Page 169 of Eldritch
“Enough! I will not defile those words with actions that speak otherwise.”
“Except that you have no blade in your hand now.”
Sorrow flickered in his eyes, even as the tension twisted his face. “I will hurt you, Maevyth. This wrath that lives inside of me isn’t capable of love. It hides inside my skin, waiting for the day when it can destroy. When it can ruin you.”
“The only thing that could destroy me is you pushing me away. Not even the blade slicing across my throat could hurt worse than what you’re doing right now.” I dared to step closer, desperate to touch him. To soothe the pain and agony he clutched in his tight fists.
“I’m not pushing you away. I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what? Who do you see when you slip into these fits?” He didn’t respond, and frustrated, I stepped even closer. “Who is she?”
Still, he refused to say, and I swiped up his hand, pressing his palm against my heart.
“She is not here. I am here. This heart beats for you. I am yours, Zevander.”
“You belong to no one.” Tone bitter and cutting, he spat back the words I’d said to him earlier and attempted to tug his hand free, but I tightened my hold.
“I lied. I belong to you.”
His gaze lowered to my lips, and he ran his thumb across them. “Mine,” he said in an empty tone, like a swish of liquor before spitting it out.
“Yes,” I said assertively. “Whether you claim me, or not, it’s the truth.”
He bent over me, burying his face in my neck, his chest heaving in desperate, uneven breaths as he slid his hand to my waist. “You’re mine.” A turbulent mix of awe and anguish bled through his voice and the possessive curl of his fingertips over my hip punctuated his claim.
“I have always been yours.”
Slow and sure, he dragged his nose over my throat, inhaling me. “A stronger man would tell you to leave,” he whispered, his muscles trembling against the invisible chains that tethered him.
“You’re the strongest man I’ve ever known, and you couldn’t force me away if you tried.”
His lips crushed mine in a ravenous, bruising kiss—wild and starved, breath ragged and urgent as he locked his hand beneath my knee and forced me backward. The wall slammed into my spine, his lips frantic, hands grasping and tearing at my dress. The bodice crumpled to my waist, baring my breasts, and his big palm swallowed one of them as he ground his hips into me. My nipples peaked and hardened with the rough scratch of his calloused hand, and he pinched it just enough to part my lips, twisting my stomach into a frenzy of hunger. Need.
I arched my back against the wall, releasing a quiet moan into his mouth that seemed to excite him the way his arms tautened around me. Sharp teeth grazed my lower lip, his tongue hot and wet as it swept across my own. Hands trembling and impatient, hunting for no other purpose than to feel.
He broke only long enough to send a torrent of flame toward the hearth, igniting the fire that’d been snuffed earlier, then dipped his head, and the moment his lips found my breast, I gripped a handful of his hair, lip curled between my teeth with each maddening suck of my flesh. He hoisted my body up, wrapping my legs around him and stared up at me, the gleam of reverence in his eyes sending a flutter to my stomach.
I stroked my finger over his brow. “I love you,” I whispered.
Hands threading in my hair, he kissed me fervently, desperately, as if the world would split open at any moment and swallow us whole. “You’re the fragile thread anchoring me as this endless night approaches,” he said raggedly against my lips. “My mind’s only tether in a maddening abyss.” With my face held delicately in his strong hands, he stared back at me, brows pulled tight. “I loved you before I even knew your name.”
I smiled and wrapped my arms around his neck. “Tell me again.”
“I love you. I fucking love you.” Again, his lips crashed into mine, and as his body held me pressed into the wall, his hand slipped beneath the hem of my dress to the opened cammyck beneath.
Forehead against my shoulder, his body shuddered when his finger brushed over my bare flesh. “Godsteeth. Touching you is a torment in itself.”
His words wound through my head as he gently ran his finger up and down my wet seam.
My body tensed, my nails digging into his back, and he let out a pleasured sound, his muscles flexing around me. I lifted my gloved hand, noticing the streaks of blood over the metallic tips.
Pain. It was the pain that he enjoyed.
If I could get him to focus on something new, something different, maybe he wouldn’t require the pain. I wanted intimacy with him, but I couldn’t bear the thought of inflicting damage and risking sending him spiraling into his head again, after what had happened moments ago.
“Zevander,” I breathed, my thoughts torn by the masterful work of his fingers. “Perhaps…we might try.”
His body froze in place, and when he lifted his head, his brows were furrowed, his expression twisted into something I would’ve expected had I asked him to dive headfirst off the temple’s roof. “Try?”
