That question is what finally makes Theo act. His hand lashes out and catches my wrist before I can strike his face again, and his eyes burn as he drinks me. I breathe, staring at him, tears streaming hotly down my face.
“You think I didn’t want that too?” he signs.
I let out a single, choking sob. And then I collapse into him, pressing my face into his cold, wet, filthy shirt, weeping out into his chest. He wraps his arms around me and holds me up against him, and I don’t want him to let me go. I wanted so badly to hate him these past six months. And I did, sometimes. But right now, I’m cold and hungry and lonely, and he’s so much warmer than the fire.
Theo’s hand smooths over my hair and then wraps, tentatively, around my throat. I jerk back, meet his gaze. My pulse flutters, and I know he feels it, the way he presses his palm harder against the side of my neck.
“I didn’t want to kill you,” I whisper through my tears.
With his free hand, he signs, “I didn’t want to die.”
And then he pulls me up to him by my throat, his mouth crashing into mine in a fury of tongue and teeth. I scream into the kiss, and it feels like all my anger and sorrow have transmuted suddenly into a hot, baking lust. I tear at the filthy rags of his clothes until they disintegrate in my hands to reveal the hot planes of his flesh underneath. Then I claw at his skin, too, like I’m trying to dig out his new heart.
He growls and hurls me down onto the sofa. Then he pulls at my clothes, all those layers that were supposed to keep me warm. And I help him. I claw them away, throw them across the room, until we’re both naked, the firelight staining our bodies red while the cold air frosts over our skin.
Theo gazes down at me, drinking me in with bright, burning eyes. And I can’t take my gaze off him, either: his strong, muscular chest, the taper of his soft belly.
His cock, swollen and straining and already gleaming at the tip. My pussy aches, seeing it.
Theo reaches down and wrenches my legs apart, exposing my dripping pussy to the cold air. I buck against him, but he pushes his weight down on my thighs, pinning me in place. Even though his hands are currently occupied, the message is clear:
He’s going to fuck me.
I lift my chin, baring my throat to him. He growls and falls on me, catching my neck between his teeth right before she slams his cock into my cunt.
I scream at the painful, violating stretch of him, and then I scream again as he jackhammers against my hips, his teeth sinking even deeper into my neck. I fuck him back like I’m trying to buck him off, like I’m trying to fight him. Maybe I am. I honestly can’t tell the difference, not right now. It hurts, how rough he is, but it sends hot pulsing pleasure up my spine, too. Because here’s the real truth of things:
Every time I hated him in the past six months, it wasn’t because of the five people he killed. It was because he killed five people and then abandoned me to drown in the blood he left behind.
Theo releases my throat and kisses me, his thrusts melting into a slow, agonizing roll of his hips. It feels good. But it’s not what I need.
Especially when I taste my blood on his lips.
So I wrench my head away from him, breaking the kiss, and snarl, “More” in a voice that I hardly recognize as my own.
Theo makes an animalistic sound in the back of his throat and then bites me again, this time in the shoulder, his teeth tearing down into my skin. I scream at the pain, but I also know it’s an acknowledgement.
“Harder,” I rasp, grinding my hips up against him. His slow, teasing thrusts aren’t good enough. “And don’t you dare fucking stop.”
And to his credit, he listens, slamming his cock up against my cervix until it almost feels like I’m dying.
35
THEO
Ihad not realized how much I needed Chloe until I’m inside her, the heat of her cunt the first warmth I’ve felt since the shotgun shell tore through my heart.
And once I’m inside her, I don’t want to leave.
There’s always this primal hunger inside me after I revive, and I usually expend it with a quick, easy kill. If I don’t come from the killing, I’ll stroke myself off afterward.
This is different, though.
Today, Chloe is spread out on the couch beneath me, her skin flushed and golden in the firelight, blood blooming on her neck and my teeth marks implanted in her shoulder. I slam myself into her, barely able to control my movements, and with each thrust, her whole body shakes in a way that sends fire surging up my cock. I grab her by both wrists and pin them above her head one-handed as I plow into her hot, drenched pussy.
She hasn’t come yet. I know that. I can feel it, the pulsing heat building in her clit. But fuck, I’m not going to last much longer. Not with her staring up at me with those angry, lust-drunk eyes. Not with the taste of her blood on my lips.
I crush her wrists together, and she makes a pained, ecstatic sound and clenches her pussy around my cock. Milking it. Milking me.
