My throat was raw, each breath burning the skin anew. The last thing I remembered was Pretty Boy aiming his gun at me. The force of the bullet, the shock of it, had knocked the wind out of me. I must have banged my head on something because I didn’t remember hitting the water. I didn’t even get to swim. To fight.

Then I was awake, coughing up water, and Anteros’s intense, furious gaze was on me. There were no Wolves in sight, just him and me. The sun was just a neon line on the horizon and night darkened an indigo sky. My arm ached, my skin was numb, but my lips were warm from Anteros. Nothing was made clearer by his kiss. His glare was wild and untamed like he wanted to throw me back into the water.

“You’re lucky,” Anteros grunted. If I hadn’t been so dazed, I would have scoffed. I was a lot of things, lucky didn’t hit top ten. “Bullet barely hit your arm,” he continued. “Lucky Pretty Boy’s aim was off.” He lightly drew around the circumference of the wound, talking to himself. I furrowed my brow because I didn’t know what to say.

Abruptly, Anteros sat back, studying me. I swallowed, averted my gaze. I’d been certain Anteros hated me, certain I was going to die at the Wolves’ hands. I hadn’t seen things flash before my eyes like in the movies.

I’d seen Anteros.

Without any explanation, Anteros stood up. His tank and trousers were soaked, clinging to every inch of him. He inclined his head, eyeing me through wet tendrils of his black hair—just one eye, a slit of intent. In that brief second, I wondered what would become of me—what he would do with me. Then he shook his head, wet hair misting my face.

Anteros threw his head back, standing so straight his shirt revealed the lines of muscle underneath. He carded both hands through his inky hair, getting it out of his face. I was an addict, drinking in the way his muscles flexed and rolled in absolutely evil ways. Then before I could object, he put his hands to my waist and lifted me into his arms.

A groan fell from my lips. Ever been shot, drowned, and revived in the span of an hour? Well, 0/10 would not recommend. Awareness was returning to my limbs and the air was like razorblades. My arm burned a throbbing ache.

With each thrust of Anteros’s feet hitting the ground, pain wracked me. I sucked it up, though. Except for the first groan—which was pretty much out of my control—I wasn’t going to show any weakness. Anteros carried me across the docks and I studied his features for any hint of what was going to happen. He gave me nothing. He stared straight ahead like a robot, features hard cast.

At this angle, Anteros was even more severe, his cheekbones carved from stone, his jaw cut from glass. I wanted to reach out, to touch him and hold him like before, but did he still think I’d betrayed him? Then why save me? I sucked in a breath and stared straight ahead. At least in his arms I wasn’t as cold—wet, but not popsicle status.

We stopped before a sleek black car that I didn’t know the name of. I didn’t know the name of many cars, though. I mean, it was lucky if I could distinguish between a Honda and Hyundai. It was different than the one I’d been shoved in the trunk of, though, smaller and more lethal.

He set me down against the side and I could hardly stand so he gripped my waist, keeping me level. His body came into mine, pressing me deeper against the metal, warm against my frigid skin. I fought the urge to reach for him; his beautiful features were still so cold, so hateful. He bent his head, pressing his nose to my hair, beard tickling my forehead. All the air left my lungs in a rush.

First his hand slid from my waist, then they went to the seam of my pajamas. They were soaked and I didn’t realize how cold I was until my teeth were clattering so hard my jaw hurt. All of those things, though—the pain, the freezing—they took back seat to him.

My pajamas clung to my skin and the drawstring was knotted impossibly by the water. Anteros yanked at them wildly until, with a frustrated noise low in his throat, he finally ripped them off. I shook with the movement as he pulled them to my ankles, gripping the car for support. He got them past my feet, tossed the drenched satin to the asphalt, and stood back up. My lower half was naked, but it wasn’t like when he was undressing me for sex. He didn’t meet my eyes, didn’t lick his lips. His glare was harsh and enraged, but worst of all, hurt.

He tightened his grip on what remained of the tank then ripped the rest from me. I let out a small sound of pain as the force stuttered through my body, hitting my fresh wound in shocking pain.

