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Fucking gods, I should have known better by how my mother distracted me. Her visits to Purgatory are so rare, and her servants have never accompanied her to my realm.
I wash my Butterfly’s pink curls until they return to their rosy hue. By the end, her skin shimmers with a lustrous godly oil of night-blooming flowers—the kind that only grow in Purgatory, the strongest flowers in all realms. Much like her.
Now, I lay her down on the bed so I may tend to her wounds. The oil merely cleansed them and eliminated any risk of infection. Her eyes are closed, but she doesn’t flinch at my touch. No. On the contrary, her legs are parted, thighs spread in vulnerability. I didn’t remove my pants, but now, my cock threatens to split right through the wet sodden fabric.
Needing some relief, I unbutton the breeches, giving my dick some room to breathe. It falls, heavy, hard, and hung upon the bed…right between her thighs. I know she can feel the soft steel sides.
“Aradia…” I cup her forehead. Trembling beneath me, she opens those mystical blue-green eyes, no less dazzling or luminous. They’re enough to steal the very breath from my lungs. “I bear the kiss of healing in my realm. A different kind of healing that will not only close up the wounds by their hands, but it will annihilate the memory of their touch. It does not come without its risks, but—”
“Will I forget?” she asks, inhaling sharply.
My eyes dart between hers. Confusion washes over me because she’s knit her brows and tightened her lips into a frown.
“It will be like a bad dream. One you may remember distantly, but you won’t feel.”
At first, she purses her lips in conflict. What in all Purgatory is going on in her head?
“Just close up the wounds, Eros.”
“What?” I flex my muscles, frustration pulsing through my veins.
“I’ll take the superficial healing. Please, just close up the wounds”—she taps the knife lines upon her chest beneath her delicate collarbone—“but not the memory of their touch.”
“Why?”
Vicious emotions course through me, but I have no right to argue. No right to overthrow her word with my ego-driven need to possess her down to her trauma-born wounds.
Her willpower undoes me when she arches her throat, rising to confront me. “If I can’tfeelthe memories, then I won’t feelthis.”
My nostrils flare. “What?”
“All of this.” She plants a soft palm upon my harsh and stony chest. Lifting her glassy eyes, lashes blotted with starry tears, she explains, “I won’t feel my purest relief when you came for me. I won’t feel how you satisfied my need for vengeance when you unleashed your wrath upon them. I won’t feel the moments of how safe and warm I felt when you carried me here. And the ones from the bath. And now…all I want you to do is close up the wounds and kiss the pain away. The type of kiss that won’t erase the wounds. The kiss that will give me something…”
Once again, I’m leaning in to cup her head, brushing my chest against hers as I ask, “Something…?”
“Beautiful.”
When I sweep in to capture her lips, the beauty of her heart unravels me. She’s a thief in my blood, setting it ablaze. Her fears, her desires, her hungers are deep, possibly deeper and darker than mine. Like how she entered my realm where she should never have gone.
I am the tether holding her here, binding her to me. Because I’m a greedy, depraved bastard son of Chaos who would prefer to spiral her into addiction until I become her perfect poison in her blood and the bearer of her heart when mine has not beat in over a century.
I feed on her mouth, taking away the minor pain of her wounds before kissing down her jaw. Ravenous, I taste her sweet skin, imagining how fulfilling this would be in my god form beyond this monstrous entity.
Brushing my nose along the curve of her throat, I listen to her quickening breath, the thrumming of her pulse, and smell her dark and wild blood full of longing and desire.
We hunger for each other. Her body softening under mine, despite the visible shudders, confesses her surrender. As her eyes flutter to a close, I touch my lips to her wounds. Slow and sensual, I take my time, making her aware of how her healing and pleasure are within my control. If she truly wants me, she must accept the man beyond the monster.
One brush of my mouth along the line marring her fair skin from the knife heals the wound, skin sealing without a scar.
“Eros…” she whispers as I hover my warm breath along her skin. She arches her spine, offering her full breasts to me. Her nipples have hardened, no doubt to painful tips desiring the lash of my tongue.
I rove my gaze along her body, to more bruises and other fine lines of blood, but I know the deeper need. A need to rewrite the curse of their hands and teeth upon her flesh.
Instead, I will give her mine.
“Eros!”
Her whisper turns to a desperate mewl once I’ve taken her taut bud between my lips to give it a painful tug. Her hands reach for me, but my cock already rages so close to her exquisite sex. It takes all my strength to keep my hips from thrusting, lest the tip part her folds, which grow slick from her wanton desires.
