Page 67 of Spark of Madness

She turns from me and stomps toward the door, and though I could let her leave—perhaps I should let her leave—I know I can’t. I won’t. I refuse to let her walk out that door right now, lest she do something phenomenally stupid. She might be hurt enough in this moment to break her promise and share our secret sin.

I slam the scissors and her braid down on my desktop and charge after her. I reach her just as she reaches the door. I circle her wrist with my hand, then tug and twist her around before slamming her back against the door. I pin her with my body, my cock aching, my heart hurting.

Looking down at her, I see tears in her eyes and note that the beauty of her hasn’t relinquished at all with the length of her hair gone. I cut it just above her shoulders, but the choppy line of what’s left still shines like starlight, still begs for me to touch its silky smoothness.

She holds my gaze with anger for a moment, but then a sob overtakes her, and her chin drops.

I don’t know what to do.

Before I can decide, my arms move to encircle her, pull her away from the door, hugging her close. She pulls back, fighting against my arms, but I tighten my grip. I hold her until her fighting relents and she lets go, shedding her tears, burying her face against my chest. Her tears coat my bare skin, and I swear it feels like they’re boiling, burning my skin…

It feels like the punishment I deserve.

No.

She’sthe temptation. She’s the sinner.

I grip her shoulders and turn, pushing her backward as I rush forward with her to the dresser. I open the top drawer and remove a length of rope I normally only use on servants during nights of purging.

“No,” she cries as I turn to her, gripping it in one hand and wrapping it around my palm. She takes a step back as I rush her, but she’s not quick enough. “Don’t!”

I shove her back toward the bed and force her to sit on the edge. I grip her wrist and lasso the rope around it, quickly tying a solid knot to secure it firmly. She swings her free arm at me with a closed fist, punching cleanly into the side of my stomach. Her fist pounds painfully into my flesh and I flinch, my body jerking away.

She stands, trying to make a run for it. Though the hit took me off guard, and my hand slips down the length of rope, I quickly recover, clamping my hand around the coarse twine and tugging. Her tied arm jerks back, dragging her entire body with it, and she tumbles into me. I grab hold of her and toss her onto the bed. I reach for her hips, twisting her body until she’s laying back on the pillow.

I keep one foot planted on the floor as I lift the other knee over her body. She thrashes beneath me, bucking against my still hard cock, sending painful shockwaves throughout my entire body. I grit my teeth against the desire I still hold for her, my jaw tensing as I fight my lust.

God help me.

Tugging the rope, I tie the free end around the bed post. I manage to secure it entirely while she fights me. Once it’s secured, I shift my weight back and huff out a breath of exhaustion from the struggle. The moment I take that pause, she reaches up with her untied hand, and slaps me across the cheek.

My head turns against the impact, hair falling across my brow. I snatch her wrist and slam it to the pillow above her head, then do the same with the other, thankful I left enough slack to be able to do so. Her now short hair fans out behind her head, the platinum strands looking more like a halo than the remnants of my temptation.

Yet the temptation still exists.

It’s when she spits at me that the demon within her reveals itself. I feel it taking hold of me as my cock thickens dangerously. I can nearly envision her seductive tresses re-growing before my eyes in the way the tattered strands fan out around her. I can almost see them lifting ethereally from the bed and wrapping around me, taking hold of me, forcing me to devolve in depravity.

But the vision is only in my mind. Beneath me is just a sinner—a broken woman possessed by some demon of the mind, who twists her thinking and forces her to take everyone around her to the depths of hell in her seduction.

Not everyone around her…just me.

She’s crafted from sin, born of the deviances and temptations I’ve struggled with since I was old enough to purge, since the age of sixteen.

She’s my own personal demon...and I think I deserve her torment.

BY THE TIMEI’ve taken the coldest shower of my life and willed my throbbing cock to deflate, Mercy has calmed herself to stillness, though she still huffs with seething breaths. I forcibly tugged the covers from beneath her and tucked her into my bed before climbing in beside her, leaving ample space between us.

I need a good night’s rest, and so does she. Rest will give us both some clarity over what occurred here tonight. I need the clarity because I have no idea what has transpired between us or why it’s happened.

Moments of frustrated silence pass in the dark as we both lie on our backs, staring up at the ceiling.

“I’ll try,” I tell her quietly.

I hear her head move against the pillow as she turns it in my direction. “What?”

“You wanted to take on Delle’s burden, and I’m telling you that I’ll try. I’ll bring it to my brothers and let you make your case. But it’s not the nature of the Trials of Dissension to allow one to take on another’s burden, especially when she chose to participate. It defeats the purpose entirely. Don’t get your hopes up.”

She’s quiet for a minute before she asks, “Why would you do that for me?”

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