Zade hums, licking his lips as if he ate something delicious. His hand drifts up to my cheek, swiping my bottom lip with his thumb.
“I’ll never get tired of hearing you say you love me, and if you ever stop, I’ll put strings in your fucking lips and make you say it.”
Then, he leans down closer until his breath fans across my cheeks, and whispers, “But I don’t believe you.”
My mouth drops, and my brows furrow. “Are you fuck—”
He shuts me up with his cock, driving into me again with one thrust of his hips. “I’ve lost sight of my faith. I need to see it.”
I thin my eyes, contemplating what more he could possibly want from me.
He rubs my lip harder. “You say so many things you don’t mean, baby. The truth lies in your fingertips and in the soft curves of your body. In the tears you cry so pretty for me, and how hard you come for me. Show me the truth.”
For several beats, I’m at a loss of how to do that. Then, it dawns on me, and he must see the realization in my eyes because he grins again, staring down at me with amusement.
The look angers me as if he thinks I’m going to merely get on my knees for him and recite poetry or some shit. The challenge burns in my chest as my eyes drift over to my nightstand.
Following my stare, he cocks a brow and turns back to me, picking up on my thoughts without having to say anything.
I’ve bled for Zade, but only to replace the marks of another man.
Soon after I was taken, he carved a rose over his heart. And now… I want him to do the same to me.
He leans over and grabs the knife from the nightstand.
“This what you want?” he asks, twirling the knife until the light glints off of it.
“Yes,” I say, though I don’t sound the least bit confident.
“And what do you want me to do with this? Slice you open again?”
I shake my head, reaching up to brush the pads of my fingers across the jagged rose on his chest.
“I want this,” I admit. Grabbing his wrist, I guide his hand, holding the knife right above my breast. The previous amusement shutters from his eyes, replaced by something dark and treacherous.
“I want one just like yours,” I say, rolling my hips to remind him that this is real.
He tenses, the veins roping up his arm and neck pulsating. He’s studying me closely, and I’m beginning to lose my nerve.
“Please, Zade,” I plead quietly.
Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath, and by the time he’s opening them, his beast has taken over.
“Rub your clit, baby,” he directs. I do as he says, reaching between us and finding the sensitive little bud and start circling it lightly. My lids flutter, acute pleasure rising and stealing my breath. I feel my pussy clench around him, throbbing with desire as my touch grows firmer.
He growls, rolling his hips so I can feel how full I am of him.
One of his hands slides beneath me, cupping the back of my neck firmly while he leans in close, poising the tip of the knife right above my heart.
He’s looking up at me beneath his lashes, waiting for my reaction. I only give him a husky moan as a response, grinding against him. I’ve been at the mercy of Zade’s pain before, and it was one of the most euphoric experiences in my life.
“I’m not going to stop,” he warns me.
“I’m not scared of you,” I bite, moaning again as an orgasm builds.
“So many lies,” he whispers, right before he presses the blade in and starts to cut.
I suck in a sharp breath, burning pain flaring in my chest. Slowly and methodically, he begins to thrust in and out of me, keeping his movements gentle so he can slice cleanly.
This isn’t short little cuts like last time, but one long, continuous drag. It’s nearly blinding, so I rub my clit harder, moaning from the cornucopia of pleasure and agony ravaging my body.
It feels as if a gasoline-lined rose is seeping into my skin, and it’s steadily catching fire beneath his touch.
“I will carve a garden of scars into your flesh, little mouse. Only my pain will bring them to life.” I tip my head back, groaning from the sharp bite of his knife. “They'll only ever grow beneath my touch.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, and his voice cuts in sharply. “Look at me, Adeline. I want you to watch me brand you as mine.”
Though it’s a struggle, I force my eyes open, trading between the macabre rose being engraved into my skin, and his glimmering mismatched eyes.
“You’re doing such a good job, baby,” he whispers, sparing me a quick glance. Sweat forms along my hairline as the two different sensations battle in my nerve endings.