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His eyes shutter, and he drops his gaze before I can decipher the emotion in them.

Slowly, he stands, and by the time he raises his lids, I see nothing but my own reflection. I brace myself, but it does little to prepare for the lightning searing across my flesh when the twig lands on my stomach.

Breathing through the pain, I plead, “Let me see your scars.”

Surprisingly, he grants me that small favor and removes his hoodie from his head.

I soak in his naked torso and release a shaky exhale. Where he hit me is almost precisely the same place as the scar on his stomach. Through blurred vision, I watch him whip out his arm, landing another strike to mirror his chest wound, reopening the unhealed rose over my heart.

I told him to carve that rose into my skin because I wanted to bear the pain we endured together. When he lashes out again, replicating yet another mark, I realize he’s giving his pain to me—sharing it with me.

Steadily, the burn from each wound transcends until I feel every beat of agony in the apex of my thighs. Blood covers my body, painting my flesh in a mosaic of pain and pleasure. With each strike, my clit throbs, and I grow wetter and hotter. I’m panting by the time he drops the twig, my legs trembling and threatening to give beneath me.

His own chest heaves and his low-slung jeans only define how hard he is.

A deep, rumble sounds from his throat as his gaze eats up the art piece he’s created on my body. My skin is the canvas to release his pain on, and I’m happy to accept each angry stroke.

“I’ve only ever wanted to love you. But I think hating you tastes just as bittersweet.”

“Please,” I whisper, incapable of uttering anything else.

I’m in his arms a moment later, the belt around my throat seizing my breath. But I don’t care—hardly notice—when all I can feel is the slide of his skin against mine. He grabs the belt and lifts me higher in his arms, raising the leather strap with me to accommodate my new position. My legs wrap tightly around his waist, and I roll my hips, shuddering from the feel of his hard length sliding against my pussy, the roughness of his jeans only heightening the pleasure.

His hands skate over the marks, eliciting a sharp hiss. A sound quickly swallowed by his lips. My back arches, bliss racing up my spine as he devours me, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips before plunging through, exploring my mouth as his hands do my body.

Every touch aches, though it feeds the growing wildfire raging beneath my skin. Desperately, I tear at his jeans, the zipper barely releasing before his cock tears from the confines.

My hand wraps around his length, drawing a shudder from him that has nothing to do with the wind still ravaging Seattle. He’s hot to the touch and so fucking hard that I feel a pinch of uneasiness.

But the dark God doesn’t care if I falter. He grabs the backs of my knees and forces my legs apart, freeing him from my hold. Kneeling before me, he slings each of my legs over his shoulders and drags his mouth against my inner thigh.

I suck in a breath when his lips skate close to a welt, the pain flaring brightly as his teeth sink into my flesh. Blood drops down between his teeth, and I cry out as the agony begins to overwhelm me.

Finally, he releases me, a perfect bite mark imprinted next to the welt, dotted with saliva.

“I think I could eat you alive, Adeline. Consume every bit of you while you scream beneath me. And even in death, you would still torture me. I would die of starvation because nothing else would compare to you.”

“You will never be able to live without me, Zade,” I breathe. “If you’re my death, then I’m your fucking lifeline.”

He grins humorously, the tilt of his lips dangerous as he drags them up my thigh and towards my aching pussy. I’m drenched, and the slightest touch of his tongue will send me soaring.

“You are,” he agrees. “You’re the only thing I need to survive. I will follow you into the afterlife, little mouse. And then how will you escape me? There’s nowhere to run after you’ve been dragged to Hell.”

His mouth closes over my clit before I can think to respond. My head kicks back from the explosive pleasure that erupts beneath his skilled tongue.

I cry out, my eyes rolling as he works me with such precision; it’s as if I’m nothing more than a violin that sings for him when he strokes me just like that.

The way I scream for him could be nothing short of art.

Just as he promised, he devours me. Biting and sucking until I’m pleading for mercy, then licking me until no other words exist but his name on my tongue.

My thighs clench around his head while I mindlessly buck against him. I’m climbing a mountain, and the higher I get, the harder it is to breathe. What a dirty little trick—to fool me into danger. By the time I reach the peak, there will be no air left, and that climb will have only been for heaven.

His hands brush against my battered thighs, smearing crimson into my skin and reawakening the sharp pain.

It slams into me, sending my body plummeting off that mountain and my soul into paradise. A scream tears through my constricted throat, hoarse and strained as I grind against him, trapping him between my thighs and robbing him of oxygen.

Prying my legs apart, he grips me under my knees and lifts me a little higher as he stands, relieving some of the pressure on my throat. I place my hands on his broad shoulders, balancing myself.