Page 65 of A Dance Macabre

His dark chuckle vibrates all over my heated skin as he fucks me, slowly, deliberately. “What adelight,” he says, his lip tugging into a harsh grin. “To have your own dagger turn you into my whore.”

His words should incense me, instead, my pussy pulses, squeezing around the ridged handle. I try to reach his collar, but he evades me, sliding the dagger out and throwing it to the ground before crouching down to the floor. His tongue is hotand probing, sucking on my open cut before growling into my skin, his lips trailing over my hips, his short beard leaving a pleasurable prick in its wake.

Grabbing my leg, he throws it over his shoulder, widening my thighs apart. With both hands, he rips up more of my fishnets and then spreads my pussy wide with his fingers. He hums greedily before slipping two fingers inside.

My back arches, Wolfgang’s name sinful and heavy on my tongue as his hot breath dances over my clit before his lips wrap around it.

I feel crazed.

I never want it to stop.

Never wantusto stop.

I claw at his hair, pulling, tugging, digging his face harder into me while he continues to pump into me, his fingers drenched and squelching with my heady arousal.

My climax builds and builds like a powerful current until I have nowhere to go but to freefall.

Wolfgang chooses that exact moment to pull away and stand up. My whines have never sounded more desperate, and I am too far gone to care.

Hastily, he unbuttons his trousers, his blacked-out gaze burrowing a hole into me, and pushes them down his legs. He strokes his cock in his large palm with graceful desperation, his neck straining, teeth gnashing, and cheek stained with my blood.

“If I can’t have you,” he says, his jaw clenching and unclenching, “then let me mark you in all the ways I know how.”

Slamming his hand on the table beside me, his moan turns into a long groan as he comes all over my pussy, the hot ropes of his cum coating my skin.

My clit throbs with aching arousal, the vision of him looking so undone just as enticing as his release dripping down my wet slit. Wolfgang barely takes a breath to recover, his fingers slidingback into where they belong, dragging his cum into my cunt as he begins to fuck me with it.

Grabbing my dress into a fist, he forcibly tugs me up to him, his lips crashing into mine while his thumb toys with my swollen clit. I can taste my blood on his tongue and can hardly fight the need to bite down so I too can revel in the taste of him.

The sound of my arousal mixed with his fills the room, our anguished moans rising up and up and up until my climax crashes into me like a fatal collision. Wolfgang fucks me through it, his kiss turning me into ashes.

It must be only seconds, but eventually we both settle back into our bodies, and with it, reality returns. Wolfgang pulls away first and avoids my gaze, the sudden disunion stinging alongside my fresh cut as we both fix ourselves as best we can. I can feel the itch of dry blood on my cheek but don’t bother trying to wipe it off.

What does it matter?

Let them see what it looks like to crave a Vainglory.

36

MERCY

I’m crawling out of my skin.

If I could zip out of my flesh and slither away somewhere dark, empty, and void of feelings, I would. Instead, I’m walking down the large domed corridor leading to the boardroom, Wolfgang flanking me. The echoes of our clipped footsteps fill the silent chasm between us.

It’s been four days since the attack at the inauguration—two since we last surrendered to ourabsurdcarnal desires.

When our lust-laden thoughts finally cleared, deep in Constantine’s blood cellar, we realized we hadn’t even completed the ritual. With debilitating tension, we replaced the broken vials, now shattered on the floor and filled them with our blood. We left shortly after.

We’ve kept to our separate quarters since, only circling each other like two sharks in bloody waters when it has been absolutely necessary. Like this afternoon, called down for a meeting to discuss any leads about who’s behind this unrest.

Walking into the boardroom, we find two of the four already arrived. Black marker in hand, Gemini is doodling onConstantine's bright pink cast. She’s still in a wheelchair, her leg propped up, soft pink painted toenails peeking out from the cast.

They both look up when they hear us walk in, bright smiles on their faces.

“Their magnificences have arrived,” Gemini says in a jovial tone, returning to his derivative drawing.

Wolfgang doesn’t respond, his expression somewhat impassive while he unbuttons his silk suit jacket before sitting down to face the two with a muffled sigh. I can’t bring myself to sit, pacing at the head of the table instead.

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