I know what comes after James is done with Devlin’s brutal ending.It will be the same as what happened after Rick, when murder led to fucking, blurring the line between the two and making them indistinguishable.
I sink my hand down into my panties while he does his work and find myself soaked and spasming.
This isn’t just punishment.It’s erasure.This pathetic, cruel excuse of a man is being unmade piece by piece.This is justice delivered by my Fist.
James’s strength is terrifyingly beautiful.He is pure, focused violence.
Myviolence.
James stops and watches me as I slowly stroke my clit while I watch him, already covered in blood and gore, and he groans and palms his hard cock over his jeans.
“Don’t ye dare come without me,” he growls.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I whisper, but I wish he’d hurry.
Eyeing me reverently, he strips his black T-shirt off and flings it to the floor, baring his huge, corded muscles.Then he gets to work again.
Life leaves Devlin slowly, reluctantly, soaked into the carpet beneath him.His eyes glaze over, fixed on the ceiling, reflecting the flickering images of two women talking about skincare on a morning talk show.
Finally, his tremors stop.The gurgling ceases.Silence descends, thick and heavy, broken only by the ragged sound of James’s breathing.
He stands over the body, his chest heaving.He’s splattered in blood, his face, neck, arms, and chest painted in streaks of crimson.His knuckles are raw.His eyes are wild, his pupils blown wide, and they lock onto me.
The heat in his gaze isn’t just adrenaline.It’s feral and primal.It ignites something deep in my belly, a spark that explodes into a wildfire.
I look back at him, at the raw, terrifying power.At the absolute, unwavering devotion that turned him into this engine of destruction.
For me.
The lethal beauty of it is overwhelming, and desire hits me once again, hot and urgent and undeniable.It’s the power, the shared darkness, the utter completion of the act.
He closes the distance between us in one long stride.His hand, slick and warm with gore, cups my face.I lean into it, pressing my cheek against the sticky warmth.The smell of copper and sweat and violence fills my nostrils.His other hand finds my hip, his fingers digging in possessively.
“How was I?”he asks with his alluring, manic grin.
I grin right back.“Horrifying.”
His mouth crashes down on mine.His teeth scrape my lip, and the coppery tang of blood fills my mouth.Whether it’s his, mine, or the dead man’s, I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter.It tastes like victory.
He backs me hard against the wall beside the door, and plaster dust rains down.His body presses into mine, his hard muscle against my soft flesh, the gore between us a slick, binding paste.His hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back, exposing my throat.His breath is hot and ragged against my skin.
The knife is still in his other hand.The cold steel presses against my side through my thin shirt.The feel of it, of him, of this carnal power between us, draws a moan from me.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes burning.He brings the knife up slowly, deliberately, and then traces a path down my throat, over the frantic pulse hammering there, over my Shadow’s and my Mind’s marks that are already there.
The contrast is electric—the cold metal, the heat of his body, the slick warmth of the blood.A threat and a promise, indistinguishable.
My breath hitches, and I arch into his touch, demanding more.
“Do it,” I whisper, my voice rough.“Mark me.”
His eyes flare as he shifts the blade and presses it lightly against the skin just below my collarbone.Then the pressure increases.A sharp sting that awakens every cell in my body.
I gasp.Warmth blossoms as the skin parts.A thin, perfect line of crimson beads to the surface.James watches it, mesmerized.His breath catches as he lowers his head, and his tongue is hot and rough as it laps at my blood.
The sting intensifies as he pushes the blade in farther, merging with the heat pooling low in my belly, becoming something else entirely.Pain and pleasure blur into a single, white-hot point.
He continues to suck and lick at the wound while my hips instinctively rock forward against him.
