“No matter what you decide, Poppy Lucia Morgenstern, I will be by your side. Whether you fly to heaven or fall to hell, I will fly or fall with you.”
A wall inside me fractures and then ruptures into a thousand tiny shards of shrapnel. I can almost hear it shattering like glass crashing tothe ground. I know, right here and now, that the decision I make isn’t just impacting me.
It’s impacting him, too.
“Where did you learn how to wax poetic like that,mon ange?”
“Must be all the boring books I read.”
I giggle and kiss him as slowly as falling snow. His tongue rolls with mine, his lips tender and gentle. He tastes like forgiveness and patience. I want to bathe in his virtue, his grace, his divinity.
“You must be exhausted,” he murmurs. “I should let you sleep.”
“No.” I fist his hair. His lashes flutter, a purr rumbling through his chest. “Stay.”
“How can I resist when you beg like that?”
“You can’t.” I kiss the edge of his grin. “Scythe.”
His eyes slowly open, his pupils widening and contracting like he’s waging some inner war. “How is your wound?”
“Scarring, finally.”
“Any pain?”
“No.”
Brontë brushes his lips over my cheek. “Then I suppose you won’t mind if I fuck you to sleep tonight?”
“I, um…” I shift my hips, face heating when I spy the crimson blotch staining the duvet at the apex of my thighs. “We may have to wait a few more days.”
Brontë’s gaze snags on the blood. I expect disgust, not…hunger.His nostrils flare as he works a swallow down his thick throat, the darkness in his eyes warring for dominance. "I'm tired of waiting."
He rolls me onto my back and climbs over me. His large frame dwarfs me as much as a dragon dwarfs a mouse. But I don’t feel like a mouse around him. Even now, with him trapping me in place, I feel like his equal, his match.
“We don’t have to.” I place a palm on his chest. I don’t know his boundaries, especially given his past. Seeing is one thing, but feeling blood on his bare skin could be a trigger I have no intention of pulling. “Seriously, we can wait.”
His hazel smolder ignites with a burning flame. “How bad are the cramps?”
“Not that—” He nips my ear, chasing the lie from my tongue. “Bad.”
“Hmm.” He palms my navel, his long fingers slinking toward my aching core. “I can fix that.”
A leashed moan leaves my lips. Still, I push his shoulders. “Are yousure?”
Understanding clears his expression. “Oh, I—ah…I have a thing for blood in the bedroom. It’s different to me than what you’re thinking. Sooui,I’m sure.”
“You have a blood kink?”
“Is that too strange for you?”
“No.” I fist his shirt and yank him down to me. “I really fucking love it.”
“Thank the angels you’re just as sick as me.”
I let out a moan, silenced by the pouring rain. “Shut up and fuck me, Scythe.”
“Begging already?” Hetsks as he slips a single fingertip through my slick seam, teasing me with a slow stroke. “I thought you were too proud to beg.”
