Page 87 of Her Blood Revenge

My skull cracks, and she screams a sob.

I have never loved anyone or anything before. I’m a monster. I love like a monster. I possess and command and own. She is not monster enough to accept what I have to offer. If she does not kill me now, her fate will be sealed. I will keep her until she expires.

And between the three of us, we will destroy her long before she takes her last breath.

I clench her doll.

‘Put me out of my misery, Poppet Doll. And put yourself out of yours.’

I blink the blood from my eyes. The ringing in my ears is deafening, and the slight weight of her body atop me is growing heavier and heavier with every passing second.

She raises her fist again, and I know that this one will be the one to have my brain leaking through my ears.

‘Do it. End our suffering.’

I’ll die for her. It’s the only thing, the only soul, I would ever be willing to die for.

But it’s her lips that crash into me. Not her fist.

Her wonderful, blood-splattered and split lips meet mine with shuddering breaths and painful whimpers. I open my eyes. Her fist is still raised and ready to fly but unmoving above. She opens her eyes, releasing two large tears. Each one lands on my face, warming me. Her forehead rests on mine.

‘I love you too,’ she whispers sadly.

I have no words to offer. No comfort for her. She loves me against her better judgment, and it’s beyond her comprehension. It’s beyond mine, too.

I slide my free hand into her hair, keeping her close.

‘You’re a monster.’ She whispers the words.

‘I’myourmonster. If you’ll have me.’

She leans down and kisses me again. The sound of our lips and the rainfall are all I can hear. The smell of her blood and mine is all I can smell.

She should be killing me. Instead, she’s kissing me. Her hands go to my trousers, and she takes me in hand, stroking my length as she cries into our kiss.

I bunch up the skirts of her wedding dress. The dress she was to wear as she wed my best friend, and I bunch it up around her hips.

‘Ashe-’

‘Don’t call me that,’ she bites back, her hand still working me beneath her. ‘Never.’

She rests the tip of my cock at her entrance and continues to pump me. My tip gets warm and wet as she works me, her arousal building and making me slick, and all I want is for her to lower herself onto me and soak me in her warmth. I fight the urge to pull her onto me. To slam her down and impale her.

She’s in control. She makes the call.

Kill me. Or fuck me.

Either way, one of us is doomed.

She lowers herself, her head falling back as my cock sinks inside her.

Her familiar moves from her wrist to mine and moves up my arm, past my neck and back to her mistress, leaving behind a warm sensation that shoots straight to my cock.

My hands clamp down on her hips as she starts to rise up and down. It feels fantastic for me, but I want it to feel incredible for her. She’s inexperienced at riding a male. Up and down isn’t what will get her where I want her to be, so I move her back and forth. Back and forth. Back and fucking forth. Her eyes are on the canopy above. On the stars and the falling rain. Blood smothers us both from our brutal fight. Tears taint our cheeks.

She lets out a beautiful moan as my head falls back, every inch of me relishing in this formidable and broken woman.

My woman. My witch.

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