Slow, shallow breaths were all my lungs allowed me to take as I kept staring at the blood on his shirt.
Strong, calloused hands moved down my arms, my skin burning under his touch. “I killed a man tonight.” His lips brushed across my shoulders, and I shuddered with currents of desire that suddenly flared inside me. “I hurt him, Doe. I tore at his flesh. I made him cry.”
His voice was soft, but I heard the darkness hidden within his cruel words, yet I felt myself leaning my head to the side, allowing him more access as he kissed his way up my neck. Warm lips sucked at my earlobe, sharp teeth nipping my flesh causing me to flinch and gasp at the same time.
“I made him bleed, Doe.” His hand curved around my hip, fingertips burning my flesh. “Do you want to know why? Do you want to know why there’s a man’s blood on my shirt?” A greedy hand dipped between my legs, palming me, squeezing hard as if to say, ‘Mine.’ And it was his. Everything about me belonged to him. Not because he demanded it, but because I offered it to him…willingly.
“Answer me.”
“Yes.” My voice was nothing but a desperate whisper. His touch, his familiar scent of black pepper and wild spice, it all carried me to a place where I could let all my inhibitions go. A place where I could embrace the new me. A place where I became…Doe. “Why do you have a man’s blood on your clothes, Master?”
His other hand came up toward my throat, strong fingers caressing my skin. “Because of you. It’s all because of you, Doe.”
“Why?”
“Because being with you has fucked with my head.” With one hand, he gripped my throat while the other remained between my legs, fingers prodding and slipping through my slit. “Just the thought of anyone taking you away from me is enough to make me lose my shit, Doe. I can’t even—”
“Who was it?” I touched the hand he had around my throat, my fingers pressing down, allowing him to tighten his grip. “Who did you kill for me?” It had been three so far. Three men he had killed for me. Men who used me in the past. Men who played a part in breaking me. I didn’t know how he did it, how he knew. But somehow, he managed to hunt down three demons and slayed them for me. I realized it a few weeks ago when he came back to me in the middle of the night. The rage, the bloodlust, the pure cruelty burned in the dark brown of his irises. I’d been around monsters long enough to recognize the signs.
The first time, he came home and he fucked me. He used me. And I loved it. I loved every second of it because while he was buried to the hilt inside me, he whispered, “I killed for you.” I didn’t ask. I didn’t prod for answers. All I did was close my eyes when the most intense, bone-shattering orgasm tore through my body. Why? Because knowing he spilled blood for me—a girl who had been told her whole life she was worth nothing—painted me a clear picture.
I was worth something.
After the second kill, he did the same. He came back and told me about it while he took possession of my body. I loved it. I loved hearing how he avenged my ruin. Did that mean I was fucked in the head? Probably. But the thought of him killing every man who ever touched me was an aphrodisiac like no other. It set my body aflame, my insides coiled tight with anticipation as I imagined those men bleeding.
Red. It was such a beautiful color. The color of revenge. The color of life…and death.
“Who was it, Master?”
I shivered as he stroked his nose up the skin of my neck, inhaling as he reached the bottom of my ear. “James…James Watson.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
My legs trembled, his fingers stroking, prodding, claiming the most delicate part of me. He sucked my earlobe between his lips, letting it go with a pop. “He’s the man your angel sold you to.”
Ice spread down my spine within a split second, and I stilled. “Was he…”
“Yes. He’s the man who took you from the angel whosupposedlysaved you, only to give you to the devil.”
My heart wanted to claw its way up my throat; my stomach twisted tightly with barbed wire. All the while, Antonio kept on working my pussy as if we were merely engaging in dirty talk.
Instead of thinking about the man who handed me over to Vadik, I tried to focus on the fact that Antonio had killed him, and it made me want to know more.
“How?” I whispered, my head still leaning back against his chest.
The hand he had around my throat slipped down to cup my breast. He squeezed hard. “First, I sliced my blade through his skin.”
I closed my eyes, my mind picturing what he was telling me, word for word.
“Over, and over, and over I twisted the steel of my knife deeper into his flesh.”
His finger pressed hard against my clit, and my knees felt like they wanted to give way beneath me.
“His blood dripped on the floor while he hung upside down from the ceiling, his cries slamming against the rooftop.” I heard every trace of hatred Antonio had for this man, and I loved it. I loved that Antonio hated someone so much purely because he had hurt me.
Antonio’s warm breath skidded over my skin as he continued to tell the tale of epic revenge and cruel justice.
“I made him confess everything, Doe. He remembered you. He fucking remembered you.”