Page 42 of Our Dark Winter Wish

‘I love you,’ he whispers in a firm promise as he starts to move slowly. ‘I love you, Poppet. Trust me. Let me show you that you have nothing to fear from me. I will never hurt you again.’

He replaces those flashbacks. Him, now. Not him, then. His eyes are filled with life and love. Passion and possession. Compared to the eyes I see when he’s placing those stones on me, which are full of hatred and disgust.

No, I tell myself. Not me. He didn’t put those stones on me but on Dhalia.

It was her death I relived. He did those things toher. Not me.

I focus on his eyes, and I return entirely.

To our home. To my Shadow Master.

To his weight on me as he fucks me on our table.

He lifts himself a little so I can fully fill my lungs. As I do, I continue to cry, a strange sense of relief and despair swelling inside me and bursting out through all the cracks I just can’t fix.

‘Again?’ he asks.

I can’t speak, so I nod, and he gently lowers himself back down onto me and fucks me deeply. The table groans below us, and the whole house shifts as I spill out the raw emotions through gasping sobs.

Dorian pushes himself up and stands, keeping himself buried inside me and continuing his hard thrusts, slamming into me relentlessly.

Archie slowly walks up to my head and looks down at me. He removes his belt and lets it dangle at his side.

‘Lift your head, Pix.’

I do, and he slides the belt underneath. I peer up at him, and just like the two others, he never breaks eye contact with me. Not even as he loops his belt around my neck.

‘I love you,’ he says. ‘Eyes on me.’

Again, I nod. And he tightens the belt.

I’m swinging. Hanging at the end of a rope. It creaks above me as I go wide, my feet dangling meters above the ground.

And when I swing back, I land in Archie’s waiting arms. The rope loose around my neck. I blink, and I’m back home. His forehead is on mine. His eyes bore into mine. His breath mingled with mine.

The belt is loose. I don’t think it stayed tight for even a second.

‘I’m right here,’ he says. ‘You’re not Sinthia. That was her death. Not yours.’

Dorian is still fucking me, and Shaw is holding my hand.

‘Not the belt,’ I manage, my voice hoarse and desperate. ‘Archie, I can’t.’

It’s off before I’ve even finished saying his name and his lips replace the feel of leather. He kisses every part of my throat it touched.

Shaw starts to untie my hands.

‘Don’t!’ I look up at him. ‘Don’t stop. Just… no belt.’

‘His hand?’ Shaw asks. ‘Could you manage his hand?’

I nod, and Shaw rests Archie’s fingers at my throat.

Gently, he clenches. Flickers of the flashbacks start, but Archie kisses my mouth, and I return. He loosens his grip briefly before tightening it again.

Three times he does this before he lets go entirely and lands me with a possessive and desperate kiss. The kind of kiss shared between two bound souls who have been parted for too long.

He lets out a little whine like a sad puppy, clearly upset that I struggled.

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