Page 48 of Antiletum (The Nocturne #1)

I buck my hips, push at his legs, my wet hands turning the fabric dark, trying to throw him off of me. And it’s painfully exhilarating when he strengthens his stance, pinning me down further as he leans forward to wrestle my arms into his grasp.

For a moment, I succeed in keeping myself free, thanks to how wet and slick my skin is.

But in no time, Val has my wrists pinned in one hand, raising them above my head—firm but careful, and his controlled dominance has me delving into a puddle of liquid warmth beneath him, practically arching my back for more .

His other hand disappears into his pocket. I half expect to see the same habit of Val clutching the mystery item he’s always reaching for. A wave of excitement hits me, suspecting that I may finally learn what it is, but instead, he withdraws a white, nearly sheer ribbon.

I can’t imagine that a scrap of spidersilk would be what he holds so dear. No, I’m certain that it’s purpose has everything to do with him barging into my en suite and the way he has my wrists held in his hands right now.

“What are you doing?” I scream. But I can’t bring myself to say any of the little words that I know I should. The ones that would match my physical fight. That might actually make Val pull his perfect weight away from me.

Instead, I revel in how my pussy clenches hard when my husband tightens his hold on my wrists and leans over my body.

His bare chest rubs against my hard, bare nipples.

I’m taken by an involuntary image of him holding me down, just like this, while he pushes my legs apart with a knee and slides his big, heavy cock right on inside of me.

Deep. Hard. Owning.

I’m getting hotter, wetter—I barely stifle a shameful, needy little moan when Val confirms my suspicions of the ribbon by quickly wrapping the spidersilk around my wrists in a complicated pattern and then expertly weaves it through the slats at my headboard, tying me down. Putting me in my place.

Completely at his mercy.

I like it far more than I ever should. Especially with all the misery he has hand delivered me since we’ve begun haunting each other’s lives. I can’t decide if this increasing want is in spite of or because of all that he’s done, completely driven by his unhinged devotion.

“You know,” Val says calmly, pushing my wet hair behind my ear. “I nearly crafted your earrings out of vinculum , same as mine”—he gestures at his own black earrings that I lovingly placed in his ear—“since they will need to be one day when you are able to shift. So you may never lose them.”

But of course, he made them all himself.

“Val!” I scream, getting an inkling of where this scenario may be leading.

I knew the removal of his wedding gift would cut deep, but it seems I struck a nerve I hadn’t fully anticipated the repercussions of.

I yank at the tie around my wrists, a pleasurable ache pulling at my upper back, my hearing muffled and strange with how my shoulders rest by my ears. But the fabric wrapped around me doesn’t chafe. It’s so soft, almost delicate; it’s almost like there’s nothing there at all.

But no matter how I move or twist, my tether doesn’t come free. It only increases the pressure wound around my wrists and the traitorous ache building between my legs. Spidersilk keeping me captive in my own bed. A very expensive, indestructible, thoughtful shackle.

Val sits back on his heels, still straddling my waist, smiling down at me and his handiwork when I finally sit still.

I glare back at him.

He cocks a brow: an obvious challenge. Waiting for me to say something. I could. I should . But I just can’t make my tongue work past the lovely heaviness gathering between my thighs. It’s too wanted. It feels far too good.

And I need it. I need him to stoke this raging fire so it may finally burn out.

I bite my lip, not saying a word.

“That’s what I thought,” Val whispers smugly, tapping my cheek twice when I don’t tell him to stop. Don’t demand that he let me go.

I’ve been thinking about it far too much, the way my husband felt inside of me .

The way his tongue feels between my legs, hot and wet.

Slow but knowing. Determined. The way he used his whole big body to fuck when I encouraged him to do so, taking my cues with little direction.

Moving so expertly it makes a cruel slip of jealousy eat through me every time I think about it, knowing there’s only one way to become that good.

Ridiculous, because it’s not as if he’s been my only lover. And despite what he says, we have no real claim over each other. I absolutely refuse.

Our kiss in the graveyard follows me like a shadow, even now.

It was sublime. To have Val’s tongue in my mouth.

His body against mine. To see him naked and beautiful, washed in moonlight with our magic coming together, breathing life.

