Page 57 of The Cursed and the Broken
When I opened my eyes, his face was crumpled with concern. “Did I fail to please you?”
Realising the despair had broken through my mask, I sat up. “Gods, no. Believe me, Dante, there’s no question of that. It’s just …” I sighed, turning towards the fire, prodding at the dying embers with a poker.
A sharp intake of breath made me realise my mistake. He’d seen them—seen the ugliness scrawled over my back.
“Who did this to you?” he growled. “Who hurt you? I will rip the head off their shoulders where they stand.”
I grabbed the closest thing I could find—his shirt, still smelling of leather and embers andman—and shrugged it on, the material swimming on me and managing to reveal most of my cleavage. “No one,” I said quietly. “Not a man, at least. It’s complicated witch business.”
He watched me, placing a hand on my thigh in silence. I liked that about Dante. He sensed my moods like the change of the winds, could understand when I needed space. He didn’t push like most people would.
“They’re beautiful, you know,” he said softly. “Whatever happened, it made you stronger. You should wear your scars like armour. Embrace them.”
Don’t hide.
His words brought tears to my eyes. I’d spent so long trying to be invisible, I had started to believe I deserved it. The pain, the jeers, the jaunts and the loneliness. But he was right. The ugliness was a part of me. Just like the power in my veins.
I took a deep breath, not yet ready to dive into that story right now. “The blood on you reminded me of what happened tonight. What’s yet to come.”
He stretched his arms out in front of him, frowning at the black splotches. “Ah. Blood and bones I can handle. As long as my wife is satisfied.”
Despite the lurch of terror—and a strangely satisfying tingle—at the endearment, I laughed quietly. “I’m not your wifeyet.” I tapped a finger to my lips, a smirk curling my mouth. “And I’m not sure I am satisfied. We barely scratched the surface.”
He chuckled, a low hum that made my heart flutter. “Believe me, Freckles, when I’m done with you, you won’t be able to walk the next day.”
I shivered as his words slid over my skin, settling in my core. My breath hitched. “And what do you plan to do to me?”
He leaned in close, whispering in the shell of my ear. “When I bow before you, I will worship your entire existence. You are a goddess, and I, your humble servant.”
His gaze swept over me, shamelessly appraising every inch of my body before he stretched alongside me like a cat. He stroked the curve of my waist with one unhurried finger, drawing idle circles on my skin.
“Then, as your goddess, I demand your prayer. I need every inch to fill me up.” My voice was husky, laced with desire.Who the hell was this girl?
His lips curved into a knowing smile. “If we started now, we wouldn’t stop until the sun was up. And when I claim you, I want it to be inourhouse. In our bed.” He paused for a moment to fist the shirt in his hand and flick a tongue over my breast, eyes glinting dangerously.
“As my wife.”
I tossed and turned for the rest of the night, conscious of Dante’s warm body beside me, the sounds of his breathing filling the stillness. Neither one of us had complained about sharing a bed after our tryst. There seemed little point to hiding our desire any longer.
His words repeated in my mind.“Our house. Our bed. My wife.”Did he really want these things? Dante was exciting, thoughtful, fun—and stupidly handsome—but was that enough to blur the lines of duty? It felt less like a mutual acceptance of our marriage now and more a spark of interest at what was to come?at what could be.
Rolling onto my back, I stared at the ceiling, diverting my attention from the muscles in his shoulders, the curve of his spine.
We’d crossed a line tonight—one we couldn’t go back from.
And maybe … maybe I didn’t want to.
Truthfully, I would have given myself to him entirely tonight but, surprisingly?and a little annoyingly?we’d never made it that far.My fault. My stupid brain not shutting off, not letting me have one small moment of reckless pleasure. He wouldn’t have bedded me altogether, though. I supposed he still wanted to court me, to earn my favour. Perhaps he thought I’d respect his restraint more.
Idiot. I’d practically tossed aside all reservations.
I’d needed him. Needed a release, if not from my magic, then of simple, sexual pleasure. It had quieted the power, for now. Knowing what he could give me, though, what he promised would come, only kindled the desire even further. But as we lay side-by-side, his hand clasped on my thigh, I realised I had never felt so alive as in that moment.
Knowing my life would soon end had somehow made it more passionate, more thrilling. That’s what I kept telling myself, but I couldn’t deny something had changed between us. The anger had thawed, the battle lines withdrawn.
He desired me. Had made every effort to ensure my safety and comfort.
His face was relaxed in sleep, the muscles of his brow softened, the line of his jaw and cheekbones somehow less sharp. Not so dangerous at all. I think, under the killer instinct and the cocky smiles, lay a soft shell. One I might crack open to find a gooey centre. A chocolate to be savoured—and I knew my sweets.
