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“You. My husband.”
“And your ass? Who does that belong to?”
“You,” I whimper, and try to lift my hips. “Please, Ryker. Don’t stop.”
He ignores me. “And your tits?”
“Yours. It’s all yours. My body is yours and forever will be.”
He drops his head and nips my bottom lip so hard that I feel a twinge of copper hit the back of my tongue.
“What about your heart, Vicious? Who fucking owns that?”
I slide my hands into his hair and pull his face back down. I swipe my tongue across his bottom lip, knowing that I’m leaving a trail of blood behind that he’ll like.
“My heart is yours, husband. You own it, possess it. It beats only for you.”
“Fucking straight it does.”
And then I’m full of him again. He hits something inside me that has me seeing brilliant stars and tightens the muscles in my stomach. Wave after wave of intense euphoria slam through every fiber of my being. It’s all-consuming and lights my body on fire, sending me over a steep cliff I fear will never end.
When I tip my head back and my eyes fall closed, he grips my hair and forces my face back down. His beautiful gray eyes stay locked on mine as we both careen over that same cliff. I cry out my release at the same time a deep rumbly growl leaves his throat.
Several minutes pass as we ride that never-ending wave. Eventually, his forehead drops to mine. We’re both sweaty, and our chests pump the same heavy rhythm.
“Loving you is pure torture,” he says, breaking my heart at the same time giving it life. “Utter fucking torture because I’ll never get enough. There are no amount of lifetimes spent with you that would leave me satisfied. You consume me so completely and irrevocably.”
Tears spring to my eyes, but I blink them away.
“I love you, Ryker,” I whisper my reply. “You’re my heart and my soul. My dark and my light.”
Without pulling out of me, he takes me with him when he rolls to his side. One of my legs stays locked around his hip.
And this is how we fall asleep. With my devil, my king of hearts, anchoring me to him, just as I know he always will.
“Will you tell me about these?”I ask, tracing a scar a couple of inches long right below his belly button.
When he doesn’t answer right away, I shift my head that’s lying on his chest up so I can look at him. His gaze is directed above us, staring at the ceiling. There’s a slight tic in his jaw, and the pulse in his temple visibly throbs.
“You don’t have to—” I start, but he cuts me off when he starts talking.
“My aunt came to live with us a couple of weeks after that night. She said she came to help my mother care for me. Everything was fine for the first few months. She didn’t start her grooming until after my mother was gone the second time.”
“The household staff never suspected anything?”
The tips of his fingers slide slowly up and down my back. “No. Aunt Rosa was very careful. She knew just what to say to keep my mouth shut, and she was the perfect aunt when around others. I was seven when it first started, and she knew how to play with my emotions. My mother was sick and my father wasn’t around to care for her. Aunt said it was up to me to be the man of the house, and it was her job to train me how to be big and strong enough to take my father’s place.”
My gut flips upside down, and bile rises in my throat. My heart physically aches for the boy that Ryker was. To be so young and to lose not only one parent, but both, and then to be taken advantage of in such a sick way…
I wish she was alive so I could get my hands on that bitch. There would be nothing left of her sick fucking body by the time I was finished. Cutting up bodies and Lorena Bobbitting men would pale in comparison to what I would do to that woman.
Ryker’s hand moves to mine that’s still on his lower stomach, and he twines our fingers together. “The cutting didn’t start until a couple of years after she came to live with us. It was part of my training to withstand pain. She’d cut me and lick away the blood she drew, and had me do the same to her. I fucking hated it, but it also intrigued me to see that red leave her body. I wanted to see it all flow out of her. Every single fucking drop.”
The muscles in my throat bob at the mental picture his words produce. A little black-haired boy scared out of his mind. Having to endure the pain of having his flesh cut into, and then being forced to watch as his tormentor feasted on his blood.
“You killed her, didn’t you?” I ask, my voice scratchy from holding back tears.
“Yes,” he answers. “I was twelve. It happened the night she brought a little girl for me to use my training on.”