Page 64 of Gravehouse

The muscles in his face relax, his eyes turning lazy.

I’m so glad I amuse him.

That grin spreads wide, pulling at every piece of control I have left.

“Stop thinking I’m one of you, Ivanya. If I were?” He chuckles, before it dies in his throat and he tilts his head. “You’d already be dead.”

Since he’s been back, it’s been obvious how different he is. Harder. Every reason I fell so easily for him has been cut off, and now all that’s left are scars and pain.

A rock forms in my throat. “What happened to you?”

He glares. “A lot.”

I could pick this argument apart and start one hundred more, but truthfully, they can all wait.

Every single one of them—except the one that has Camille in it.

My tone stays level. “Camille. What is her play in this, hmm? Why is she even here?”

All amusement vanishes from his face, leaving a bored expression.

“Are you done with the jealousy thing?” He releases me. As soon as his hands aren’t touching me I hate it.

Despite wanting to throw mine at him.

“This isn’t about Camille, but to hopefully save her from meeting the wrath of the Bride of Death and becoming yet another tale they use to scare children with, I’ll put you out of your misery.”

He moves in again, the weight of it crawling up my spine. “Camille doesn’t exist to me whenever you’re in a room.”

I turn my back to him, clutching the sides of the basin. I can’t hear this.

He kisses a trail of fire up my neck. “No one exists to me when you’re in a room.”

Deep breaths.

His chest fills the space at my back, forcing my fingers tighter around the basin.

My eyes find his in the mirror. God, he’s huge. He’d put on bulk since I’d last seen him in Veilarath.

“You keep asking the same questions.” He tilts his head to study me. “Because you’re not paying close enough attention.”

His palm finds the open slit between my jeans and my crop, and in some weak attempt of regaining any kind of control, I try to yank them away. It’s useless because for one, I don’t really want him to, and for two, he’s fucking strong.

He slips his pinky beneath my jeans and my eyes close, rage building with nowhere to go.

“Open your eyes, Venom,” he whispers over my shoulder blade. “Did you miss me?”

His fingers dip beneath the lace, one skimming my swollen clit.

My legs give out, but he bucks his hips forward to hold me up.

He continues. “Wanna apologize for trying to kill me?”

I clear my throat when his thumb starts a slow circle. “I’m?—“

He bites my shoulder. “And mean it.”

The weight of his thumb intensifies, and I rock against him without thinking. “—sorry.”