Page 283 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

I feel something there. A raised edge.

She parts her legs without shame, only fierce devotion.

I drop to my knees, reverence washing over me.

The second I see it, my breath shatters.

A letter.

Carved into her inner thigh.

A “D”.

My fucking initial.

I trace the mark with my finger—so lightly she shivers.

Lust floods my body, throat tight.

I press my lips to the raw wound.

She moans—soft, broken—fingers threading through my hair.

“You’re perfect,” I whisper. Another kiss. And another.

I can’t stop.

Standing, I kiss her mouth again, messy and deep, while she slides her hand into my pants.

I press my forehead to hers, panting like I’ve just fought a war—and maybe I have.

My voice breaks as she fists my cock.

“Mark me.”

Her hands falter.

“Mark me, Poppy,” I breathe. “Put your fucking mark on me. I’m yours. Forever.”

I see the moment it hits her—that truth.

That I don’t care how deep her darkness runs.

Because mine was always waiting for her.

Islide to my knees in front of him, not to worship—but to claim.

Declan leans back in the exam chair, legs spread, arms resting at his sides like he’s forcing himself not to reach for me. The muscles in his thighs are tight. His breath is already uneven. He looks like he’s waiting to be devoured—and trying to enjoy the wait.

His cock is flushed and heavy, already leaking at the tip. I wrap my hand around the base, slowly, deliberately, and stroke once. His whole body jerks.

“You’re beautiful like this,” I murmur, my voice soft and certain. “Needing me.”

His jaw flexes. He says nothing—but his eyes are on fire.

I kiss the tip, slow and teasing. Then I drag my tongue along the underside and feel the shudder ripple through him.

“Poppy…” His voice is low, cracked, barely hanging on.

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