I'm out of time.

It's been nearly three weeks since Ronan made his outrageous proposition. The stab wound in my stomach is still raw, but it no longer hurts. And here I stand, staring at my reflection in the enormous mirror. All I see is endless white lace, and I half expected the dress to be black to match his heart. I look ridiculous. I look... like a bride. At what point did I become someone that anyone would want to marry? But of course it's not just anyone. It's Ronan Cole, the Russian devil, a monster...my monster. And for all of his many faults, I want everything he has to offer. Like the addict I am, I seem to circle the very thing I crave, desperate for just a touch. Only, I'm not circling him anymore. He's consuming me, tearing through my veins until his darkness invades my mind, calling to my own blackened soul.

"I don't like it," Ronan says from behind me.

I turn to face him, placing my hands on my hips. "It's a big white dress, Ronan. What more do you want?"

"Elegance. This," he picks at the lace and drops it, disgust curling his lips, "is offensive."

"Can't we just get Igor to get a marriage license? Why do we have to do the whole thing?"

"And miss the theatrics of it all?" He grins. "Never. Can you imagine if the Queen of England didn't have a ceremony?"

"I'm not the Queen of England," I say, frowning at him.

"Not yet..." He sighs. "Pick another one."

"Ugh!" I tilt my head back and pray for patience. "You pick it."

He walks to one of the racks, picks up the skirt of a dress, and rubs the fabric between his fingers before he tosses it down. He goes through the entire rack before huffing and puffing and turning to another. "Ah," he says, pulling a long, sleek dress out. "Yudashkin. Russian elegance for my cartel princess." He smiles while handing the dress to me.

I take it from him and his fingers brush mine. He motions me toward the fitting room, holding the curtain for me. No sooner have I stepped inside than his fingers are brushing my hair away from my neck. He lowers the zipper of the dress I'm wearing. The warmth of his breath skitters over my neck when I drop the material below my shoulders.

"White does look so pretty on you." His hands glide along my sides, before he gathers the dress in his hands and tugs it over my hips so hard the material rips. All the air rushes from my lungs, and I grab his arm to steady myself.

"You're going to have to pay for that," I say, glancing over my shoulder at him.

"I know." He takes me by the shoulders and slams me forward against the mirror. My nipples instantly harden when the touch the cold glass and his warm body falls against my back. My heavy breaths fog the mirror. Every muscle remains tense. I love when he's like this, rabid, teetering on the edge. "You can't fuck me, Ronan," I tease, knowing exactly what's about to happen.

He tears my underwear off, running his finger over my throbbing pussy before he freezes, a sick grin working over his face. "You think this," he yanks on my tampon, "would stop me?" He laughs while tossing it to the corner of the room. "Oh, little kitty..." He shoves his fingers further inside me. "It's so wet. So bloody." His fingers work hard and deep, and when he pulls them out he smears the blood all over the pristine fabric of the dress on a groan.

I hear the clink of his belt buckle and my pulse skyrockets, thrumming in my ears. This is dirty. Wrong...so wrong. He grabs my hair, winding it around his wrist and yanking my head back so hard I'm afraid my neck will snap. "Tell me, how would you kill me today, krasivaya?" He nips at my ear, teasing me with his cock.

A moan slips from my lips. I can't think straight. "Right now?" I gasp when his cock presses against me, threatening to slip inside. "I wouldn't."

He huffs a small laugh before he pushes the tip in and freezes, scratching his fingers over my scalp. "Then tell me your pussy is bleeding for me."

I push back against him, begging for him to fill me, but he holds me in place, his fingers digging into my hips. "Ronan," I snap, slamming my palm against the mirror in frustration.

His teeth sink into my shoulder and I groan. "Tell me."

"My pussy is bleeding for you," I say in a rush. "Now fuck me." I'm literally begging him but I can't find it in me to care.

"Mean it when you say it," he all but growls into my ear.

I snarl, raking my nails over his arm as I try to force him deeper. "I'm always bleeding for you!" Sometimes I like his games, but now? Now, I just want him.

He laughs and grips the back of my neck, smashing my cheek against the glass. He invades me in every sense of the word, his hard body trapping mine with hot breaths dancing along the back of my neck. My skin flushes with goosebumps and my breaths become nothing more than rapid pants. He reduces me to animal urges and sheer desperate need.

"And you will always bleed for me." His elbow presses into my spine, forcing my chest flush to the mirror as my hips angle toward him. There's no build up, just him driving into me in one thrust. I choke on a breath, biting my lip until I taste blood. "How does it feel to have me inside you?"

I don't respond and he pulls my hair, snatching my head so far back that my back screams in protest. He pulls out and pushes back in on another hard thrust. "Does it make you feel powerful, krasivaya?" He groans beside my ear.

"Yes," I breathe. To be with Ronan like this is to be utterly possessed, wrapped in his power like a moth hovering near the heat of a flame. He makes me want to burn for him, and he knows it.

He pulls out, grabs my shoulders, and spins me around before taking my wrist and pinning it to the mirror. My legs spread and I wrap them around his waist before he laces his blood-coated fingers between mine. Leaning next to my ear, he drags in a staggered breath as though he can't contain himself. Part of me hopes he won't. "Your blood looks so pretty on my skin, Camilla."

I glance down, watching him drive into me. "It looks better on your cock."

"God, yes." He fucks me harder, his hand trailing along my arm to my neck. One by one his slick fingers wrap around my throat and a small smile dances over my lips. A low growl builds in his chest. His grip on my neck becomes bruising as he pushes me higher and higher. "I love your blood on my cock," he groans.

My fingers slip into his hair and I yank his head back, slamming my lips over his. The fingers at my neck tighten and my air supply cuts off for a second. My body hums with pleasure and my mind spins as I come for him. He stiffens, tossing his head back on a groan when my pussy clamps around him.

His hand slips from my neck and I drag in several deep breaths, scratching my nails over his scalp before he slowly disentangles himself from the white fabric bunched at my waist.

"I hope you didn't want this dress." I say, staring down at the streaks of blood.

A slow grin works over his lips. "No."

I force the material over my hips, letting it puddle around me on the floor before I step out of it. There's something powerful about standing in front of him completely naked with my blood and his come running down my thighs.

"I do believe I've never seen you more beautiful."

I smirk and close the small space between us, tracing my fingers over his lower stomach, stopping just short of where he pulled his boxers over his dick. "I should have known you'd like blood on your cock."

He lifts a brow before straightening his coat.

"Give me your jacket," I say.

Ronan glares at me for a moment before sighing and slipping out of his jacket, tossing it at me. I shrug it on and open the dressing room door to find the retail assistant standing in the middle of the showroom, her face white.

I glance back at him. "You can explain the state of that dress to her," I say as I slip from the room.

"Bill me for the dress," I hear Ronan say as I step into the bathroom to clean up.

Only Ronan Cole... He's sick and I shouldn't like it, but of course I do.