Page 197 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
She scraped her fingers down my arms, so hard I bled. “Again.”
“Nepenthe.”
I buried my cock inside her, erratic thrusts that should have been too hard, but she kept fucking begging me for more.
“Again.”
My arms burned from her marks, yet it was art. A scourge of red mixed with rain, something that looked awful, but made me feel like a goddamned king. I wanted her to scratch away my scars and replace them with whatever the hell this was.
Instead, I grunted, “Duende.”
Thrust.
“Again.”
“Lacuna.”
Emery shattered around me, unable to hold herself upright. I barreled into her, creating a tsunami in the pool. The waves lapped at my back and fought my hold of her. Her sigh was so opposite to the situation, it was almost comical.
The serene face she wore deserved my mercy, but I didn't give it. I reached between us and pinched her clit, compelling another orgasm just to feel how tight she was around me. Just to prolong this.
She believed in words, and magic, and storms. In fighting back, going down hard, never giving up. In blind loyalty, jumping first, dealing with consequences later. She was awful. She infuriated me. She drove me fucking crazy.
And, I realized, I love her.
“Ask me the question, Tiger.”
Her eyes fluttered open, not staring at me but into me. “Is this just lust?”
“It's everything.”
Flash!
I blinked away the sting of the light. Every time he took a picture, the photographer smiled with sadistic glee. Able Small Dick Cartwright wrapped his arm around me. Cordelia perched on the throne-style chair at my hip. Two bridesmaids and three groomsmen bracketed us.
A prom ph
oto out of a horror movie.
The poster you stare at and take bets on who will die first.
Probably me, and it’d be of my own volition. Another second of this, and I’d snap.
“One more picture, y’all!” the photographer promised for the ninth time and proceeded to snap five more. “Emery, hun? Smile! It’s an engagement dinner party! Love is in the air. Be happy!”
Stabbing you with the stiletto heel of my mandatory Louboutins would make me very happy.
My fake smile compared to the Joker’s, but I found it hard to even put in the effort. Last night came to me in floods each time I tried.
“Give me a word, Emery.”
“Redamancy.”
I’d wanted to riot, because it looked like he thought he was fucking me out of his system instead of into it. I’d fixated on the memory all morning, and no, I would not fucking smile unless it involved descending vampire teeth and sucking the blood out of every asshole in here.
“C’mon, Emery!” Click. Click. “Give me that beautiful smile!”
“No.”
