Page 162 of The Beautiful Dead

“I want you bloody and broken.” His voice was a growl, low and dark and filled with something that wasn’t human. Something that had clawed its way out of him and refused to go back in. “I want you mine.”

His belt slid free of his jeans with a sharp, brutal sound. He didn’t give me time to react before he was tying my wrists to the headboard. Not too tight—just enough.

Enough to keep me open for him. I didn’t fight it. Didn’t resist. I just watched. Because I knew him. Because I wanted this.

He dragged his tongue across his lips, his voice nothing but breath and sin. “You can never leave me, Remi.”

I exhaled. Smirked. “Then make me stay.”

He buried his head in the crook of my neck, inhaling like he could breathe me in, drown in me, fucking consume me. A visceral shudder rolled through his body, his cock hard against my thigh, thick and heavy and fucking aching.

My arousal mirrored his, heat pooling low in my stomach, spreading through my veins.

I arched into him.

“Make me yours, Domino. In every way possible.” I whispered it against his skin.

Like a prayer.

Like a curse.

Like dark magic meant to break him.

And it did.

He yanked my head back, his mouth crashing against mine, brutal and punishing and fucking perfect. He licked into me like he wanted to steal the breath from my lungs.

Like he wanted to leave something behind. His teeth bit into my bottom lip. I groaned, the sharp sting sending a spike of pleasure through me.

His hand gripped my jaw, forcing me to look at him, his eyes dark and wild and so fucking possessive it made my stomach twist.

His gaze dropped lower. Scanning my body. Searching. I smirked because I knew what he was looking for.

The bruises had faded.

It had been weeks since he’d touched me. Since he’d left his marks. Since I’d worn his hunger on my skin like a brand.

He didn’t like that.

Not one fucking bit.

A growl ripped from his throat. The sharp sting of his teeth dragged down my throat, sinking in deep, punishing, and perfect. The heavy thundering of my pulse only made him bite harder.

His tongue was the antithesis. A slow, languid drag over my artery, laving the tender flesh, tasting the blood rushing beneath.

My breath caught.

My whole fucking world narrowed down to this.

Tohim.

To the way he was tearing me apart, leaving bruises, leaving bites, leaving proof that I was his.

That I would always be his.

That I was never fucking leaving.

The suction burned, a slow, hot ache as he sucked hard, pulling the blood to the surface. My body jerked at the pressure, the heat, the sheer fucking force of it.

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