“Yes, me!” he shouts. “I have no goddamn control when it comes to you. I lost it when I saw you in that bookstore and never got it back. You think me stalking you was control? Drinking from your body despite your cries? Do you think I have it right fucking now?” he growls, shaking my head to emphasize his point.
His eyes are blazing, dilated with both fury and something so potent, it burns me alive.
“You’ve said it yourself, I could use your body for my own pleasure, but what’s one thing I could never take from you? What’s the one thing I wanted the most from you, Adeline?”
“My love,” I cry, tears welling and spilling over.
“That’s right. Your love. The only thing I’ve ever needed from you. You are the one with the power, you’ve just never known what the fuck to do with it.”
It takes several moments, but slowly, it dawns on me. His words finally fucking process through the thick skull God cursed me with.
Zade gave in to every one of his darkest instincts because he never possessed the control to stop himself. He took, and took, and took because it was the only thing he could take. But that never made him powerful—it made him helpless.
Until now, I could never make sense of that when he’s always done what he wanted. Stalked me, touched me, fucked me whenever he wanted. No matter how many protests fell from my lips, or how many times I fought him.
He chased me when I ran, pulled me back when I pushed him away, yet would worship me at my feet if I asked him to.
And I finally understand why. One cannot wield power if one does not have control over it.
“Glad to see you finally take over the throne,” he murmurs, frustration radiating from his mismatched eyes.
I shake my head, retracting my nails from his arm and gently prying his fingers away from my jaw. He releases me, brimming with energy.
“I’m not taking over the throne, Zade. You are the throne. You’ve always been my pillar of strength, and I’m sorry it took so long to see it.”
His gaze searches mine desperately, hunting for any hint of a lie. It would be like finding an active bomb. The second he discovered it, it’d tear him to pieces.
Slowly, I stand from the bed, backing him away from me until I’m on both of my feet. He doesn’t give me much room, but I don’t want it.
My heart pounds, and I drop my eyes, watching my hand rise to meet his heated flesh. He nearly burns to the touch, and I’ve never wanted to be consumed by fire more.
The pads of my fingertips brush across his defined muscles, beautiful tattoos, and the white scars slashing across several parts of his torso. My knees weaken while I focus primarily on the dragon running up his chest.
God, if that creature doesn’t embody the man standing before me, I don’t know what does. A fire breathing dragon capable of sending me fucking soaring.
Flattening my palm on his stomach, I push him away, almost fascinated by the way he relents without resistance.
“Take that off,” I order, glancing at his towel, my voice trembling with desire. He stares at me, his silence loud and chaotic as he heeds my command.
I work to swallow as he slowly and methodically unravels the towel, taunting me while keeping his yin-yang eyes pinned on me.
It feels as if an entire galaxy is swirling in my stomach. There’s a black hole, devouring all sense and reason. A sun sending solar flares lashing throughout my body, heating me from the inside out and sinking lower to the apex of my thighs, and a supernova, on the precipice of exploding.
He releases the knot, the towel dropping to the floor with a quiet thunk.
Fuck me sideways.
His cock is hard, the tip reddened and the veins prominent, and it nearly sends me to my knees with a prayer on my tongue. He’s fucking glorious, and my heart wrenches with the reminder that this man—no, this God—is mine.
He straightens, and I try to tell myself to drink him in slowly.
Small sips, Addie. Savor him.
But I can’t keep my greedy eyes from eating up the expanse of his physique, lingering specifically below his waist.
I haven’t forgotten how terrifying Zade's cock is. Yet every time, it feels like a punch in the chest to see it in the flesh, knowing he has to fit that inside of me.
My mouth salivates when I recall the burn from him stretching me and how he’d have to work himself inside of me. Fuck, it’s just like being addicted to the pain of getting a tattoo. Every bite of the needle you want to run away, but you stay because the outcome is pure fucking bliss.
Giving me a loaded look, he walks to the dresser and digs something out of the drawer. Jesus, his backside is almost as mouth-watering as the front. My lungs close, and I’m no longer breathing.