Page 71 of Cursed Shadows 2

My hands slap against his back with a sudden surge of need that flames through me. The bite of my nails catch on the ribbed scars smearing his back—all he gives in answer is a hiss of pain. My throat tightens around the harsh grunts he thrusts out of me.

Weaved together, our guttural sounds are anything but sweet, they are desperate and hungry to destroy.

Grip firm on my neck, he slams into me with the same force he uses to bring me down on his cock. There’s nothing sweet or tender about the way he takes me—this is primal, hateful fucking and I feel every bit of it stretching me, his fingers digging too hard into my neck, his grunts too savage.

A gravelled sound ribbons out of my throat, wrapped in a choke. My lashes flutter shut as those spears of pleasure start to piston through me.

Pushing his weight up, he lifts himself enough to have his nose brush mine. A mockery of his affections, one he used to offer so tenderly, now stained by our poison.

His words are a throaty growl, a threat, “Don’t you ever close your eyes on me.”

He punches his command with a brutal thrust that fills me with an ache strong enough to earn a hiss from me.

My head falls back, my lips forming around a hollow cry.

He’s fast to devour it, devourme. Nothing sweet in the way he kisses me. It’s consuming and bitter and hateful. His mouth crashes down on mine and he eats up my whimpers, as his thrusts grow harder, deeper, stretching me. The pain dizzies me, the pleasure tingles my bones and curls my toes.

All I can do is be his doll, I have no room to move, to adjust the angle, and I find I don’t want to—I’m relishing the pain he delivers with the pleasure.

I need both.

Weneed both.

He delivers.

Fleetingly, I hope there’s silencing magick in these walls, vines to feast on the cries rising through me.

All punishing hatred in him is lost as he searches for his own pleasure. Mouth pressed against mine, his grunts turns raspy, impatient, and his pace becomes erratic.

Now, he drives himself into me like I am home.

And as I shout my climax into his mouth, he eats it up like it’s my fucking soul—and his own comes in a groan that shudders his body.

He doesn’t lose his pace. He keeps the harsh slams into me, over and over and over until—his body twitches with a surge of tension I feel deep in my cunt.

My arms hug tight around him, like no matter how firmly I hold on, he might still slip away. I hold him through it, feeling his harsh pants against my lips, the frown of his brow against mine, every shudder that rattles him.

Then he bites my lips hard enough to earn a wince from me. “Turn over.”

And that Quiet, he takes me again.

16

††††††

Tiny threads tickle my nose. Cocooned in the thick black blanket that reminds me something of furs but plusher, I blink awake in the dim light of the bedroom.

More than the blanket, a solid weight is wrapped around me—it pins me in place. Then I feel it all; a chest carved from muscle pressed against my bare back, a solid arm draped over my middle, and the warmth of steady breaths at the crown of my head.

All of it swirls back to me in flashes.

And my lips tug into a sleepy smile.

We are bonded.

The sigh of relief I breathe is dense enough to deflate me, and I sink into the soft mattress a bit more. Good. I want to stay here all phase. All my life.

But it’s the start of the Warmth, I feel that in the beads of sweat gathering on my forehead, and this is the final phase before the first passage.

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