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“By asking.” Her grip tightened, and I felt my knees threaten to buckle. “By begging. By letting me decide when you get to touch me and how and for how long.”

The House shuddered around us, and the stage lights dimmed until only the two of us were visible. The guests faded into shadow, their masked faces watching from the darkness like hungry ghosts.

“Please,” I said.

“Please what?”

“Please let me touch you.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.” My hands clenched into fists at my sides. “I want to put my mouth on you. I want to taste you. I want to make you come so hard you forget your own name.”

Zinnia’s smile widened. “That’s better. But you’re still thinking like the Devil. You’re still thinking about what you want to do to me instead of what I want you to do.”

“Then tell me.” Dropping to my knees again, I looked up at her. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you. Tell me how to touch you, and I’ll do it. Tell me how to make you feel good, and I’ll spend the rest of the night proving that I can.”

She stared down at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she reached down and pulled her dress up slowly, revealing bare thighs, the curve of her hips, and nothing underneath.

“Start here,” she said, guiding my head between her legs. “And don’t stop until I tell you to.”

I pressed my mouth to her, tasting salt, heat, and something darker that made my head spin. She was already wet, already ready, and when I dragged my tongue through her folds, she gasped and gripped my hair hard enough to hurt.

“Fuck,” she breathed. “Yes. Like that.”

I worked her with my mouth, my tongue circling her clit before dipping lower to taste her fully. She tasted like power and darkness and something I couldn’t name, something that made me want to stay on my knees forever if it meant I could keep touching her.

Her hips rolled against my face, seeking more pressure, more friction, and I gave it to her. I sucked her clit into my mouth, flicked my tongue over it in quick, deliberate strokes, and felt her thighs tremble on either side of my head.

“Don’t stop,” she said. “Don’t you fucking dare stop.”

I didn’t. I kept going, kept licking and sucking and tasting until she was grinding against my mouth with desperate, uncontrolled movements. Her fingers tightened in my hair, pulling hard enough to make my scalp burn, and I groaned against her.

The House responded. The shadows coiled closer, wrapping around our legs like living things. The velvet walls pulsed with Zinnia’s breathing, and the masked guests leaned in even closer, their hunger palpable in the charged air.

“Malachi.” My name came out as a moan. “I’m—fuck—I’m going to⁠—”

She came against my mouth, her body shaking, her thighs clamping around my head as she rode out the waves of her orgasm. I kept licking her through it, gentler now, drawing out every last tremor until she finally pushed my head away.

“Stand up,” she said, her voice rough.

I stood, my face wet with her, my cock straining against my pants. She looked at me with dark, satisfied eyes, then reached out and unbuckled my belt.

“Take them off,” she said.

I stripped quickly, my hands shaking with need. When I was naked, she circled me again, her gaze raking over every inch of my body.

“You’re still beautiful,” she said softly. “Even after everything. Even after all the shit you’ve done. You’re still the most beautiful monster I’ve ever seen.”

“Zinnia—”

“Shut up.” Pushing me backward, she guided me toward a velvet chaise that had appeared at the edge of the stage. “Sit down.”

I sat, and she straddled me, her dress pooling around her hips. She didn’t lower herself onto me yet. Instead, she leaned in and kissed me, slow and deep, tasting herself on my tongue.

“I want you inside me,” she said against my mouth. “But first, I need you to understand something.”

“What?”