He slowly removed his finger, dragging it along my tongue. A little bit of spit or come or maybe both dripped down the corner of my mouth. Grim licked it up, tongue slow and hot.
My thighs clenched.
He pulled back, caging my head in his hands, and took a deep, unsteady breath.
“Mi locura.”
He crushed his lips against mine. No tongue, just pure pressure, and over too quickly. Then he righted my dress, tugged the fabric down. When he finished, I was still reeling. My brain short-circuiting.
Grim held one hand on my lower back, keeping me upright. A small smile quirking his lips, like he knew.
He dragged his knuckles gently along my jaw. “Ready to go home?”
Home.
I glanced over his shoulder, taking a last look at the place I’d called home for the first two decades of my life. Cobblestone paths, wrought iron gate, black shingles at odds with the rest of Crowne Point’s nautical blue. A castle built for a princess, not a daughter.
This was where America’s Princess was conceived, every piece of her carefully crafted to be perfect for her prince. Where my friends dreamed about Prince Charming, where my mother put all her hopes and dreams on finding him.
Prince Charming showed up at the end of the princess’s story, taking glory for her salvation. Grim wasn’t and would never be my prince; he was my reaper. He walked with me through hell and carried me out of the darkness.
I nodded at Grim, and he wrapped my hand in his, dragging me out of the cemetery to my real home. His tattooed hand dwarfed mine, strength that he used to break me and put me back together.
I rubbed my thumb along the tattoos on his knuckles. He shot me a look, dragging me closer to him as we walked toward home.
I was never meant to fall in love with Prince Charming.
My soul always belonged to the Reaper.
EPILOGUE
GEMMA
Crowne Point whizzed by in a watercolor of blue and white as we headed to my goddaughter’s christening in New York. Winter had given way to a bright, blustery spring with cold blue skies.
I bit my nail, trying to expunge the feeling I’d woken up with this morning. Like the blood in my body was too heavy for my heart. Like a fog had fallen, dulling the world’s colors. Like living was too much effort?—
Grim grabbed my hand, pulling it into his lap as he drove with the other hand.
“Give it to me,mi locura,” he said. “Let me feel it.”
Like I’d said before, Grim’s perfect dick didn’t heal my broken soul. Even in my happily ever after, there were still days when gravity felt too heavy.
The difference now was Grim.
I scythed my nails into his skin.
He hissed, nostrilsflaring. “Good girl.”
By the time we got to the church, most of the heaviness had dissipated. Grim parked next to the Gothic cathedral, and I rubbed my thumb over his wrist, where crescent-shaped marks had reddened. Bloody. I still felt bad, even if he said he wanted it. This was my pain. I was supposed to deal with it. Not force it on him.
As if seeing the words in my head, Grim snaked his hand around my neck, yanking me into a brutal kiss.
“Thank you,” he said, words heating my lips.
Grim got out of the car and opened my door. Together we stepped out into a cloudless cornflower blue sky. My family was waiting on the church steps. When they saw us, conversation stopped dead in the tracks.
“Gemma!” Story spotted me and waved me over.
