Page 115 of The Phantom's Vice

I fall on top of her as my cock throbs weakly, peppering her face with small kisses as I soften inside her, desperate to draw out the euphoria being inside her brings. When I slip out, I pull her into my arms, placing more kisses along her jaw and brow, gently brushing strands of her tangled hair from her face.

Brett smiles drunkenly as she traces her fingertips along my chest, leaving a tiny trail of sparks wherever her skin touches mine. My soul hums appreciatively at the sensation, and I pull her impossibly tighter against me, still unable to believe this little light is all mine.

Mine. All mine.

“I love you, Brett,” I whisper, placing a lingering kiss against her throbbing pink lips. “I’ll never loveanything as much as I love you right now. Well, except for how much I will tomorrow. And the next day. And the next.”

Brett giggles, nipping my bottom lip playfully. “What about Rupert? And Venom?”

I roll my eyes, tapping the tip of her nose with an index finger. “Nope. Sorry, but they don’t even come close.”

Brett gasps. “I’m going to tell them you said that.”

“Go ahead. You’re already their favorite,” I remind her, reaching up to give her nipple a tug. She squeals, wriggling against me as she gazes up from her lashes, and my heart falls out of my chest.

I don’t know how I got so fucking lucky—why someone likeherwould pick someone like me. Except now that I know her—really know her—I think I do.

Because I know her type. She's all dark eyes and wicked smiles—an unnatural disaster, like black ice on a warm summer's night. She takes the blood from my body, the bones from my limbs, my spine, and she does it all with an innocent smile. We’re so much more alike than I thought, and it just makes me that much more obsessed with her.

To haunt her for the rest of my days would be an honor. One I’ll be taking very, very seriously.

“Guess what, darling?” I murmur, leaning down and brushing my lips lightly against the shell of her ear.

She giggles, pulling back to peek those beautiful ocean eyes up at me. “What?”

“Boo.”

“I love you too, Ghost,” she murmurs, an adorable smile tugging at her lips. “It’s fucked up, but I do. And I don’t have any plans to stop.”

As I press my lips to hers, I can’t help but replay her words over and over in my mind. I know it in my soul, and I know it to be true—that no sweeter ones have ever been spoken, nor heard. The moment stretches for an eternity, and I know the universe must have finally granted me my prayers. For the first time in my life, I am well and truly whole. And it’s all because of Her.

Brett. Motherfucking. Evangeline.

CHAPTER FIFTY

RUPERT AND VENOM

“Oh my gods,are they seriously mating AGAIN?” Venom asks, turning his yellow eyes to Sir Rupert Bartholomew III—a name that suspiciously had never left the human’s mouths, yet which the doginsistedwas his proper title. It was strange, but the cat was happy enough to entertain the larger species if it kept him complacent.

Venom tries to drown out the human woman’s screams, to no avail. “They must do it at least thrice a day. For what purpose?”

“I do not know. I’ve sniffed the female's stomach for puppies every day, and there is nothing,” Rupert replies, laying his head on his paws in an attempt to drown out the horrible cries coming from thefemale. “I do not know why she keeps letting him try when he is so woefully unsuccessful.”

Venom stretches his claws, kneading them into the pillow on the sofa. “Have you ever stopped to think that your sniffer is broken? Surely by this point, some cubs would have appeared.”

“Suppose it’s not—what do you say we do?”

Venoms retracts his claws, settling Rupert Bartholomew III with a piercing stare. “Murder, of course. The male is defective.”

Rupert rolls his eyes. “I would never do that to my master.”

Venom flares, his claws shooting out. “Then you surely have never received your dinner twenty minutes late.”

Rupert huffs, fixing Venom with his strange-colored eyes. “I’ve told you this before—we do NOT hurt the ones who give us food. It is a sacred, well-kept tradition, and it must never be broken.”

“Says the canine,” the cat quips. “Why would I listen to you? I can’t think of a single good thing your kind has done for my species. In fact, you do more harm than good.”

“That is not our fault. You look like easy prey.” Rupert huffs. “Should you not run so fast, we mightnot give chase. Should we not chase, we might not do harm.”

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