My hand finds the dip of her waist again, steering her through the French doors and onto the stone patio. The doors click shut behind us. Music and voices dull to a murmur.
Arianette’s shoulders curl inward the instant we’re alone. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “They surprised me.”
“Of course they did.” I keep my voice low, but the edge is there. “That was the entire point: catch the new bride off guard, see if she flinches, see if she bleeds secrets. You held. Barely.” I drag a hand over my jaw. “Though the demon stuff… for fuck’s sake, Arianette.”
Her arms fold tight across her stomach, fingers digging into her ribs. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she repeats, smaller this time.
I step closer, the horns of my mask throwing long shadows across her face. “Are you ill?”
She shakes her head too quickly. “Just a little ache. It’s nothing.”
I study her a moment longer, unsure if this is just a reaction to the questions. Either way, any excuse is a good excuse.
“Come,” I say, offering my arm this time instead of taking. “Let’s get out of here.”
She slips her hand through the crook of my elbow without hesitation, fingers curling tight like she’s afraid I’ll vanish. I lead her down the side steps to where my driver waits.
The drive home is silent except for the low hum of tires on wet pavement and the occasional catch of her breath. Streetlights strobe across her face in fleeting gold, then darkness, gold, then darkness. She keeps one arm banded across her middle the entire way.
The car hasn’t even reached the gates when I break the silence.
“Is the piercing hurting you?”
She turns her head, surprise on her face that I know. “No,” she whispers. “Not… not really.”
I don’t believe her. “Spread your legs.”
A beat of hesitation. Then the soft rustle of tulle as her thighs part on the leather seat.
I gather the netting in one fist and drag it up to her hips. Cool air kisses her skin; she shivers. The silver ring gleams between her folds, angry and perfect, but it’s not inflamed. I lean closer, the scent of her flooding me: warm skin, faint copper, that maddening floral sweetness.
My fingers brush the soft hood of her clit, testing. She hisses, hips jerking.
“Easy,” I murmur.
I brush against her again and my fingers come away slick with something darker than arousal. I lift them into the passing light. Crimson. Thick. A single drop breaks free and slides down the inside of her thigh like a red silk ribbon.
She’s bleeding, my little Daughter of Darkness, for me.
The sight detonates inside my chest. My cock is iron behind my zipper, throbbing with a hunger so vicious it feels like violence.
“Fuck,” I breathe, bringing the blood to my tongue just to taste her.
The Shadow behind the partition, the world outside the car. None of it exists.
I yank my belt open, the clatter loud in the hush. My cock springs free, flushed and brutal. I don’t give her time to think. I spin her, shove her forward until her hands slap the opposite seat and her knees sink into the leather. Tulle bunches high on her back like dark wings. I nudge her thighs wider, watching fresh blood streak the lace tops of her stockings.
I’m not foolish enough to ruin her cunt by tearing the piercing from her. The Barons own her as much as I do; her body is theirs to mark, but I don’t want to see his hold on her. This is about me. Us.My bride. What I’ve wanted to do again since our wedding night. I notch myself at her entrance and drive up to the root.
She screams into the seat, the sound muffled and raw. Her cunt is molten, slick with blood and need, clenching around me like a fist. Every thrust paints me redder. I fist the corset laces at her spine and haul her back onto me, forcing her to take it harder, deeper, until the car rocks on its springs and the windows fog opaque.
I lean over her, mouth at her ear, voice ragged. “He put his silver in you,” I snarl, slamming in so hard her whole body jolts. “Let him see how well it looks when you’re dripping with me instead.”
Another thrust. Another wet slap of flesh. Blood slicks us both, eases the drag, makes every stroke obscene and perfect. I reach beneath her just once and flick the little hoop with my thumb. She jolts like I’ve struck her, a broken cry tearing free.
Good. Let it hurt. Let it remind her of who she belongs to.
I lose myself in the rhythm, every thrust brutal and punishing. The scent of her blood fills the car, thick and intoxicating. When I come, it’s with a guttural sound I don’t recognize, spilling deep, flooding her until I feel it seep out around my cock, mixing with her blood, marking the leather beneath us.
