting my head up to face him before dragging his thumb along my bottom lip. I watch him with dark eyes. Around my neck is a silver necklace secured with a small padlock, a sapphire embedded in the front.

“Fuck me, please, Stranger,” I say, my voice exactly like it was when I begged him.

I moan softly, and my knees buckle a little. His arms slide around me, supporting me.

“You were saying, baby?” he says, with that cruel, seductive smile in his voice.

Hearing the new pet name outside Hell shocks me from my stupor, and I slap him hard across the face, snapping his head to the side. A hiss whistles through his teeth, and then, like a viper, he strikes, grabbing my throat. His hand squeezes hard, and my lips part on a failed gasp.

“Careful. I will retaliate.”

“You going to hit me back?” I snarl, wrapping my hand around his thick wrist, struggling as he controls my airway.

He prowls closer, keeping his hold on my throat, forcing me back until I hit one of the trees. “Oh no, not hit you,” he purrs. “I’ll ruin you.”

“Release me.”

He places his hand over my eyes, and the smoothness of his avatar vanishes, replaced by a calloused palm.

“W-what are you doing?” I pant, staring into the blackness of his hand. No, not this again. I can’t keep doing this. I am not strong enough to continue to deny my feelings, the deep, so-wildly-wrong feelings.

He chuckles cruelly. It isn’t loud, but the sound echoes in the forest. His breath tickles my skin as his mouth moves closer to that mark he left on my neck.

I shiver, my hands scrabbling at his wrist and forearm. “Please.” Again, the word is closer to a longing plea than a rejection.

He hears it too, and he growls softly as his mouth connects with my throat, right over his mark. I can feel his smile pressed against my neck as he sucks gently at the already exquisitely sensitive flesh, his stubbled cheek brushing against my jaw. “Why are you doing this?” I whisper, keeping my breath shallow as I try to avoid brushing my chest against his.

“Because you love when I mark you,” he murmurs against my throat, flicking his tongue over the bruise.

“No-no, I don’t.” He kisses my neck again, and I manage to find my last shred of self-restraint. Releasing his arm, I shove hard against his chest. “No. Stop fucking marking me.” My voice is sharp but heavy with need.