Page 157 of Black Castle

Tears cling to her lashes—maybe it’s the rain, maybe it’s everything all at once. The weight of the night, the grave beneath her, the ghostly figure behind her claiming her like she belongs to him. She tightens around him, her body betraying every ounce of sense she once had, every warning she should have heeded.

His voice is a low snarl at her ear, dragging her deeper into the abyss. “Next time a ghost comes out of the shadows to scare you…” He thrusts into her harder, punctuating each word, each sinful promise. “Remember how you were fucked by one. And remember how you came apart, dripping all over your stepmother’s fucking grave.”

What?

Step what?

“Yes, ladybird,” he rasps, his voice wrapped in smoke as he slams into her, his nails digging into her hip. “You’re currently being fucked like a slut on the grave of your nightmare.”

He thrusts harder, his breath thick with cruelty, searing the shell of her ears.

“She screamed, you know,” he murmurs, voice dripping with something reverent. “Isadora, your vicious stepmother. I made sure she did. Because I gave her a chance to redeem herself when I saw your scars. But that night, she fucking pushed me.”

A shiver races her spine, but it isn’t fear that tightens around her ribs. It isn’t revulsion that sends a pulse of heat between her thighs.

“She begged.” He drags his teeth over the side of her neck, the motion a mockery of tenderness. “Called for you at one point, staring at your door, hoping you would jump in to save her. But she forgot she knocked you out cold, left you to die.”

A broken moan stumbles from her lips, her nail digging deeper into the damp soil as pleasure sinks its teeth into her.

His hips roll, measured and punishing, his nails burrowing deep enough into her skin to bruise.

“She sounded like a wounded animal when I took my dagger to her fingers, one by one. The way she gurgles when the last one dropped—”

She clenches, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. The shame, the filth, the sheer obscenity of it all swallows her whole.

He chuckles darkly. “You like that, don’t you?” He licks the spot below her ear, savoring the tremor in her muscles. “Is this the darkness I have been waiting for?”

Another brutal thrust, another wave of pleasure crashing against the horror of his words. The fear still lingers, a whisper at the edges, but it’s drowned by something deeper. Something she can’t name.

Something he is pulling from her, one filthy, aching stroke at a time.

Chapter Forty-nine

Vivienne

You’re just as fucked up as me, ladybird.” Zev’s breath is harsh, hot, and ragged as it fans Vivienne’s ear, his fingers tightening around her throat, pressing not enough to hurt but enough to make her gasp. He stills inside her, thick and pulsing, stretching her walls as though he owns her body, her pleasure.

“Look at you.” His voice is rough against the storm. “So pathetic and needy. Still squeezing me so fucking tight while riding my cock on your stepmother’s grave.”

A violent tremor rips through her, shame tangling with something darker. Her nails claw at the wet earth, dirt grinding beneath her fingertips as her hips jerk, desperate to meet his next thrust. And when he pulls out, leaving her empty just for a second, she barely has time to blink before he slams back into her, knocking breath from her lungs.

“I bet you want me to tell you all the details.” His words slither down her spine like a sin while her moans slice through the clasp of thunder as his pace quickens. The wet sounds of their bodies rival the rain pelting on the headstone, soaking them both in a chill, illicit baptism.

“Should I tell you?” His nails dig into her hip as he pounds into her, each thrust maddening and provoked.

“Answer me, you fucking slut, or forget about coming tonight.” He growls, yanking her head backward by a fistful of her hair until her lustful eyes stare up at his hollow and dark ones through the ghost mask.

His cruel promise, however, causes her pussy to clench possessively around him, heat pooling low in her stomach.

“Do you want me to tell you how I erased that fucking bitch from your life, Vivienne?” His fingers flex around her throat.

“Yes,” she whimpers, her voice barely above a whisper, but her body screams it loud, her pussy slick and quivering around him as he rolls his hip, grinding deep inside her.

Like a deranged motherfucker, there is a weird excitement in his voice, a sick grin curving his luscious lips as he narrates how he murdered Isadora Rivera in her living room. The way her scream had echoed through the night yet no one heard her. The way he pressed the dagger to her palm and forced her to hold it to her neck, aiding her hand in dragging it across her throat, the horror in her eyes as she felt the power in her own destruction.

As he tells the tale, his eyes gleam, depraved, and alight with something wicked, yet Vivienne doesn’t recoil. Instead, something shifts inside her. Something twisted, blackened and rotting, stirring awake.

When Zev reaches the part where Isadora takes her last, shuddery breath, a sharp cry tears from Vivienne’s throat. Her entire body locks, legs quaking, spine bowing as pleasure—hot, vicious, and all-consuming—crashes over her in a brutal wave, drowning his cock in the sickest, most intense orgasm she’s ever had.

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