Page 25 of Unholy Night
We look perfect together.
"See?" His hands frame my face, forcing me to maintain eye contact with our reflection. "This is what you are now. The Rosettis mark their own with blood first, always. You've earned that mark today."
He pushes two fingers inside me without warning, and my head falls back with a gasp. "And you're so fucking wet from it. Your pussy is dripping for me, isn't it? From the killing, from the blood."
I force myself to watch in the mirror as he works me with his fingers, see my own face contort with pleasure. The woman in the reflection isn't the person who walked into this cabin days ago. She's something else entirely. Formidable, powerful, his. Like watching myself perform in the darkest opera ever written, where the heroine doesn't die but transforms.
"Keep watching," he commands when my eyes start to flutter. "I want you to see yourself when I make you come. See what you've become."
His thumb finds my clit, circling with perfect pressure while his fingers curl inside me, hitting that spot that makes me see stars. In the mirror, I can see everything. The blood on our skin, the desperate hunger in both our eyes, the way my body responds to his touch even covered in evidence of violence.
"I need you inside me," I gasp, fumbling with his belt, desperate to free his cock. "Now, while we're still like this."
He doesn't make me wait. His cock is hard and ready when I free him, and he thrusts into me in one smooth motion that has us both groaning. The stretch is perfect, the fullness exactly whatI've been craving since I pulled that first trigger. In the mirror, I watch us move together. Watch the muscles in his back flex, watch my legs wrap around his waist, watch ourselves become one creature made of blood and desire.
"That's it," he growls, setting a punishing pace. "Watch us together. Look at what we are."
"Beautiful," I breathe, maintaining eye contact with our reflection as he fucks me against the bathroom counter. We're beautiful in our monstrosity, perfect in our violence.
His hand wraps around my throat, not squeezing, just holding, feeling my pulse race against his palm.
"Come for me," he demands. "Let me watch you fall apart."
The orgasm crashes through me like the climax of Wagner's darkest opera, sharp and violent and perfect. I watch myself in the mirror as I shatter, see the exact moment I stop being who I was and become something entirely his. Entirely ours. My pussy clenches around him, pulling him deeper, and I've never felt more powerful.
He follows immediately, burying himself deep with a growl that sounds more animal than human. In the mirror, our eyes meet, and I see the same recognition in his that must be in mine.
We're the same now. Two halves of one monster.
The second encounter happens against the bedroom door when we can't make it all the way inside, my back pressed to the wood while he takes me with desperate intensity. I can hear Leonardo's breathing change in the other room, still alive, still stable, and somewhere distant, the sound of snow sliding off the roof. Time is passing. Leonardo could wake any moment.
"Could fuck you forever," he says against my ear. "Never get enough. Never stop wanting you like this."
I press back against the wood, taking him deeper. "Then don't stop. Don't ever stop."
The words make him wild, his thrusts becoming erratic, hitting so deep I feel him in my throat. But then something shifts. He touches the scar on my palm, the one from trying to grab a knife my first night here, with such reverent gentleness that tears prick my eyes.
"My brave woman," he murmurs, and it sounds like a prayer.
Later, in bed for our third and final round, we move together with less desperation but no less intensity. My body aches from combat and sex, muscles screaming, but I need this last claiming. He moves over me slowly, deeply, like he's trying to memorize every sensation. Each thrust makes me gasp, my oversensitive body caught between pleasure and pain.
"I want it all," I gasp, meeting his eyes. "Your darkness, your violence, your family. No more secrets."
His rhythm falters for a moment. "You don't know what you're asking."
"I killed six men today. I've earned the truth."
He rolls us over and pulls me up so I'm straddling him, never breaking our connection. One hand wraps gently around my throat while the other slides between my legs.
"The truth weighs heavy."
"I don't care," I moan, rolling my hips, chasing the building pleasure. "I want it all. Every secret. Every violent truth."
"Even if it means never going back? Never being that prosecutor again?"
"Especially then." I'm close, so close, balanced on the edge. "I was born for this. For you. I've always been drawn to your world. I just didn't know why until now."
His fingers press harder, circle faster, and I fall apart with a cry that echoes off the bathroom walls. He follows me over, my name a prayer on his lips as he empties himself inside me.
