Page 139 of The Beautiful Dead

“Your blood or mine?”

His words didn’t register, not fully. My brain was fogged, spiraling, slipping through fingers like water.

“W-what?”

Domino chuckled against my throat, a dark sound that slithered beneath my skin. “Your blood or mine?”

I swallowed hard, felt his teeth scrape against my Adam’s apple, the silent promise of devotion through destruction.

“Mine.” My voice was wrecked, raw, the word spilling free as I tilted my head back, exposing the vulnerable column of my throat.

Pain flared, sharp and electric, as he sucked the blood to the surface, a branding deeper than ink, more permanent than scars. My heavy-lidded eyes refused to open, but I felt everything.

The blade circling my entrance shifted, the dull side turning sharp.

The first slice of metal into the sensitive skin of my taint had me arching off the ground, screaming. Hot blood met ice-cold steel, running down to my clenching hole, slicking me in my essence.

“That’s it, Remi,” he growled, his swollen lips brushing against my ear, sending shockwaves through my entire being. “Feel me.”

His thumb dragged through the blood, coating it, circling my rim in slow, deliberate movements before pressing inside, working me into me.

A stream of unintelligible words poured from his lips—too fast, too soft, lost in the relentless downpour that lashed against our exposed skin. My world was rain and blood and him.

The moment his thumb left me, my eyes snapped open.

He was kneeling back, his blade slipping into his boot with practiced ease before his fingers found his zipper. The slow, controlled descent of the metal teeth sent thrill and terror curling around my spine.

His cock sprang free—thick, hard, leaking. Bare.

My tongue flicked out, catching the rain on my lips, and his dark green fire met my gaze. He watched me. Studied me. His hand wrapped around the base, dragging from root to tip, working my blood over his length in slow, measured strokes.

He notched his slick, flushed head against my hole, gaze locked onto mine.

“Who do you belong to, Remi?”

My lips parted, my voice barely more than a whisper. “You.”

And then he was inside me.

A brutal thrust. No warning. No mercy.

My spine arched, my fingers scrambling against the mud as the force of his thrusts shoved me across the ground. The cold, the pain, the sharp sting of the rain—it was all nothing.

Nothing compared to him.

Molten pleasure and raw, biting pain seared through my veins as I let him take, let him ruin, let him carve his name into my flesh with every brutal snap of his hips.

I only breathed when he forced air into my lungs.

I only existed where he ended and I began.

“Is this what you needed, Remi?”

His lips found my rain-slicked skin, licking the droplets from my face before pressing his forehead to mine, a devastating contradiction. Gentle and brutal. Soft and merciless.

I was floating. I was drowning. I was burning alive.

Pleasure slammed into me, blinding and brutal, my body tightening around him as his cock thickened inside me.

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