Page 42 of These Hallowed Bones (Bloody Desires #3)

The blade turned in his hand, catching light as it descended. Cold steel kissed my inner thigh, then bit deeper. Blood pearled along the precise line he carved, a scarlet signature against my skin. I bucked beneath him, a gasp tearing from my throat as pain blazed into pleasure.

"Now we match," he said. His free hand rose to show me his own palm, where a fresh cut mirrored mine. "Blood of my blood. Our private exhibition, art in its purest form."

He pressed his bleeding palm against my thigh. Our blood mingled as he smeared it across the cut. The pain and pleasure twisted together and built toward something transcendent.

"For our next project," he explained as he collected some of our mingled blood on his fingertips. "A binding agent created from both of us."

The thought of our blood being incorporated into our next creation thrilled me. "Perfect."

His fingers traced the cut on my thigh, still sensitive and slightly swollen. "So brave for Daddy, taking my blade so beautifully."

I arched into his touch, desire building inside me. "Anything for you. Any part of me you want."

"I want to carve my name on every inch of you," he said, voice rough with possession. "Not just your skin, but deeper—into your muscles, your bones. I want these hallowed bones of yours to carry my mark long after we're dust." He reached for the lube in the side drawer and slicked his fingers.

The first finger breached me, cool and slick. I gasped, not from pain but from the intimacy. After all this time, Ezra touching me still felt like the first time. My body opened for him, welcoming him inside.

"So responsive," he murmured, his eyes never leaving mine. "Always so eager for me."

A second finger joined the first, stretching me in the most delicious way. When he crooked them just so, they pressed directly against my prostate, sending electric pleasure shooting up my spine. My back arched off the couch, a moan tearing from my throat.

"Ezra," I gasped, my hands grasping at his shoulders, the moth pressed between our bodies. "God, right there."

His smile turned predatory. "Tell me how it feels. I want to hear you."

"Full," I managed between ragged breaths. "Perfect. Like you're touching my soul."

He knelt between my thighs, his cock heavy and flushed dark.

The sight of him poised there, ready to claim me, made my breath catch.

When the blunt head pressed against my slicked entrance, we locked eyes.

No words needed. In that gaze lived every dark secret we shared, every body we'd transformed together.

"Mine," he growled as he pushed forward, breaching me in one smooth thrust.

The delicious burn of being stretched open made me gasp.

My body yielded to him as it always did, accepting him deeper than anyone had ever been.

I clenched around him, savoring how his breath hitched, how his jaw tightened in response.

His pulse throbbed inside me, our heartbeats syncing as he filled me completely.

"Yours," I agreed, voice breaking as he bottomed out.

As he thrust into me, I pictured the gallery patrons from earlier tonight, how none of them would recognize the monster beneath my carefully curated mask.

How they'd admired my art without understanding its origins.

The secret knowledge made my cock throb harder, my body tightening around Ezra as our shared darkness spiraled between us.

"Love you," I gasped as the words slipped out unbidden. "Love you, Daddy."

"I love you, too, Micah," he growled, his rhythm faltering only momentarily.

"I love the monster beneath your beautiful face.

I love the darkness you hide from everyone but me.

" His eyes burned into mine, fierce and possessive.

"I would burn down the world to keep you.

I would slaughter anyone who tried to take you from me.

That's how I love you, Micah. Total. Consuming. Forever."

His thrusts became more urgent, more raw.

My nails dug into his shoulders and drew fresh blood that mingled with the dried flakes from earlier.

We moved together in perfect synchronicity.

Blood smeared between our bodies. The metallic scent mingled with sweat and sex.

When his hand wrapped around my cock while his other fingers pressed against the cut on my thigh, I cried out and came.

His hips jerked against me as he followed, his groan muffled against my shoulder.

We lay tangled together afterward, blood and cum drying between our bodies. His weight created a comforting pressure. The new rings on our fingers caught the lamplight, twin promises of a shared future neither of us had dared hope for before finding each other.

"We need to clean up," he murmured eventually and pressed a kiss to my temple. "The exhibition reviews will start appearing online soon, and I want to monitor what the critics say."

