Page 46 of Where the Dark Things Bloom

I’d slit their throats eventually.

“I can’t,” Lenore whispered. “Not when... they’re watching.”

I pulled back, studying her. Then I walked to the corner, opened the closet, and grabbed three white sheets. I twisted them tight in my fists, walked back, and unfurled each one, draping them gently over the heads of the hanging corpses.

Blood seeped through, blooming like poppies.

“There,” I said with a shrug. “Better?”

She didn’t answer. Just turned away, tears still wet on her cheeks.

I came up behind her, gently licked one from her cheek with the tip of my tongue. Sweet and salty. The snake around my neck shifted—tightening.

I slipped her from my shoulders, placing her back around Lenore’s neck. As Nagi coiled tighter, wrapping her body slowly around Lenore’s throat, she gasped.

“Beg,” I whispered.

“Beg for air.”

I grinned.

“Beg forme.”

“Please,” she whispered, voice trembling like a secret begging to be kept.

“Tell me what you want,” I said, my breath close enough to stir the hair at her temple.

“You,” she answered — no hesitation, just the sharp truth I craved.

I crushed my mouth against hers again, lifting her into my arms like she weighed nothing, her body melting into mine. I carried her to the nearby hook, fastening the rope above her head. Her body hung exposed, and utterly mine.

With one sharp tug, I tore her white top open, the fabric giving way like it had been waiting for permission. Her breasts spilled free; round, full, begging for the heat of my mouth. I hooked my fingers around the band of her thong and dragged it down, letting it fall to the floor in silence.

Nagi, slithered across her shoulders, hissing low as it coiled down her spine. It loosened, then tightened again at her throat, snake, just like me, knew how to wait. How to strike.

I cupped her breast in my palm, kneading it slowly before teasing her nipple between my lips, biting, just enough to make her gasp, just enough to raise goosebumps along her skin.

My cock was already aching, straining against my pants. I wanted her — the weight of her, the tightness, the way she’d open for me like no one else. I circled her like a predator, dragging a finger across the curve of her hip, letting the anticipation stretch until it snapped.

She met my gaze — wide-eyed, hungry, ready.

I unbuttoned my pants, letting them fall, the belt clinking as it hit the floor. Then I stepped forward, lifting one of her legs onto my shoulder.

But not yet. Not until I tasted her.

I kissed the inside of her thigh, then moved in — lips brushing against her lower lips, tongue gliding over the slick heat of her. She was already wet, her body honest in a way her mouth hadn’t yet learned to be.

I teased her clit with the tip of my tongue, then circled it, building her up, dragging the tension higher and higher. Her moans turned to whimpers, her hips pressing against my face, begging without words.

I slid two fingers inside her, curling them until I found that place that made her shudder. Her inner flesh clenched, tight, pulsing around me.

“Yes,” she cried. “God, yes.”

And still, the world around us didn’t matter. The ruin, the chaos, the half-alive shadows watching from the dark, none of it existed at this moment. Just her. Just me.

As her pleasure built, I withdrew my fingers, slick with her. I rose to my feet and pressed my fingers against her lips. She took them eagerly, sucking them clean while staring into my eyes like she could devour me whole.

I kissed her, tasting her on both our tongues.

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