I swallowed hard. My throat felt raw, tight, and stretched thin over the weight of unspoken things.
His other hand slid to my waist, gripping, anchoring, and I realized—too late—that retreat wasn’t an option. Not when his thigh was already wedged between mine, not when the table’s edge dug into my spine, not when he was everywhere, everything, swallowing me whole.
As much as I wanted to deny it, to scream at him, I knew deep down, in the marrow of my bones, that he was right.
His hand tugged at the rims of my dress, fisting it and bunching it in his palms. My panic flared, but his free hand gripped my wrists and pinned them above my head. I pleaded with my eyes, but he seemed to ignore them.
My pulse skittered when his gaze dragged over me, undressing me without shame. I knew that look. I’d seen it before.
Not like this.
Heat crept up my neck, pooling low in my stomach as he gathered the dress at my waist, exposing my legs to the cold night air, and pulled me closer. When his fingers brushed my cheek, tilting my chin up, I forgot how to breathe.
“You provoke me on purpose, don’t you?”
His voice was rough, frayed with something wild, something barely restrained. My thighs clenched as his words slid over my skin like smoke.
“Let me go.” That was all I could muster.
“No.” His voice sharpened as his fingers dug into my waist. “You are Celestine Vitale,” he murmured, pressing his knees deeper, and I bit my lips.
“No,” I whispered.
He bit my jaw. “Yes.”
His fingers trailed lower, burning a path down my stomach and into my panties, and I shivered. “You live with my name. You will die with my name.”
His teeth grazed the side of my throat where he held me earlier, just over my pulse as his voice dropped. “You will scream with my name on your lips.”
A broken whimper slipped from me before I could stop it, my breath stuttered as his hands finally…finally… reached where I didn’t want him to touch. Between my legs.No. Please, not there.
He laughed softly, almost pleased. “Ah, there it is. The truth your mouth won’t admit.”
I arched against him, hatred and desire warring inside me, but he was relentless, refusing to let me slip into either entirely. He kept me balanced on the edge of the blade, right where he wanted. And I was… lost.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Devil’s Game
I’d never felt pain. Not like this at least. Truth is an assassin. It kills you every time it’s spoken.
Zagreus knew this. He wielded truth like a blade, pressing it against my throat every time I disobeyed him. And I slumped in the chair as he pulled away from me. My skin burned where his hands had been. He cornered me against this very table a moment ago, and let his mouth trace over my jaw in a cruel mimicry of tenderness. And then, as if he hadn’t just tossed my world upside down, set fire to my bones, he stepped back, straightening his shirt, dusted off invisible specks from his sleeves, and took a seat.
“Finish eating.” His voice was smooth, dispassionate as he picked up his fork. “You’re turning skin and bones.”
I reached for my fork, hoping he would leave it at that. But he didn’t.
“I don’t fuck skinny women.”
The bite of food turned to ash in my mouth.
There was nothing accidental about the way he said it. Zagreus spoke like a man who knew exactly where the landmines were buried, who enjoyed watching people step on them just to hear the explosion. I could feel his eyes on me as I chewed, forcing it all down without reacting.
I didn’t want him on me again. I didn’t want his rough hands tracing my flesh, his sinful tongue into my throat, or his filthy words unnerving me.
He lived for the reactions.
I learned that once before… with Adrian.
