I exhale before taking slow steps forward, but as soon as I’m within reach he grabs my hand, yanking me into him. I trip, the front of my body slamming into him, our faces so close my lips ghost over his.
When I feel his other hand slide down to my ass, giving it a possessive squeeze like we’re suddenly a thing, my throat goes dry. I swallow hard, glancing over my shoulder to see if anyone’s watching—heart hammering and nerves fraying.
As soon as I notice it’s just us alone, I straighten, but he still has a hold of my hand and with his other he begins to write on my palm.
What do I get in return, Allure? You’ve never begged me vocally before.
My eyes roll again without even realizing before I lift a brow.
“This isn’t me begging you, Wrath. I’ll just find another way. I would never beg you.”
Again, his eyes drop as he turns my hand, responding on the other side.
Your throat and body said otherwise last night. It was begging me to stop. Begging me to continue. What a confused little corpse you are.
The words burn hotter than the ink and I can feel the small smile on my lips, but when his red eyes flash up to mine to see my reaction, my face falls again.
“Do you always have to have something in return? Do you always have to be so forceful, scary and fucking dominant all the time?” I say, my words softer than intended.
He waits, taking in what I said, his gaze soaking in my face before he looks down again, forcing my sleeve up my arm so he can write across my skin.
Yeah, I do. Because when you fight me, it makes me want to kill you more. Which gets me hard. Vicious fucking circle.
So I’ll keep taking ‘til you learn what you already are.
Now tell me, Aurelia. What the fuck do I get in return?
I frown before standing a little taller, chin raised in defiance.
“My tits and pussy pressed against your back for the next hour or so?”
I watch his jaw tighten, his teeth biting like he’s about to snap, fed up with my sarcasm. I exhale a frustrated breath, realizing I’ve probably said way more than I should.
“What… What do you want?” I ask, cringing inwardly at the words I’m about to regret.
His eyes trail down the front of me, like he’s already tearing off my clothes with his stare.He lets go of my hand, rises, and suddenly he’s towering over me.
My neck cranes back, chest tight, and then he’s there, lowering his face to the side of my neck, his hands sliding around my waist, shaky but certain like they’ve always belonged there.
His tongue, warm and pierced, drags a line up the side of my throat, slow enough to make me shiver, flicking over the sharp curve of my jaw like a blade testing where to cut.
I gasp, my eyes closing as that awful need blooms inside me, heat rolling through me in waves I can’t control, my pussy clenching so hard it almost makes my knees tremble.
And then it hits—fluttering and frantic. I think for a second it’s butterflies, but no, it can’t be, not with him. It’s something far worse, something darker, Satan’s bats tearing through me like a warning siren dressed as some kind of twisted lust.
His hands clamp down on my waist, so sudden and rough my lungs collapse around the shock of it, eyes flying open just as he hauls me clean off the ground like I weigh nothing.
There’s no softness—just the force of him dropping me down onto his bike, like he can just easily throw me around.
Of course he doesn’t answer me. Wrath never says what he’ll do next. He justdoes because that’s what gets him off. He likes to keep my nerves on edge.
With no helmet, he swings onto the bike in front of me and kicks off the stand. He side-eyes me over his shoulder, and I hesitantly wrap my arms around his waist, my fingers gently tracing over his bare abs beneath the leather jacket.
After I tell him where to go, he revs the bike a couple of times before skidding us away at full speed, tires tearing over the ground.
After some time on the highway, the sun starts to dip, casting a soft amber glow over everything as we pull up to the lockup. Wrath kills the engine, and I swing off the bike, turning to face him.
“I’ll hopefully only be a few minutes,” I say, and he just stares while his hands grip the handlebars a little too tightly, like he’s fighting the urge to follow me inside.
