Page 60 of The Beautiful Dead

My fingers trailed down the curve of his spine, counting each delicate vertebra as I shook the memory from my mind, not willing to miss a moment of the present. He wore my bruises, my marks, his body a canvas of possession.

They were tender beneath my touch. It would take nothing at all to push down and watch them grow and spread, like this thing crawling through my cells, growing inside me.

A slow smile curled my lips as he shifted, turning toward me, seeking me even in his sleep.

Always seeking.

I lowered my mouth to his throat, inhaling deeply, letting his scent flood my lungs. My teeth grazed his pulse, the delicate rhythm a steady, tantalizing beat against my lips. My tongue lapped the dry, salty sweat from his skin.

He was inside me, crawling through my veins, consuming me whole.

And I would drown in him, again and again.

His alarm would go off soon, shattering any semblance of peace I had found. My jaw clenched, my molars grinding together. I didn’t want him to leave.

The world didn’t deserve him. Didn’t understand him. Didn’t know how to tame him, how to hold him together before he shattered and unleashed everything he kept hidden in the light of day.

But I did.

Only I did.

I could stop him from leaving. Break his phone. Lock the doors. Deactivate his building pass. Put him on his knees and remind him why he never wanted to leave in the first place.

But that wasn’t how this worked.

He had to choose me. Had to sink deeper into my world, into me, until he forgot there had ever been an outside.

Until he couldn’t breathe without me.

My fingers toyed with the silk sheet that covered the curve of his ass, teasing the fine hairs that led down to his cleft. Goosebumps rippled over his back with every pass of my fingertips. His body, even in sleep, recognized me. Knew me. Craved me.

His breathing shifted. Muscles tensed. He was waking.

My mouth watered, desperate to taste him on my tongue. It had been too long.

His lashes fluttered. Hazy ice-blue eyes, framed by thick lashes, blinked sleepily up at me. His breath hitched, caught in the back of his throat—recognition. The moment he realized how close we were. How my body was already pressing into him. Trapping him. How, even half-conscious, he clung to me with the same fervent intensity.

His tongue darted out, slicking over his swollen lips. The ice-blue of his irises disappeared beneath the bleeding black of his pupils.

“Domino,” he rasped. His voice, rough from sleep, curled around my aching cock.

“Morning,piccolo agnello,” I murmured.

I dragged my lips over his collarbone, tasting, biting, and pressed him onto his back. He stretched beneath me, shifting—but I didn’t move. I never moved. Didn’t give him an inch of space. There was nowhere else he needed to be than right here, under me.

His body slid against mine, warm and perfect, his hardness brushing against me as he undulated beneath me.

“Class,” he breathed, his voice thick, dazed. “I have to?—”

“You have tonothing.”

I sank my teeth into his skin, hard enough to make him gasp. My hand slid lower, pressing against the deep bruises on his hips. His breath stuttered. A deep groan rumbled in his chest, his hips rolling, seeking friction, alleviating any space between us.

“You belong here.”

His hands twitched like he wanted to push me away—or pull me closer—but he couldn’t decide. He was balanced on a precipice, torn between what his mind told him was right and what his body begged for. A taut string ready to snap.

Because he liked the cage I formed around him.

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