Page 68 of Breaking Ophelia

Her body gives before her mind does. She comes again, nails digging furrows in my arms, her legs locking around my waist. The heat and the grip of her almost finishes me, but I bite her shoulder, taste the blood, and hold back.

“Look at me,” I demand.

She does. There’s no more hate, but there’s not much love there, some, but not enough. There’s want too, pure and wild.

I slow, grinding into her in short, brutal circles. My hand finds her throat, squeezing just enough to make her eyes flutter. Theother hand traces her collarbone, then the mark I left with my bite.

“You’re beautiful,” I say, and I mean it.

She laughs, a wrecked little sound, and for the first time I see the cracks in her armor.

I keep going, slow and deep, letting her feel every inch. I want to memorize this—her body, her sounds, the way she’s both my downfall and my heaven.

The sun breaks through the trees, gold and raw. It catches in her hair, makes her skin glow.

I come, hard, pulsing inside her, and she shudders, eyes wide, lips parted.

I stay there, buried in her, holding her up against the tree.

She’s shaking, but she doesn’t look away.

I press my lips to her ear. “You did good.”

When it’s over, I don’t let go.

I hold her, lips at her ear.

“It’s done,” I say, voice broken. “You’ve been claimed. You’re mine, Ophelia, come hell or high water.”

She cries, silent, but she holds on, too.

The Hunt is over.

The ritual is complete.

And she’s finally home.

She goes limp, the fight leaking out of her with every shaky breath.

The Boys are gone. Even Julian has melted into the woods. It’s just us and the welts across our skin as we hold each other.

I pull out, cock wet and limp, and tuck myself away. I let her slide down the tree, catching her before she hits the ground.

She curls up, knees to her chest, arms wrapped tight.

I crouch next to her, not touching, just watching.

She’s a mess. Hair matted, dress torn off, blood and sap and tears all over her. But she’s alive.

I reach out, slow, and brush her hair off her face.

She flinches, but doesn’t pull away.

“You did it, baby girl. You did it. Now comes the easy part.”

She laughs, a sick little giggle. “Yeah? Do I get to dress up and look like a corpse bride now? Do we get married on the same alter where they spilled my blood, or do I get to have a bath first?”

I chuckle. “We can discuss the rest after you’ve eaten, slept and had medical attention. Your things are already moved to our wing. Into my room. Alternate arrangements will be made after the ceremony.”