Page 42 of The Beautiful Dead

I couldn’t stop.

Didn’t want to.

I fucked his throat like it was the last thing I’d ever do. Like I could carve myself into him, make him remember this—remember me—with every raw, bruising thrust.

Every nerve ending in my body lit up, fire racing through my veins. My grip in his hair tightened, locking him in place, forcing him to take all of me.

“Fuck, Remi,” I growled.

His lashes fluttered, breath stuttering, spit dripping from his swollen lips, but those blue eyes stayed locked on mine. Drunk on me. Wrecked for me.

Perfect.

My cock thickened, pleasure cresting, that final, devastating wave about to hit. “I’m going to come,” I snarled, my fingers digging into his scalp. “And you’re going to swallow. Every. Last. Drop.”

A wrecked whimper vibrated against my length, and fuck—I couldn’t hold back. With a final thrust, I buried myself deep, his nose pressed to my groin, his throat spasming around me as I held him there.

A strangled sob left him. Tears stained his cheeks. That perfect image broke me. Cum erupted from me, thick and hot, lashing against his raw throat in relentless pulses. His muscles clenched, milking every drop from my aching cock.

But he didn’t just take it. He drank me down. Sucked every drop, every last bit of me into him with long, hard pulls that had me shuddering, nearly collapsing.

His tongue flicked over the head of my oversensitive cock as I slipped from his wrecked, swollen lips.

Breathless. Ruined. Mine.

I cupped his jaw, thumb running over the flushed, tear-streaked skin. “You’re fucking mine now, Remi.”

He blinked once. That tongue. He flicked it out, slow, deliberate, licking the stray drops of my cum from his lips.

My cock twitched.

A smirk curled at the edges of his mouth, voice raw, wrecked—“Yours.”

CHAPTER 9

REMI

Last night was like a twisted fever dream—where dark fantasies bled into reality, leaving me gasping, wanting,craving more. I’d learned more about myself in those breathless, brutal moments than I had in my entire life.

I had never even kissed another person before. But I woke up with his taste on my tongue. I felt like I was spiraling—losing my grip on the version of myself I’d always known. But instead of fighting it, instead of running, I let go. I let myself fall.

Sunlight streaked through the thick velvet curtains, carving harsh golden slashes across my skin as I lay in bed, aching. My muscles were sore, my throat raw, my mind still drowning in the intoxicating weight ofhim.

A normal person would have been thinking about Kyran. I should’ve been thinking about him. I should have cared.

But I didn’t.

I didn’t care about the way his body had curled on the ground, the pathetic sounds spilling from his busted lips. I didn’t care that he’d been left bleeding, broken, discarded.

All I cared about was the man who did it. Domino. The one Ishouldfear. The one I’d follow into hell if he so much as beckoned me forward.

Something inside me had changed—a door had been thrown open, one I’d always been too afraid to even knock on. Domino’s darkness called to mine. Whispered to it. Coaxed it forward until I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Until I didn’t want to.

I wondered what it had felt like for him. That moment when his fist connected, when Kyran’s face split beneath his knuckles. Did it feel like power? Like control?

Did his blood sing the way mine did when he forced me to my knees, ignoring the body beside us as he claimed my throat like it belonged to him? Because itdid.

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