Page 163 of The Beautiful Dead

I’d offered myself up like a lamb for slaughter, and Domino—My god. My fucking destroyer.

He was going to do everything in his power to make sure I knew who I belonged to. Who I would always belong to.

A moan ripped from my lungs, broken and wrecked, my breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

His teeth scraped over my Adam’s apple, and I choked on my next inhale. Every touch, every bite pushed adrenaline into my veins like a dying man taking his first gasp of air.

I came alive under him.

Every sharp sting, every flash of pain, every claim he branded into my skin was like oxygen in my lungs, blood in my veins.

“Fuuuckkk.” His voice was pure sin, dark and breathless, rolling over my skin like a slow, deep drag of smoke.

One hand clamped around my jaw, forcing my gaze to his. My vision blurred, heat flooding my chest, my stomach, my cock?—

Then I saw it.

Blood.

My blood.

Coating his teeth, smeared along his lips. Domino’s tongue swiped over it, and his eyes rolled back in his head, and a low, animalistic groan tore from his throat before his mouth slammed onto mine.

The burst of copper, the heat, the sheer fucking hunger. It was a claim. A brutal, possessive, all-consuming fucking claim. I took it. Opened for him. Let him devour me.

“More.” The word left my lips in a plea, a prayer, a fucking demand.

I needed more. More of his pain. More of his touch.

More of his twisted, feral, suffocating obsession.

I didn’t need air or food or water.

I needed Domino.

His hands. His teeth. His fucking ruin.

And he gave it to me.

His mouth carved a path down my body, marking, claiming, ruining. Every inch of bare skin, every fading bruise, every fucking place where his touch had disappeared?—

He brought it back. He put it back. Slowly. Methodically. Toxic, deadly, consuming. He was the night sky, smothering the light. He was the inescapable black hole.

And I was falling.

I arched, twisted, begged as his teeth clamped around my nipple. His tongue followed, teasing, torturing. He pulled it between his teeth, hard, until the pain bled into pleasure, until my hips jerked violently beneath him.

The ghost of his breath against the sensitive, aching bud made my whole body shudder, my cock pulsing, aching for friction, for fucking anything.

“Domino…more…I need more…”

His head lifted from my chest, his gaze searing, feral, knowing. The tattoos inked over his arms and throat shifted in the shadows, the dark glint in his eyes making my stomach tighten, my blood burn.

He knew.

He knew exactly what I needed.

He was the puppeteer, and I was just a body, a puppet, a fucking plaything in his hands.

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