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I whimpered, unable to find the words to reply.
He dug his fingers hard into my hips, my ass, lifting me enough to push inside me just slightly—enough to tease and stretch. To make me whimper, needing more. The press was too thick, too much, and I moaned, rolling my hips.
I moved my hands to his hair, gripping hard—too hard, to the point that any normal man would have been screaming—and shifted my hips forward, helping to impale myself on his length.
I nearly screamed as he filled me, and for a moment, I couldn’t move,the combination of pain and pleasure brutal. Dizzying.
His fingers stayed wrapped around my throat as he plunged into me, over and over, punishing, possessing. I bucked my hips, wanting him deeper, and dragged my nails down his chest, fascinated when I saw I’d drawn blood.
“Scream loud for me, little monster. Scream so loud that the forest knows you’re mine.”
I whimpered, then cried out, my muscles spasming, shuddering, the heat and pressure building in my belly.
He reached between us, pinching my clit roughly, too hard, and I screamed—whether from pain or ecstasy, I wasn’t entirely sure.
I pressed my own arm into my mouth to keep from waking the entire Waywoods and felt the muscles of my core clench around him just as he yanked himself free, covering my stomach with his release.
I blinked a few times, dazed, and stared up at the canopy of trees overhead as I willed my knees to stop trembling. It took far too long, and finally, a long time later, I registered the sting in my arm. My eyes widened at the sight of it, and I raised the wound to show Bael.
He shrugged. “Instinct.”
I shook my head. That was not what worried me. The wound on my arm was perfectly done, like an animal bite.
My teeth should not be that sharp.
53
LONNIE
THE INN, COASTAL SWAMP TOWN
Iwoke the following morning cocooned in Bael’s arms. The inn was indeed revolting, but I’d slept better than I had in a long while.
Not wanting to wake him, I tiptoed out of bed and moved toward the door on quiet feet. It was early yet, and I doubted anyone would be awake.
I was wrong.
I opened the door and immediately walked into Scion on the landing. I jerked back, and he and I danced around each other, suddenly awkward. I flushed slightly, remembering the other night and how abruptly things seemed to have shifted back to…if not normal, then certainly not the way they’d been in Inbetwixt.
“Good morning, my lord,” I muttered.
“Don’t fucking call me that,” he snapped.
I raised an eyebrow. I couldn’t recall him ever specifically telling me not to say it before—though, to be fair, I was only doing so out of habit…or mocking. “Why not?”
We stood in the dimly lit stairwell, and though he was a few steps below me, we were about the same height, able to make eye contact for once. It was…overwhelming.
He looked like he was about to reply, but then he shook his head, retreating down a few more stairs. I deflated, entirely too disappointed.
“So, do you now hate me again?” I asked. “Should I worry about assassination attempts? Or are you afraid of me like everyone else?”
He looked back up sharply. “I’m not fucking afraid of you.”
“So you hate me, then, or am I still not worth even enough for that.”
He clenched his jaw, refusing to answer. That sparked my interest—he’d always answered questions like this before, even direct ones. I took a few steps closer.
“Don’t,” he said sharply. His expression was conflicted—haunted. Like an addict who has grown to hate their vice but still cannot turn away.
