Page 140 of Till Death

“Take a breath, Wife. I have no plans to rush this.”

“It’s cute that you think you’re in charge.”

His grip tightened, a hand sliding up to my throat. “You can have every other moment, but I own this one. I will lead, and you will follow. You will let me show you how much your body already belongs to me. Do you understand?”

I had no fight as he bit my earlobe, before sliding his hand back down, becoming slow. Painfully, blissfully slow as he washed my body, sliding that cloth up my thighs and between my legs.

“Answer,” he growled.

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

Gathering oil from the basket to drip over eager skin, apt fingers dug into my shoulders in a back massage that melted the world. I crossed my arms over the ledge, laying my head down and closing my eyes, giving him full access to massage every flower down each vine of my tattoo. His searing touch, the one that drew my power so effortlessly, left a burning path of need straight to my breasts before pooling in my lower belly. There was no rush, as he was sure to let me know, and he took his time, rubbing circles in perfect rhythm.

“I plan to turn those little mewls into screams, Nightmare, but I certainly appreciate the warmup.”

“You talk too much,” I moaned.

He grabbed the ends of my hair and yanked, balling it into a fist as he pulled me flush to him once more. “Be nice or you’ll be punished. Those are the rules.”

“If I had a blade, I’d pull it right now, just to see if you kept your word.”

He laughed, that lung-crushing, heart-stopping laugh that was always so rare from him. “It wouldn’t have been a proper wedding night without a threat of violence.”

I turned to face him, pressing my naked body against his as I snaked my arms around his neck. “Wedding nights without daggers are never proper.”

He traced a finger down my side before leaning down to kiss me. “Tell me what you want, Nightmare, and it is yours. It’s been yours since the day we met.”

“Only you, Orin. I just want us.” I rested my hands on his chest, over the darkness taking root there. “And eternity.”

He prowled forward. I closed my eyes, droplets of water falling down my cheeks, my heart pounding, my nerves standing on end with the promise that salacious look on his face delivered. I couldn’t handle the way I needed him. Couldn’t process the tremble between my legs begging for his touch. In one motion, he grabbed my waist and lifted, helping me to sit on the edge of the bath so I could stare down at him as he drank me. His jaw slacked, and a tongue flashed across his bottom lip.

Hands still slick with oil, he slowly spread my legs apart as he inched toward my core. Orin’s fingers drifted close, so fucking close to where I needed him most, tracing fiery circles against my sensitive skin, heat pouring off him.

“Do you like it when I touch you here, Wife?”

I nodded.

He shifted a tiny bit closer, until the anticipation of his next move, the absolute need to feel him inside of me, thrummed.

“How about here?” His deep voice was strained and controlled, but only just.

“Don’t play with your dinner, Orin. Or do, but please do it soon.”

“Is that a plea, Wife?”

“It’s whatever the hell you need it to be,” I breathed.

“Yes, it is.” With a wide grin, he stroked his fingers over me once, circling my clit, satisfying one small need by stoking another as he pulled his hands away and tasted me on them. “So fucking sweet. Just as I imagined. Gods, Deyanira.”

I practically panted when those eyes met mine, watching me as he slid his thumb over me again. I buried my hands in his dripping dark hair. Aching for more. For him. The threads of our bond pulsed with need, just as I did.

He dug his fingers into my thighs, pulling me closer to the ledge, burying his face between my legs to claim the soft flesh waiting for him. Tongue flicking over me in a perfect rhythm, pushing his fingers inside, a pure, feral growl left him, the sound vibrating my thighs. He spiraled, eyes turning dark and dangerous as he tasted me in a way that carried me to the deepest pit of desire and the very height of sensitivity. Tilting my head back, fingers pulling on his hair, every second, every stroke, was torment and ecstasy. I needed to fall, to burst as he grazed his teeth over me, but I also never wanted him to stop, never wanted that plunge.

But still, I shattered. Still, I cried out his name, limbs trembling, begging him to stop, to relent for just one moment. Every muscle failed me as I lay back, the cool stone floor kissing my skin as I dragged air into my lungs, knowing I needed more of him. All of him.

He leaped from the water, splashing, dripping all over me as he lifted me from the floor and carried me to the rug before the fire, the flame’s heat licking my skin dry as Orin perched above me, watching. Resting my hands on the sides of his face, I studied this version of him. He was so many things. Dark and unbreakable in dire moments, and tender in others. But whatever he was from one moment to another, it was usually fleeting, a battle he constantly waged. My equal. My everything.