Page 80

My hips snap forward to grind against her, fucking into her with a rhythm that is punishing and desperate, every thrust sliding deep, hitting that sweet, swollen spot inside her that makes her cry.

Her hands scramble frantically over my skin, searching for purchase, for anything to anchor herself against the onslaught. Her fingers slide over my wet back before clawing into my shoulder—right into the jagged, angry ridge of the still-healing wound from the Harvester.

Her nails dig in, tearing at the tender, knitting flesh and I groan, leaning into the pain, driving myself harder into her.

“Fuck yes,” I hiss, a fresh wave of need searing through my blood. “Just like that, baby girl. Dig them in. Mark your territory.

She freezes. Through the haze of lust, she realizes what she’s done—realizes she’s tearing me open. Her fingers twitch, retreating, her eyes widening in panic as she tries to pull her hand back from the damage.

“No,” I snarl, slamming my hips against hers with a force that knocks the breath from her lungs. “Don't you dare stop.”

“But—”

“Do it!” I command, my voice thunderous in the small space. “Make me bleed, Eden. I want to feel you everywhere.”

She sobs, a wrecked, desperate sound, but obeys, sinking her nails back into the raw flesh, dragging them down.

Hot blood wells up, mixing with the steam and the spray, streaming down my chest in dark ribbons, and I have never seen anything more beautiful.

“That's it,” I pant, fucking into her with a renewed, animalistic fervor, watching the red swirl down the drain. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

I’m not going to last. The friction’s too perfect, the sting of my torn shoulder acting like a high-octane accelerant to the fire raging in my veins. I’m seconds away from spilling myself inside her, but I’ll be damned to the Pit before I cross that finish line alone.

“Come with me,” I snarl, shifting my grip on her ass, banding my arm around her waist to slide my hand between our bodies to find her clit.

I grind my thumb against her while I snap my hips, hammering into her with a brutal, unforgiving rhythm. I attack her from both sides, surrounding her, overwhelming her.

Her head falls back, a delicious moan tearing from her throat as her inner walls spasm around my cock.

A hot gush of fluid bursts from her, splashing vividly against my abdomen. It coats my skin, hotter and slicker than the shower spray, mixing with the dark rivulets of my blood to create a filthy, beautiful glaze across my stomach.

I groan, burying my face in the crook of her neck as I pour myself into her, the sensation so intense it borders on a white-out of my vision.

The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by the steady stream of the water and the ragged sound of our synchronized breathing. She’s a boneless weight in my arms, her forehead resting against my shoulder, her legs trembling too hard to support herself. I turn off the water and reach for a towel.

Her limbs shiver as I pat her down and dry her off, before wrapping her in it and scooping her up into my arms. She curls into me, burying her face in my neck, seeking my warmth.

I carry her out of the bathroom, intending to deposit her into the center of the mattress and wrap her in the duvet until she’s adequately swaddled. But I stop dead in the doorway.

Occupying my silk sheets—sprawled on his back with his legs in the air, looking like a dead cockroach made of granite—is Chain-Chewer. He’s sound asleep, emitting a low rumble that sounds like a rock tumbler.

“Move,” I say.

Nothing. Not even a twitch of a stone ear.

“Get. Off.” I try again, nudging his rocky flank with my knee.

He lets out a long, sulfurous sigh in his sleep, his tail giving a single, lazy thump against the mattress, but remains effectively a statue.

“Useless collection of minerals,” I mutter, giving up.

I walk around the bed to the sliver of free space on the left side and gently lower Eden onto the pillows. She shifts, her eyes heavy and half-lidded, blinking at the massive form taking up three-quarters of the bed.

“The dog...” she whispers.

“The Hellhound,” I correct, sliding in beside her and pulling the sheets up over us. “Ignore him. If he rolls over and crushes you, I will simply turn him into gravel.”

A soft, sleepy smile curls at her lips and she reaches out, her pale hand resting gently on the Hellhound’s coarse, volcanic snout. He lets out a soft huff in his sleep and leans into her touch.