My entire body jolts with a frisson of excitement. He needs this. With shaky hands, I trace the sharp serrated edge along his abdomen, pulling the blade along his flesh. His throat lets out a low, reverberating growl of arousal. I slice avinto his Adonis belt over his muscular ridges. He twitches inside of me, relishing in the pain. He’s rock hard.
I drop the knife to the cold church floor. The clatter echoes into the stone walls. Blood beads down his stomach. He’s a sight to behold.My devil. My undoing. My brother.
His ink-black hair sticks to his forehead that’s coated with sweat. He runs his fingers along the bloody wound. He then brings his finger to my tempting lips, painting them in his crimson, sanguine fluid. “Swallow me whole, songbird. Let my blood run in your body, in your veins, in your soul.”
I suck on his finger, and my eyelids flutter. He rolls his hips again, fucking me like only he can. Our animalistic noises echo through the hallways like a hymn.
He lets his pelvis do the work; it hits my clit like we were made for each other. His thrusts become jagged, and the build within me hits a pinnacle.
His warmth floods into me, and I join him, tipping over the edge. He grips both hips and forces his seed deep within my depths. The rough stone of the altar carves flesh wounds in my back, but I welcome the pain it brings. His warmth fills me with contentment. He is my savior. My lover. My brother. “We. Are. One,” he chants like a prayer over and over.
I’m Mrs. Lark. His wife. His everything. The emerald on my finger sparkles in the candlelight. Zain’s leg is draped over my thigh while his arm rests on my stomach and he snores softly. His hair hangs over his eyes, making him look dark and mysterious. It’s as if he hasn’t gotten good sleep in God knows how long. He’s been out nine hours and counting. We’re sprawled out on his bed. His chest is on display, so I let my fingers roam lightly over his scars.
It shatters my insides to know he’s treated himself this way. That he felt the need to add to his markings because it’s the only way to satisfy his craving. He’s ashamed of his diagnosis, as if it defines him. I drop my hand and run my fingers back over my ruby. I’m his. We’re all each other has.
I took the liberty of tidying up his house over break. I wish we could stay in this fairy tale for a while longer. I’m not ready to go back toGrimshaw and face everything. Clara. The death of Jax. And certainly not the death of my father.
Dante reached out to me when he wasn’t able to get ahold of Pearson. He thought he was breaking the news to me, but all he did was delay the inevitable. Being Pearson’s only legal daughter, he left everything to me. I met with a lawyer and went over all the paperwork. I don’t want a dime of it. It physically makes me ill to accept it. If anyone deserves it, it’s Zain. They failed him on all accounts. He can do with it what he sees fit. I can’t imagine the grief and suffering he was exposed to. He was already tossed like trash from our mother, but then to be thrown away by the people who were supposed to love him the most. It’s heartbreaking.I worry Kieran’s father knows too much. I’m filled with trepidation. Any day this illusion will come shattering down into a million fractured pieces. Pearson’s death was also swept under the rug. Mortensen I’m sure suspects us, but he has no proof. The police managed to find the note amongst the rubble. I haven’t spoken to Clara much since the performance either. Zain assures me Kieran is handling it so she won’t be forced into being the offering. If she loses that scholarship, she will lose it. I don’t want her spiraling over the edge. Her drug problems are more extensive than Zain’s. When she falls, she plummets to the edge of the abyss. Zain’s phone buzzes on my nightstand, jolting him awake. Roland flickers across the screen, making him glower.
“You should talk to him,” I say softly. He scoots up in the silk sheets, scrubbing his hands over his face. He’s edgy.
I run lazy circles over his back to settle his raging monsters. Reluctance radiates off him in waves.
He finally swipes to answer. “Roland,” he says coldly. He puts it on speaker so I can hear.
“Zain. Son. How are you?”
Zain is silent a moment before he responds, “Fine.” He grits it as if it pains him to even talk to him. I can understand. He feels let down by everyone in his life and doesn’t trust that Roland could ever love him. As if he’s unworthy of such affections.
“I was hoping we could meet up. It has been too long.”
Zain doesn’t hide his scowl. I give him a reassuring look while his dark eyes drill into me.Roland cuts through the silence. “Zain?”
He grips the phone so tight I’m surprised it doesn’t crush between his fingers. “Fine,” he grits between his teeth.
I reach out to touch his rigid jawline. I caress his stubble that’s grown in. He’s been under immense stress.
“Please stop by this afternoon. I look forward to seeing you, son.” Zain hangs up without uttering another syllable.
He grumbles and grabs at my wrist. “Vesper,” he warns. There is an undercurrent of unease just under the surface.
“Though Pearson discarded you, it does not mean Roland needs to pay for his sins.”
His hooded eyes hang on my words, mulling them over. The pain and resentment he feels is valid, just not towards Roland. I don’t know the extent of his upbringing after he left Amelia and Pearson, but I’m betting Roland and Beatrice tried their best. The fact Roland calls so frequently tells me he loves Zain.
“He doesn’t love me,” he states. His head falls back against the pillow. His face contorts with pressure and pent-up rage he’s trying desperately to suppress. I know the voices are clawing their way to the surface. He taps the side of his skull.
“Just want my mind to go quiet,” his voice breaks.
I pepper kisses along his jawline. Without waiting to see if it calms him, I climb on top of his body, straddling him.
His breath comes in short waves. “Drown in me,” I whisper along his maw.
An animalistic growl leaves his throat. I know what he needs. I’ll do anything to ease his ache.
“I love you, Zain.”
His eyes turn hungry and feral. He snaps. His hands snatch my waist, and he flips me onto my stomach. His hard cock nudges against my ass cheeks. He pulls at my dark hair, winding it around his palm. “You…love…me?” he repeats slowly in a low, pained whisper, as if in disbelief. As if he’s never heard the words before. Then it dawns on me.He hasn’t.