I laughed. The sound vibrated between our still-joined bodies. "Always calculating, even after mind-blowing sex."

"It's called survival, sweet boy," he replied while carefully withdrawing from me. "The pleasures of our private life alongside the necessary vigilance."

After cleaning up, we settled in his study, our study.

Ezra's laptop sat open to art review websites while I curled against his side, my head resting on his shoulder.

The moth rested in my lap, its soft glow illuminating the keyboard as I squeezed it gently.

The first review appeared shortly before midnight, glowing praise for my "revolutionary techniques" and "profound emotional depth.

" More followed. Each highlighted different aspects of the exhibition while universally acknowledging the emergence of an important new voice in contemporary art.

"They love you," Ezra observed while scrolling through the fourth consecutive positive review. "Just as I knew they would."

"They don't know me," I countered and traced patterns on his chest where my blood had dried in abstract whorls. "Not really. They know the mask I wear for them. The carefully constructed artistic persona."

His fingers traced the ring on my left hand, the metal warmed now by my skin. "And that's how it will stay. Our secret. Our truth."

"Our choice," I added and felt the smooth metal where our blood had dried into the microscopic crevices of the platinum.

We abandoned the reviews and started planning our future. More exhibitions. More hunts. More transformations of the mundane into the transcendent. A shared life built on perfect understanding of each other's darkness.

"What do you think about Italy next summer?" Ezra asked. His fingers played with the latest bite mark on my shoulder. "There's a residency program in Florence I've been invited to join. Three months of teaching and creating. You could come as my husband."

The casual use of "husband" sent warmth cascading through me. "Florence sounds perfect."

"I've already mapped potential hunting grounds," he murmured, pulling a small notebook from the bedside drawer. He opened it to reveal meticulous notes and architectural sketches.

I traced the detailed diagrams with my maimed hand, the stump of my little finger catching slightly on the paper. "You've been planning this for a while."

"Since I saw your first independent work," he admitted. "I knew then we'd need to expand our canvas beyond this city." His finger tapped the circled area on the map. "The art students near the Accademia tend to wander alone at night, sketching the old buildings. No one notices when one disappears."

"So many beautiful bone structures," I agreed, already imagining the possibilities. "Italian cheekbones will create extraordinary luminosity in the right medium."

"Not to mention all those devout Catholics with their guilt complexes," Ezra added. "Perfect psychological profiles for your religious transformation series."

"We'll need to establish a proper workspace there," I mused. "Somewhere private, with good ventilation and drainage."

"Already arranged," he replied and pressed a kiss to my temple. "A converted wine cellar beneath our apartment. Stone walls, original floor drains intact. The previous owner was a taxidermist."

The shadow inside me stirred pleasantly at the prospect. Not fighting for escape anymore, but fully integrated into who I was, who we were together.

As midnight passed and a new day began, we remained entwined together, planning our future in soft voices.

Italy next summer. Then perhaps Japan after that, where Ezra knew a private collector who specialized in unusual artistic materials.

Each destination offered new inspiration, new techniques, new subjects to transform.

"I want to watch you work in Florence," Ezra murmured. His voice roughened with renewed desire. "Want to see you select your first Italian subject. Want to guide your hand as you make that first cut into Mediterranean flesh."

"I want you to help me open them," I replied and felt his cock harden against my thigh. "Want to create something so beautiful together that no one would ever guess its origins."

"My perfect, bloodthirsty boy," he groaned and pulled me closer. "My gorgeous monster."

Through the window, dawn broke across the sky.

The moth glowed softly in my lap, illuminating our blood-marked skin in gentle blue light.

I traced the ring on my finger. The cut on my thigh throbbed pleasantly, the latest mark in the constellation of scars that mapped Ezra's ownership across my body.

Each one a promise, a memory, a covenant written in flesh.

"Florence next," I whispered, leaning against his chest.

Ezra's reflection appeared behind mine in the window glass, his eyes meeting mine with a promise no wedding vow could capture. In the distance, the sun continued its rise, oblivious to the beautiful monsters watching its ascent, planning their next masterpiece.