I grind into her, holding her pinned, her cunt dripping down my cock like proof. “Good girl. My Butterfly. Mine to ruin, mine to fuck, mine to keep.”
Her eyes roll back, a sob dragging through her chest, and I slam her tighter to the wall, my voice in her ear like a vow.
“You’ll never cum without me. You’ll never bleed without me. You’ll never breathe without me.”
“Yes,” she gasps, broken and wild. “Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I’ll never cum without you,” she cries. “I’ll never bleed without you—I’ll never breathe without you?—”
My cock jerks inside her, the sound of her voice unraveling me more than the tight grip of her cunt ever could.
“Fuck, Butterfly,” I groan against her mouth. “You’ll be the death of me.”
Chapter Twenty Two
Cassandra
The chapel is still in my bones.
Stone against my spine.
Glass crunching under my boots.
His mouth like a curse, like a prayer, like a bullet I couldn’t dodge.
I feel it every time I blink.
Every time I breathe.
Every time my thighs press together and I swear I can still feel him there, inside me, claiming what he left behind.
And God help me?—
I wanted it.
I let him.
But he was drunk.
The monitors hum beside me, pulling me back.
One beep.
One hiss.
Mason’s chest rises, shallow, steady.
I check his vitals for the tenth time tonight, maybe more. My hands know what to do, but my head—my head is stuck in that chapel, stuck in the taste of whiskey on Dax’s tongue, stuck in the way he said you’ll never breathe without me like it was gospel.
My lips part, the words slipping out before I can stop them, a whisper cracked and cruel against myself.
“He was drunk.”
Mason doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. Just lies there with tubes and bandages and a machine pretending to be his heart.
I press the stethoscope to his chest, swallow hard.
