Page 37 of Chain Me

“You put on a good enough act.” He brushed his thumb along the trembling corner of my mouth, tracing my frown. “But your heart betrays you always. It rarely hammers in fear. Instead, your pulse dances with excitement.”

My head spun as I desperately tried to regain clarity. Sanity. Anything. “Stop—”

“Then face what you really fear. Do you enjoy mocking me? Parading me through a crypt and spewing poetic notions of death? This truly is a game to you.”

He swiped his hand over my belly and I cringed, resisting his touch. But then his fingers drifted lower. Lower, plunging between my legs.

And I forgot how to move. How to breathe. Paralyzed, I was a slave to his reaction.

A hiss caught between his teeth. “Damn you.” Eyes glowing, he looked down at his fingers. “Of course you’re wet already. Of course you crave this.”

A deeper groan resonated in his chest as he flexed his wrist, caressing the part of me only he had ever claimed. I closed my eyes, my lips bitten and raw. Noises escaped my throat regardless.

He was ruthless, utilizing sinful, featherlight passes of his thumb. My head reared back against the frigid glass, a groan ripped from my lips.

“Look at me.” His forehead nudged mine until I met his gaze. Both eyes were wide. Unfocused. Less devil now, merely an angel fallen from his perch, hell-bent on dragging me down with him. “I’ll destroy you before you destroy me. I will. So stop daring me to. Death is a fucking game to you, but life?Thatmakes you run scared. So say it.” His mouth found my earlobe, grazing the tip in a silent plea. “Put a name to yourtumoror forfeit your body if you’re so determined to die anyway. Say it or you’re mine.”

“Why are you doing this?” My eyes were overflowing. All I could see were shadows—dark and light, swirling around us. “Stop.”

“Then say it.”

My lips parted. I croaked, “C-Cancer.”

“Fair enough.”

A zipper hummed, sounding miles away, and real panic descended.

“Let me go,” I said breathlessly.

He didn’t, placing his hands on my hips with a gentleness that contradicted the hate radiating off him in waves.

I should have been screaming. Clenching my legs together.

But when he flicked his thumb along my inner thigh, they spread for him with no resistance. It was as if my body rebelled against my brain, welcoming the pressure inching inside me with no restraint. His hips slammed against mine and my spine arched, driving him deeper.

He stiffened as if waiting for me to shove him off. Scream. Fight. My mouth found the crook of his shoulder instead, stealing his scent in ragged gulps. He raged inside me, so rigid, forcing my numbed flesh to conform. Burn.

And it was an agony some sick part of me relished. Raw friction. Communication he couldn’t fake or deceive through.

His body stripped him bare and only like this were we ever matched.

Two desperate, pathetic souls.

Groaning, he rocked his hips and my breathing faltered. He was too deep. Too consuming. My nails dug into his shoulders, my face hidden against his skin—but he wrenched on my skull, forcing me to face him.

“Two months,” he declared against my parted lips, his eyes heavy-lidded. “Weeks of torment. Being haunted by this.” He growled in time with another slow, searing thrust. “Your skin. The feel of you. The sound of you…”

Lies.I fought the wave of pleasure, my eyelids fluttering—but then he jerked, slamming into me. Mind-numbing fire ripped down my spine, feeding on my blood like gasoline, and I went limp.

“I should have killed you the first time,” he said. “It’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

The words he said didn’t matter. Each gritted note in his voice set off a chain reaction. Nerves crackled. Short-circuited. I whimpered, grasping him tighter. My hips shifted, urging him deeper. Harder. More.

He hissed, rearing back. Then he lurched into me. “Restraint. You take it from me. Always. And you think you can hide from me? From this.” Harder. Sharper thrusts made every fear and doubt dissolve into nothing. “But I own you, always. Body and soul.”

His thumb invaded between my legs, and I saw white with each stroke he delivered. Every muscle contracted, contorting me like a puppet on violent strings.

All the while, his thrusts quickened. Faster. Too fast.