Page 39 of Devil’s Night (The Shadows of Darkness Universe #3)

Spit drips down my chest, and I moan around him, the vibrations pulling another curse from his lips. He pulls out just long enough for me to gasp for air, to spit and pant and try to speak, but he slaps the tip against my cheek and pushes right back in.

“You’ll take every drop,” he says, voice almost tender beneath the cruelty. “You’ll swallow every fucking inch until you forget what it was like to ever have someone else inside you.”

And I do.

Because with Echo, it’s not just sex.

It’s devotion wrapped in degradation.

It’s ruin disguised as reverence.

And I would kneel for him again.

Every single time.

He pulls out with a slick pop, the corner of his mouth curled in that cruel, gorgeous way that makes my knees want to stay on the floor forever. His cock glistens with spit and defiance. Mine. Not his. Not really. But it doesn’t matter. Because he already owns me.

I’m breathless, ruined from the throat down, trembling in a puddle of spit and blood and something far more dangerous...want. But Echo’s not finished with me. Not even close.

He grabs me by the throat and lifts me like I weigh nothing, shoving me back into the nearest wall with a force that makes the concrete cry out louder than I do.

My head thuds against it, but I don’t care.

I burn beneath him. My pulse stutters as his body presses into mine, pinning me in place, his hand still around my throat, not choking, just holding. Like a leash.

“Tracking me, Butterfly?” he murmurs, voice a low threat against the shell of my ear.

“You left,” I manage, my voice raw, lips swollen. “You went off the grid.”

“Did I?” he hums, smiling. “Or did I just get tired of being watched by the men who claim to protect you?”

I struggle in his grip, but only because I hate the way he sees through me. “Why are you meeting with my father?” I hiss. “Would Roman approve?”

“Roman,” he scoffs, his thumb brushing up my neck, right under my jaw. “Roman doesn’t dictate what I do.”

“You can’t come over-”

“I will do what I please when it comes to you.” His voice sharpens, cuts like glass. “And I won’t ever let another fucking man touch you again.”

I laugh, bitter and shaking. “You don’t control that.”

His eyes flash.

“Don’t I?” he snarls.

His hand drops between us, pressing against the seam of my pants, rubbing slow, taunting circles over the fabric. I whimper, shame blooming like a bruise across my chest, but I still arch into his palm.

“Tonight,” he breathes, leaning in until his lips ghost over mine, “I’m going to fuck you right in your daddy’s house-”

His teeth nip my bottom lip.

“-and remind you exactly who you belong to.”

He presses harder, grinding against me until I’m squirming beneath his hand, needing more. My breath comes in ragged gasps. I don’t want this. I need it.

“I will show your father,” he whispers, “that you belong to no one but me.”

I shake my head. “I can’t-”

His hand slides up to grab my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his.

“You will,” he growls.

There’s no room for negotiation. No space for choice. There never has been with him.

“You may be a Romanov,” Echo murmurs, brushing his nose along mine, lips barely grazing my skin, “but when you’re with me… you’re a Kane.”

The name carves itself into me like a brand.

And then, softly, dangerously tender, he kisses my forehead. Just once. Just enough to break me in an entirely new way.

“Consider this a token of my love,” he whispers.

My breath catches.

Love.

The word rattles through me like a bullet I didn’t see coming. Garrett’s blood still stains the floor where I was on my knees. Echo’s cock is still hard against my stomach. His hand is still cupping my cunt like it belongs to him.

But all I can hear is love.

And the terrifying part?

I believe him.

He doesn’t release me. Doesn’t let me breathe. He just stares, eyes locked on mine, watching me unravel beneath a single word. Watching me choose him, again and again, even when everything in me should be running the other direction.

He pulls away without another word. No gentle look, no soft touch. Just the sound of his belt sliding back into place and the satisfied exhale of a man who just claimed everything he ever wanted, and knows he’ll take it again.

Then he walks away.

I stay where I am, cheek pressed against the cool concrete, the seam of my pants still tugged halfway up my thighs. My body aches in ways I don’t even have names for. I can still feel the way he filled my throat, the slick warmth still leaking down my legs.

But all I can hear is the ghost of a single word.

Love.

He said it like a knife. Like a noose. Like a curse meant for both of us.

Love.

Not obsession.

Not control.

Not possession.

Love.

It shouldn’t make me tremble like this. Shouldn’t make my throat tighten and my chest ache and my mind spins faster than the toy he had inside me.

But it does. Because Echo Kane doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean.

He doesn’t need to. His love isn’t soft.

It isn’t wrapped in safety or tied with a ribbon.

It’s fucking violent.

It comes with blood and bruises and graves.

And he gave it to me.

I reach up, fingers brushing the scar on my waist.

It doesn’t feel like ownership anymore.

It feels like a promise.