Page 63 of Married to the Devil

I come as he comes, the shattering like a shotgun blast, and I can’t breathe as he fills my mouth, and I don’t care as I stroke my pussy through it all. I pull back, gasping, swallowing, and he hauls me to my feet. I feel boneless, spineless, like I can barely stand, but he holds me and kisses me, running his hands over my body, whispering how good I am, how I did such a perfect job, how I’m so beautiful and he doesn’t deserve it and he’ll burn the world to make sure I’m safe.

I collapse into his arms. We stand like that, the blood rinsed clean, the water raining around us. His taste in my mouth, down my throat. His dick still hard, the orgasm ringing in my ears.

“Don’t do that to me again,” I say, closing my eyes as I lean against his chest. “Don’t show up all bruised and beaten like that.”

“I can’t make any promises.”

“You’re the boss. You have people to do the fighting for you.”

“That’s the problem with being in charge. All the responsibility is mine. I can’t ask people to do things I wouldn’t do myself.” He tilts my chin up and kisses me gently. “But it’s easier with you here.”

I wash him slowly, exploring his skin. He talks about some of his tattoos: how he got a strip of solid black to cover burn scars, the crow to signify his family, the dove with the broken branch for his lost baby sister. He tells me there was a fire a long time ago, but he doesn’t go into the details and I don’t ask him more.

But I notice the scars. The burn marks. They’re especially bad on his hands. The tattoos do a good job masking them, but now that I know, they’re easy to find.

And the word on his knuckles, the same word his brothers have.

Ashes.

We get out and dress together. He’s tender with me, toweling me off, even making a couple of lighthearted jokes. When we’re set, he kisses me. “You should check on Hattie.”

“You’re right, but are you going to be okay?”

“I’m fine. I promise. I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

“I won’t tell Hattie that. She’ll never leave you alone.”

He smiles and it’s strange. It’s almost pained. “I’d hate it if she did.”

I linger in the quiet of the room after he’s gone, wondering what’s happening to me and why I feel like a piece of my body’s been ripped from my chest but inserted backwards, upside-down, somehow wrong, and somehow that makes me whole again.

20

JUNE

“There!” Hattie pats the bandage she stuck to Rafe’s cheek. “All better!”

“Thank you, darling.” He says it reverently. “You’re a fantastic doctor.”

“Easy-peasy.” She starts to dig for another Band-Aid. “More?”

“No, no, we have to let Rafe get back to work.” I tug my daughter by the hand. She doesn’t resist, but she does pout.

“He doesn’t look busy.”

“Hattie!”

“He doesn’t!”

Rafe’s laugh is a low rumble. It startles us both. “I’ll come find you later, pony queen, how does that sound?”

“Fine.” She’s still pouting, but at least she lets me take her outside.

It’s been a day since Rafe came home bruised and bloodied. His injuries are thankfully mild. A doctor came by to check him, a white-haired man that apparently does house calls for the Corvinos. He acted like it was the most normal thing in the world, finding Rafe beaten to shit.

But it’s been bothering me ever since it happened. The way Rafe was fine one hour and almost broken the next. How the gore and the cuts are proof that there’s trouble outside these walls.

I spend the morning out back at the pool with Hattie. She splashes in the shallow end, wearing her puddle jumper and a pair of goggles while I sit on the edge with my phone. Music plays from speakers hidden in the rocks.