Page 111 of Mortdale

Another one of his pained groans echoed down my throat as he pulled the dagger out of his ribs and threw it across the room. His chest rose rapidly, and he hissed when I brushed my fingers over the cut and slipped them into his flesh. His chuckles fanned against my cheek as he pressed his lips there. “You’re killing me here, Willow.”

His blood dripped down my chest, rolling down between my breasts and pooling on my stomach. His eyes flashed, watching the crimson liquid slide between us, coating my sex and his length.

His hips pumped against mine in a harsh rhythm that sent the desk thudding against the floor. “Fuck,” he whispered against my mouth. “You take it so well. Fuck, honey, look how well you take it.” He watched me as he fucked me, mouth parted and tipped in a satisfied smirk. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he hissed when I removed my fingers from his cut, cupping my breast, tugging and pinching my tender nipple, searching for relief.

My feet arched against the wooden edge when a coil of pressure built deep inside me. “Logan, oh God—”

Pressing my face to his shoulder, I screamed. A flash of pleasure resounded through my bones and down to the tip of my toes, my entire body trembling. He dragged and chased every shiver, fucking me even harder. Not stopping, not even slowing, dragging and stretching my climax to a blinding axis.

The desk rocked with his harsh thrusts, and a shudder raked across him as he came inside me with a groan, his eyes veiled and his mouth parted, sucking in thick gulps of air.

He held me there, pressed against his chest, leaving breathless kisses on the top of my head. “You okay?” he asked. When my mouth parted only with empty breaths, he pulled back a little. “Honey?”

“Good,” I said, arching back to rest my palms on the desk and dropping my head back as I smiled. “So good.”

I gasped when he slipped out of me, and we both watched as his come dripped out of me, turning a rosy colour as it slid down my flushed sex and my bloodied thighs.

My cheeks burned under his perusal, and the bottom of my stomach dipped with a familiar ache at his words, “Saints, you look so beautiful fucked and covered in my blood.”

Biting a cigarette between his teeth, he dragged his come back up my thigh and pushed it back inside me, keeping his fingers pressed against my wet, aching core as he leaned in to capture my lips in a slow, languid kiss. “I should have done this a long time ago. I want everyone within a mile to smell me on you, to know who you belong to.”

I smiled, lifting a finger to light his cigarette, delirious and content, floating a few miles from this earth. I wanted to claim him the same, mark him all over. But…my days were numbered. I’d be turning him into a gravestone bearing my name.

Resting a fist against the table, he caged me in, blowing a cloud of smoke above us. Mine, his—two pulses were thundering in my ears. Both too loud, distracting, racing against each other. It was dizzying. And I loved it.

“We’re filthy,” I said, taking the cigarette from his bloodied fingers and bringing it to my lips. Sweat, blood, and come stuck to my skin and hair in the most disgustingly, maddeningly delicious way.

He licked his lips, watching me. “Very fucking filthy,” he said, keeping his eyes on me as he leaned in to grab my nipple between his teeth and pulled.

I shivered from the violently delectable pain coursing down each inch of my belly, biting hard on my lower lip until I felt lightheaded.

“Willow?” he asked, his voice fading to the back of my head. “Honey?”

Then the entire room went black.

Warm water embraced my body. The soft smell of bergamot and jasmine mixed with the scent of cloves lingering in the air tickled my nose, stirring me awake. The water had turned a rosy pink, bits of herbal soak floating on its surface. My back was pressed to a hard chest, an arm banded tightly around my waist, holding me against him while his other rested against the tub, holding a cigarette between his fingers.

He let out a relieved sigh when I peeled my spine off his stomach and turned to cuddle against him.

I nuzzled his neck. “How long was I out for?”

He kissed the top of my nose. “An hour or so.”

My mouth parted in a yawn, and I smiled to myself. “Best hour of sleep I’ve had in a while.”

“Longest hour of my life,” he grunted, sliding a hand between my thighs, cupping my sore sex. “Tell me I didn’t hurt you.”

My teeth dug into my bottom lip as I slowly rocked against his fingers. “I liked the pain. A lot.”

He blew a cloud of smoke away from me and handed me the cigarette. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Sticking it between my lips, I straddled his hips and fed the smoke between his parted lips before I kissed him. “Hi.”

He brushed his nose against mine. “Hi, honey.”

I ghosted a finger down the bridge of his nose, past his eyes and over his lips, and his eyes fluttered shut. I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. On his jaw, his chin, his neck, his scars, feeling him shiver and tremble against me. “Willow, Willow, Willow,” he chanted, dropping his head back against the tub.

“If I were the one with the fangs,” I said, tracing a finger over the column of his neck before licking his pulse and closing my lips over it. “I would be—”