“You came in here for a reason. It’s far too early for you to need sleep.”
I spun to look at him. “So that you might reclaim what Akareth has taken from you,” I blurted out. “You said he couldn’t steal me away, but he has stolen my thoughts, no matter how I try to dismiss him. Your ability to break me is equal to your ability to put me back together and I am in pieces right now. I can feel it. Every day, I put forth a great effort to hold myself together because beyond all reason, I’ve somehow become surrounded with people who would worry themselves over me if they saw how truly damaged I am.Mendme.”
Calmly, he stepped back.
“Tell. Me. How.”
“Kicking,” I said, internally crying out while my tone remained level. “Screaming. Weeping. I don’t care. Just fix it. Your tenderness, rare as it is, is lovely, but I need your heavy hand. Do not let me run from you. Not from you.”
“Fuck, Dahlia, don’t toy with me. You know what I’m capable of.”
“I do. And I need that man tonight. All of him. No binds.” I stepped toward him, taking his scent into my lungs. “Make sure that if he gets his hands on me, he is made furious by how little is left to claim after you’re through with me.”
I could see his eyes darken at the challenge like I was a piece of meat he’d been resisting for days, despite his hunger.
He took one last breath before his mouth was on mine, hot and relentless. The sting from the hemsbane tea was subtle, making my lips tingle, but I didn’t care. Nor did I care when he forced his tongue into my mouth, flooding it with the sweet and bitter taste of the toxic herb.
Vidar gripped the nape of my neck, pulling me off him. I peered up into his ravenous gaze, my heart like waves abusing a shoreline.
“Get on your knees,” he rasped.
He pressed a hand to my shoulder and immediately, I bent for him, falling to the floor. He gave my hair another tug, forcing my head back before he began pulling at the laces of his britches, his intense eyes demanding my full attention as he exposed his hard length.
“Put your teeth away, siren,” he said. “Or I’ll tie you to the bed and deprive you of my touch till morning.”
My whole body shuddered at his harsh words, my lips parting with invitation. He tangled his fingers in my hair again, pressing the tip of his cock into my mouth. I licked my tongue over the smooth tip, savoring the taste of him before he pushed himself deeper. The back of my throat swelled at the invasion, robbing me of breath, and like the starved siren I was, I rejoiced at the control he had. Every time he thrust into my mouth, I felt him deeper, and each time he groaned, I dragged my tongue under his length just to feel him tremble.
Grabbing hold of Vidar’s hips for balance, I urged him to use me, my nails biting into his skin until he hissed at the twinge of pain. He thrust with more force, assaulting my mouth as if he was angry and I craved the chaos of it. When his muscles began to tense, it only made me hungrier. I swallowed the head of his cock, taking him as deep as he was able to go until I felt a hot stream flood my throat. He moaned, his body going rigid under my hands. Holding my head, he came, emptying his seed into me with a strained breath.
Finally, he pulled out of my mouth and gripped my jaw, craning my head back.
“Swallow,” he demanded.
My throat flexed, taking down every bit of him before opening my mouth just to prove it. Collaring my neck, he urged me to my feet and all but threw me on the bed. I sat up on my elbows as he stalked toward me, a tower of strength, fury, and obsession. I burned inside, longing for his touch to singe away the remnants of my enemy’s.
Eyes fixed on me, Vidar stepped out of his britches and then began to undress me, tossing articles of clothing onto the floor until I was completely bare with nothing but my scars to cover me. He looked over each one, cherishing them in ways that I never had, before he hooked my knees with his hands and tugged me to the edge of the bed. I watched him stand between my thighs, stroking his cock with one fist to bring it back to life.
“The thought that some fucking coward of a god tried to take you from me,” he said, spitting into his palm to slicken his grip. “It reminds me what a monster I am. All I want is to make you scream my name so loud he can hear it from the bottom of the goddamn sea where he hides like a worm. I don’t care what he did to you in your sleep. It pales in comparison to what I can do to you when you’re awake and every day that you’ve been distant has fed my resolve. I want you back, Dahlia.”
He stepped over to one of his chairs, pulling a knife from his leather belt. The way the lantern light moved across the sharp edge excited me as he returned to the bed and repositioned himself between my legs.
“This is real,” he continued, holding up the knife. “I’m real. Our pain is real. As real as our pleasure.”
He turned the tip of the knife toward his palm, piercing the flesh. I licked my lips at the sight of him dragging the blade across his skin, cutting until blood wept down his wrist. Dropping the knife on the floor, he turned his hand to face me, showing me the hot, red blood dripping down his arm.
“I want you never to doubt you are awake, Dahlia. When I am inside you, you will feel it.” He began to stroke his hardening cock with his blood-soaked hand, drenching himself. I could smell the hemsbane flooding the room until it was almost too much for my senses to bear. Turning, he took the lantern from the table, bringing it to a hook above the bed to better light him up.
“You’ll know it’s me,” he said. “Don’t close your eyes.”
My breath shivered with excited panic as he brought the tip of his cock to my sopping entrance. He lifted one of my legs so my ankle rested on his shoulder, close enough for him to bathe it in kisses. The gentle caress of his mouth against my skin was a brief distraction, but when he slammed into me, everything crumbled. Flames ignited within my core as he stretched me, fitting himself so deep, I could hardly catch a breath. With every thrust, the harsh burn of his hemsbane-soaked blood began to spread through my insides, searing the walls of my body.
I arched off the bed, my legs trembling. “Vidar,” I breathed.
“Louder.”
“Vidar,” I moaned.
He plunged into me with merciless strokes, his bloodied palm flattening on my chest. I could feel the hot wetness of his blood as he dragged his palm down toward my stomach, painting me red, and stopped to assault my clit with his fingers. I began to squirm, my skin feverish as my body fought to separate pain from pleasure. Alas, I could not find the divide. They were one and the same. They always had been. Vidar was my torturer and my healer, mending wounds he created like it was art.
