“Kallum.” The way she exhales my name feels like a prayer. An admission. And I realize how badly I want to hear it over and over, as if her voice has the power to save my wretched soul.
Even as I bend, touching my lips to the crescent shape of her stained flesh, I know that isn’t possible.
I’m not damned to suffer in Hell.
I’m the ruler of it. The king of its fiery, sinful domain.
Elena Ricci, my little Persephone, is simply collateral.
Nonetheless, for tonight, I’m willing to pretend otherwise.
A tiny moan vibrates up her spine as I dive in, giving several long, languid strokes along her seam. The bitter tang of copper explodes in my mouth, soaking into my taste buds as I erase her innocence for good.
From this angle, she’s completely bared to me, and there’s an edge of wickedness at the vulnerability in her position.
Dipping down, I use one hand to anchor her hips against me, bringing the pads of my fingers up to her clit just as my tongue makes contact. She bucks, grinding into the movement as I suckle at the bundle of nerves, my dick kicking behind my slacks at the feel of her pulse.
Her thighs flex, trying to close as an orgasm tears through her, but I shove my shoulders between them to keep her open.
Another knock on the door temporarily draws me from my ministrations, although it seems to have the opposite effect on Elena; she mewls, arching her back as Mateo calls out her name.
“That’s right, little one,” I coax, pushing two fingers inside as I lap at her slit, massaging her inner walls with renewed fervor. “Let him hear you come for me.”
As if waiting for my command, she convulses, crying out wordlessly. My tongue spears into her, slurping her juices as she trembles violently. Her clit throbs so hard against me that I’m damn near close to blowing in my pants, and I pinch it to prolong her release.
Dropping to her elbows and pressing her forehead into the mattress, she juts her ass higher into the air, wiggling as if trying to escape me.
After gulping several deep breaths, her iron-clad grip on the comforter loosens. “Holy shit.”
Mateo’s knocking begins again, this time harder and more persistent. “What the hell are you doing in there, Elena?” he calls, and I’m reminded once again that she’s technically supposed to be his.
That after tonight, I’ll leave town and she’ll marry him. Fulfill her duty to her father and family, and be the good little wife she’s been brought up to be.
And it’s fine. I knew going in what this was, that it could only ever be one night.
But still, the idea of him having her in any capacity makes me ill, and I’m reaching into my pocket for the switchblade I carry there. Desperate to claim her, before he can permanently.
I push up on my knees and heave a breath. “Do you trust me?”
Her head turns, hair falling back over her shoulder. Silence passes between us, leaden in the air, and she purses her lips. “Unfortunately.”
Swallowing, I flip open the blade and drag the dull side over the curve of her ass, wishing I could bottle the way her breath hitches and wear it on my skin forever.
“Elena! Open the goddamn door!”
She doesn’t make a sound when my hand dips, pressing the tip of the knife into her soft, inflamed skin of her inner thigh.
There’s no coming back from this,my mind screams, begging me not to claim her this way. So fucking decidedly, when I know I shouldn’t have her at all.
Elena Ricci isn’t mine.
But her lack of protest spurs me on, and I press inward, salivating when her flesh gives and breaks open for me.
“Oh, fuck,” she hisses, curling her toes and straining against her bindings. “What are youdoing?”
“Owningyou.” A few quick flicks of my wrist and the blade slices nicely, neatly, through her. Blood trickles from the wound, something just deep enough to scar, and a disturbing sense of exhilaration washes through me.