At that, his arms came around her, scooping her up as if she truly were nothing more than an empty-headed little doll.The perfect-for-her room made her stomach churn, but the bedroom, thankfully, was untouched.
Silva dragged the thin T-shirt over his head before he’d even placed her on the bed, catching on the edge of his bun until he yanked it free. She wasted no time.
“I hate the way you make me feel. I’ve never been jealous before, I’ve never been paranoid before. Butyoumake me that way.” She raked her nails over him, as hard as she could, wishing she’d had the foresight to sharpen them to points. He had dropped her to the bed and she quickly rose on her knees, regaining her position before him. “And then you pull away. You do this to me over and over, Tate, and Ihateit.” Silva wished she wasn’t still crying, wished she was harder. “I should hateyou, I should have already written you off.” The mere thought made her voice cut off, unable to continue before sucking in a breath. “But then my heart feels like it’s being ripped away. And I hate that more.”
She was positive it wasnotnormal to think about cutting her boyfriend's chest open and climbing inside him like a suit of armor.It’s the closest way to his heart.It was never something she would repeat out loud to anyone, but it was something she thought about just the same.
He was breathing hard, his chest heaving as if he had just run a marathon, standing beneath her palms as she moved down the hard plane of him.
"I already told you — it's yours, dove," he rasped as she dragged her nails over the thump of his heartbeat, his hand flattening over hers, trapping it there. "You can do as you see fit with it. Do you want me to carve it out for you right now, Silva? Give you something to remember me by? I will, if you want it.”
She wasn't asking for much, Silva was certain. She simply wanted to be close to him. To not feel as though she could get on a plane that same night and fly away, and that he would actuallycare one way or another. To know what he was thinking at all times, to be close enough to lick his secrets and his dreams, to feel the pump of his heart beneath her fingers. To make him bleed, to feel the heat of him, slick against her palms.
She watched welts appear on his lovely green skin as she dragged her nails over him, but his teeth were sharper, and he drew first blood. His kiss carried the metallic tang, their mouths sliding over where it welled from her lip, moving the heat of it on his tongue. It wasn’t enough, and wasn’t what she wanted.
Her own teeth were not sharp, were not crowded, did not descend like daggers, but she did her best as she clamped down on his lower lip, feeling him hiss against her when she broke the skin. His blood tasted like ichor. Metallic and sweet, as if he had a vein of nectar running through him, pumping out from his heart.
“I don’t know how to keep you safe, Silva. I don’t know how to keep you safeandkeep you close.”
Her lips were slick with him, and she kissed down his throat, feeling his pulse jump against her. Silva wondered if she had a bit of vampire running through her, for at that moment, there was nothing more appetizing in the world than his heartbeat, jumping in the long, delicate column of his throat. She dragged her small, blunt teeth over the pulse of it, over his Adam’s apple, scraping over his clavicle, leaving a trail of her own blood behind, like an ancient ritual. They were going to make a mess of the sheets at this rate, but she didn’t care as she pulled open his belt. He was already hard, and she wanted him inside her.
"I don't want you to keep me safe. I want you to ruin me for anyone else."
She was still wearing her work dress, a textured shift in a lightweight ivory wool, piped in emerald at the neck and pockets. Silva gave a small cry as it came apart in his hands, as if he were shredding a piece of tissue.
"What do you want me to be, Silva?”
Now she was breathing just as hard as him, flipped down to the mattress, staring up at him as blood leaked down their chins. Tate plucked the pastel string of her thong as if he were playing a harp, drawing the filmy scrap of fabric down and throwing it away, doing the same to the lace-cupped bra a moment later.
“I don’t know who I need to be for you anymore, dove. Do you want me to play the gentleman? The proper Elvish suitor?”
He paused, curling over her. Silva was reminded of that first day she'd come back with Lurielle, standing in the middle of Clover's dining room, feeling as though she were being stalked by a beast with great jaws. His teeth grazed her nipples, but his focus was lower, and he did not slow from his target. The first slide of his tongue over the hot folds of her cunt made her whimper. He licked her open slowly, savoring, spreading her lips until the tip of his tongue reached the top of her sex. Silva quivered, feeling the needle-like sensation of his teeth at the hood of her clit.
“Do you want me to treat you like a glass doll, Silva?”
His breath was hot against her. Another long lick, teeth grazing her mound. She whimpered when he teased at her entrance, finding her already slick. Her back arched as two long fingers curved into her, sliding into place as if they were coming home, dragging over just the right spot.
“Protect you from anyone who seeks to do you harm? Play croquet and drink tea with you?”
His mouth descended then, licking her with single-minded precision, words ceasing. Silva arched again, feeling as though he were going to suck her out of existence every time his lips fastened around the bud of her clit. His wrist thumped against her, fingers sliding within her in a way that only he knew she liked, rubbing over her g-spot insistently, touching some hidden recess of her anatomy that only he seemed to know how to find.
She gripped fistfuls of the plush white bedding, but his other hand had come down on her hip, holding her in place, trapped beneath his mouth. She was unable to buck up against him, unable to shift or thrust, unable to do anything but accept the onslaught of his tongue.
Just like that day in the shower, her thighs began to tremble as she ascended to her peak. She was already tense and desperate for some sort of release, feeling the tension twisting at her belly, making her insides jump in anticipation. His tongue was flickering back and forth atjustthe right angle, sucking with just the right pressure, fingers within her hitting just the right spot. She was going to come on his tongue, and then they could go back to arguing.
“Or do you want me to be a fiend, dove? Because that's what I am. That's what my kind are. We take and we ruin. That's it. I can't be both for you."
She was already there, already ascending the white gold peak of her orgasm, her back already beginning to arch when his teeth came down on the hood of her clit. Silva screamed, a shower of stars before her eyes, feeling as if he'd ripped part of her away as she came against him, bleeding and pulsing against his tongue.Good. It wasn't a part she needed, more than likely. More room for him to crowd inside of her to be close toherheart.
Her body shook like a live wire, her jaw dropping open and her hands closing convulsively, his tongue continuing to stroke her, aided by the increased slickness of her blood. It burned, the pulsing contractions of her orgasm making it simultaneously worse andsomuch better, and she sobbed beneath him as she writhed.
He was going to need to throw this entire duvet away.
When she finally came down, Silva lay there quivering, unable to move as Tate crawled up her body.
"Careful what you wish for, dove," he whispered against her bloodied lips. His face, from his nose to his chin, was a red smear, covered in her. “That’s one of the first rules of treating with the fae. Careful where you wander. Don't ever accept gifts. Don’t eat their food. Careful what you wish for. There’s no such thing as a fairy tale with a happy ending, Silva. And now you're ruined. I'd like to see the purple-skinned cunt who will make you scream that way for him."
When he settled on top of her, Silva dug her fingers into his hair, squeezing as hard as she could. Squeezing hard enough to wind back the clock, to make this horrible, heavy pendulum that seemed to be swinging over them cease its movement. That was all she needed to do. Rewind them back a month, rewind the coil that had kinked and tightened around his heart, closing her out. Rewind them back to several weeks ago, when they would wake together in this bed, in the early predawn light, soft and sacred and secret. Take them back, and stop the incessant ticking of this clock.