To hear his quiet, masculine moans and groans because I felt good against him and he liked it too.

I need it.

This. Him throwing me around and being harsh, this is exactly what I need. To work all of this longing out of my system without it being sweet or intimate. Without giving him another opening to work his way in. The complete opposite of that tender moment we shared in the cemetery.

I need him to give me his all, so I may move on from this desire that I can’t ignore.

This lust that keeps me awake at night, replaying our wedding and the blissful hours where I thought that I could have something that isn’t real.

I have to satisfy this relentless pull, feed the delusion, and put it behind me, just like I have been forced to do with everyone else.

I tug on the spidersilk, holding me in place, the wood of my headboard creaking.

Exquisite heat races through me. And I wonder if Val will replace my earrings before he gives me what I need.

Maybe he’ll do it while he’s inside of me.

I can’t even find it within myself to object to piercings that I will no longer be able to remove, to let him mark me forever in yet another way, contradicting how desperately I needed him out only last night.

Val leans down over me, and I moan at his closeness. I ache to throw my arms around his back, my legs around his waist. The heat of his chest reaches out for mine, my hard nipples desperate to scrape across his skin again. But he stops just shy of our bodies making contact.

“Look at you,” Val whispers, a hand bracketing my waist to keep me from squirming.

“Always trying to pretend you don’t want what we have.

But here you are, hot and needy when I tell you what to do.

” Val peeks down between us and my stare follows his, watching where the fabric of his pants hits the bare skin of my lower stomach.

“Are you wet right now, Delaney? Are you nice and ready for me, just from tying you up?”

Glower firmly in place, I nod. An invitation.

Val lifts, just barely. Just enough to slowly bring a hand between my thighs, swiping his fingers against me. Gentle. Light. Not with the roughness I need. He chuckles at how wet I am. But I can see that he is equally as hard through his loose, thin pants.

He trails his wet fingers against my lips. They part for him, panting and hungry. He rubs his pads softly against the tip of my tongue, feeding me my desire. I wrap my lips around him, sucking hard.

He groans, removing his fingers from my mouth. Running them down the column of my neck before sucking them into his own mouth.

“I bet you’re just aching to be touched, aren’t you? To have my hands, or my mouth, or my cock on your tight little pussy, making it feel good—right? ”

“Yes,” I whine.

“Remember how we moaned each other’s names when we made each other come? That felt good, didn’t it? Wasn’t that nice?”

Gooseflesh breaks out across my skin.

“You held me so tight, kept me so close while we came, I didn’t think you were ever going to let me go.”

Val licks at the remaining wetness on my lips.

“I loved it, having you wrapped around me. I loved having my mouth between your legs, just before I fucked you right. How you rode my face with my tongue tucked in your pussy. I could tell how much you liked it, too. I think you want that again. I think you want all of it.” His hand comes between us, the flat of his palm barely rubbing over my clit.

Too gentle. I’m about to ask him for more, to be rougher, when Val slaps my pussy, making me jump and whine.

“I could put my fingers in you right now.” He cups me in his large hand, grinding it against me, and I think I feel my soul lifting from my body.

“As many as I want. Stretch you as wide as I want. And you couldn’t stop me.

” Val laughs again. Low and rumbly. “Not that I think you’d want to. In fact, I bet you’d like that.”

I moan, rolling my hips up towards him, fucking myself against the palm of his hand. Waiting for him to deliver. About to come anyways, even if he doesn’t.

“But no.” Val steals his hand away from me, leaving me cold and horribly wanting.

I make an embarrassing noise of protest—one that he dutifully ignores.

“I think you’d rather be well and truly fucked.

Not with my mouth. Not with my fingers. I think you want me to make you feel every single inch of me. I think you want me to make it hurt.”

“Yes,” I plead, hoping entirely too hard that maybe he’ll give another teasing slap to my cunt. Harder than the last time. Make it hurt, just like he said .

Val sits back up, his heavy weight pinning my hips. His black eyes have gone steely. Pained and downright angry. “But I thought you would rather die than be with me?” he challenges with a bite, taking me by surprise, his hurt fully on display.

Jaw set, I look him in the eye, unable to fully drop my pride while also hoping said willfulness will push him over this edge of insanity with me. “I would.”