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Chapter 19
I’ve kissed lessthan a handful of women in my life.
I’ve fucked far more than that.
Kissing is just not something I’ve ever been very fond of.
It’s too intimate. Vulnerable. When your lips are locked with someone else’s, there are too many variables left open for an attack, and I’ve spent my life on high alert, always anticipating an assault.
But when Elena plasters herself against me, clasping her arms around my neck and dragging my lips to hers, I let her. It’s a much more innocent gesture than the scenarios playing out in my mind—thoughts of pinning her against the wall and spearing her on my cock, as if the trauma from the last twenty-four hours wasn’t enough.
I shouldn’t want to add my own brand to the mix.
I don’t know how, but every time our lips meet, she tastes fucking divine; like a holy scripture written to absolve me of my sins, something sweet and succulent and entirely too pure for her own good.
Then again, a completely pure soul probably wouldn’t have looked at me the way she did after I killed Vincent. Probably wouldn’t kiss me while I’m still covered in his blood and intestines.
Perhaps she’s darker than either of us know.
Her breasts press flush against me, nipples searing into my skin, and I step into the shower, into her, since I’m getting soaked anyway. Forcing her backward, I move so she’s pinned between the wall and me, reaching down and gripping her hips until she whimpers beneath my touch.
My breath is hot as it fans across her face, the action almost requiring conscious effort on my part as I get swept away in the slippery feel of her mouth warring with mine. She’s frantic, on a mission to take what she wants from me, and I groan as she nips at my bottom lip, my resolve crumbling with the slight sting, cock stiffening behind my zipper.
Sliding my hands from her hips, I move around, cupping the firm globes of her ass cheeks, and shove my pelvis forward, lifting. She hops into the movement without breaking our kiss, and both of us cry out as she wraps her legs around my waist, and I slam her back into the tile wall.
“I want you,” she mumbles into my mouth, sighing softly when I bring a hand up, tracing that little pomegranate etched into her skin, before flicking my thumb over one pebbled nipple.
The water pours down on us, her head just barely out of the spray, and she blinks up at me with those golden eyes, flushed with need.
I know she wants me—that’s always been part of the problem.
But right now, with her glorious body on display, breasts heavy as they rise and fall with each of her stuttered breaths, her pussy pulsing where it meets my stomach, water stroking down every inch of skin I want to drag my tongue over—I can’t remember anything except the fact that she’s mine.
Regardless of the situation that led us to this point, or the lack of love or reality between us, that caveat remains.
“You’re sure?” I can’t help but ask, needing verbal reassurance even after I examined her earlier.
She nods. “Make me yours.”
Tearing myself from our kiss, I dip my head, pushing her ass up until I can take a nipple into my mouth; I lash my tongue out in quick, short bursts, and her entire body shudders.
“Oh, my little Persephone,” I say, slowly drawing circles around the dusty pink peak, keeping eye contact as I lap at her. “You already are.”
Despite the purple bruising around one eye, she pinches them both shut when I close my lips over her, sucking and roving until she’s a panting, squirming disastrous beauty. Her fingers thread through my wet hair and tug, encouraging more, grinding her hips forward as she begs for it.
Pulling back, I release her tit with a wet pop, shifting to repeat my actions on the other; I fit the flat of my tongue on the underside and trail up, replacing droplets of water with my DNA, engulfing her when I reach the nipple.
My fingers dig into the meat of her ass, definitely leaving bruises, but there isn’t a single part of me that cares at the moment.
I want her covered in my marks. Purpled from my fingertips, lips red and raw from my own, pussy swollen and dripping my cum.
Flesh broken and bleeding for me.
After tonight, I want there to be no mistaking whose bed she lies in at night. Whose cock she takes, anyway I’ll give it. Whose blood sings for hers.
My body temperature spikes at the notion, the urge to brand her as quickly as possible taking over my actions. Scraping my teeth gently over her once, I test her reaction; she arches into it, as if silently begging for more. Taking her nipple between my teeth, I bite down, watching her chin snap up and her eyes pop open.
“Fuck,” she breathes, fingers tightening in my hair.
