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Clenching my eyes shut, I said, “Guess I ended up at the whorehouse after all.”
Still seated deep within me, he leaned over and ardently kissed between my shoulder blades. “Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone. Never my whore, forever my woman.”
Chapter9
Ada
Iwas dead.
I had to be.
Time meant nothing to the dead.
Time meant nothing to me.
It no longer passed in hours, minutes, or even seconds, but instead, time passed in pieces of my soul chipping away one moan at a time.
“Enosh…”Clink.Dignity, gone.
“Enosh…”Clink.Duty, gone.
“Enosh…”Clink.Hope of escape?
Gone.
Whenever I was awake, the god worshipped my body in ways I hadn’t known existed, from feasting on my sex to rutting me from behind while he pinned me against his throne—sometimes the dais—strokes so violent, bonemeal dusted my breasts after.
He brought me pleasure so many times, it overwhelmed and exhausted me into compliancy. The kind where I often fell to sleep rolled up in my nest, or worse, sitting on his lap as he nuzzled my temple.
When I was his good little mortal—screaming his name across the Pale Court—he brought me flowers. He turned the dais into a garden of pink roses, fragrant lavender, and stunning lilies—all plucked from fields I would never walk again, placed into a cage of bone so I could watch them wilt.
And I wilted alongside them.
Limbs heavy and senses dull, I kneeled on the ground before Enosh, where he sat on his throne, and yawned. “I’m tired.”
“You only just slept, my little one.” He twirled a strand of my hair around his finger, once, twice, then draped it over my bone collar. “Your body shouldn’t be so tired, its weariness burdens even my senses.”
Had I just slept? “Is it night or day?”
“It is both and everything in-between.”
“I don’t understand.”
“No, of course not.” Scooping me up from the floor, he rose and took that one step into my nest, letting me sink into the warm bed of pelts and feathers. “Would you like to paint?”
As if I had any canvas left. The surrounding dais was covered in paintings of roses and ravens. “You could take me outside.”
“Or I could bring outside to the court.” He showed me his hand, palm up, and let bone dust form into the skeleton of a bird. Shortly after, gray flesh covered it and black feathers appeared around it. Its wings soon flapped, lifting into the air, only for tiny feet to wrap around the edge of my hand. “You can play with it.”
“I’m not a child.” A hard-to-defend statement considering how I clung to his neck as he cradled me. “How can you not get bored in here?”
“I assume immortality cured me of that.” His fingers slipped underneath my skirts, stroking my inner thigh. “What happens when my little mortal is irritable?”
“That depends.”
A snarky remark? His cock down my throat. Pretending that I felt nothing? So many orgasms, it left me sore. Refusing to moan his name? His fingers pinching my nymph. Snarling at him, calling him a bastard, and cursing him to drop dead? His cock up my arse…
“I’m unclean,” I said after a while and, when wrinkles formed between his brows, I clarified, “My bleeding arrived when I woke.”