I wanted to know what had happened. Where were the Wolves? But I sensed it was not the time for talking. Anteros was acting like a caveman, the look of a crazed, possessed madman in his eyes. Still, he was undressing me carefully. Though ripping my shirt was violent, he peeled it from my body gently, and I knew it would have hurt so much more if it had to be dragged over my head. He threw the tattered shirt to the side and I had to admit when all the wet clothes were off, I was so much warmer.

I shivered against the car and he stared down at me from his nose, breathing furiously, feral glare harsh in his bluegreen eyes. He didn’t bother to take his own clothes off and I could see just how hard he was breathing because his tank was soaked, outlining every harsh movement of his pectorals.

He walked away and I nearly slid from the car, all of his support gone. I heard the trunk open, felt the harsh slam when he shut it. He reappeared with a bandage and slapped it onto my arm. There was no gentleness. It was hard, tight, and I winced, trying to keep the tears from falling from my eyes. When he was done applying the bandage, he just stared at me.

“Where are the Wolves?” I whispered.

“Dead.” One word, but it held so many implications. His eyes were saying he fucking hated me, but his actions were doing the exact opposite. He’d just decimated his entire crew, just saved my life, and was now taking care of me. I could see he was aroused. I could actually see his beautiful, achingly hard cock outlined in his wet pants. I wanted it, would always want it, even if he no longer wanted me.

Once again, we were in no man’s land.

* * *

“Anteros,” I started, attempting to explain, but I swallowed my words as he pressed me against the car. After being numb for so long, thousands of pinpricks assaulted me, but his wet clothes pressed against my naked skin—cold, damp, rubbing—made parts of me I didn’t know could feel come alive.

“Are you fucking happy?” he growled, pressing his face against my neck and inhaling. “Are you?” He punched his fist against the car and I flinched. It made a dent in the metal. “You destroyed me.” He kept rubbing his face against my neck, smelling me, fist grinding against the car. He was like some kind of wild animal.

While his hand ground into the metal, the other rubbed up and down my side before coming to grope my breast. I could feel his hard cock at my belly, could smell his spicy scent in my nose. It was like there were two sides to him—one that wanted me desperately, and the other that desperately wanted me gone.

“Nikolai was blackmailing me,” I explained, gasping as he twisted my nipple. “He manipulated videos from when I was at the penthouse to make it look like I planned everything, like I wanted to kill you, like I planted the needle.”

“I already knew about the needle.” His hand dipped between my legs, palming hard and ruthless. “I already thought you wanted to kill me.” His voice reminded me of our first night together, when he found me out of my room. I hated it, wanted to rip it apart and remind him what we had together.

“I…” I swallowed. I couldn’t breathe. His palm between my thighs was making me delirious, but I knew this was literally life or death. I had to get him to believe me. I tried to focus, tried to steady my blurry vision.

“Do you think I fucking care about that, Francesca?” he continued, anger hot and palpable, like touching a live, burning flame.

“Frankie,” I gasped as he worked the heel of his palm against just the right spot. “It’s Frankie.”

“Who do you think I am, Francesca? Who the fuck do you think I am?” His fist was so close to my head, grinding and unrelenting, but the rhythm he worked between my legs was unrelenting for a totally different reason. “Who the fuck am I to you, who the fuck are we that something so small could have broken us?” When I didn’t immediately respond he yelled, “Answer me!”

“I don’t know,” I yelled back. “I don’t know,” I repeated in a whisper. “I don’t know what we are.”

He let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a howl then punched the car again. “All of this could have been avoided if you had just told me the fucking truth.”

“And you never lied to me?” I asked. “You’re not keeping anything from me?” Anteros pulled his hand from between my legs and pushed off. The space allowed me to suck in air, but I didn’t want to breathe. The pressure of him was harsh but I craved it the minute he was gone. He flattened his hands on the hood, bracketing me, and we locked eyes. For a brief second it looked like there was something on his mind, but then he ground his jaw and pressed me back against the car.

“No,” he growled. “Nothing.”

“This never could have been avoided!” I snapped. “What fantasy world are you living in that you think your Wolves would have accepted me? That Crazy A would have been okay with me?” I shoved at him, but he was stone. “Let me go.”

“Never,” he growled. He removed his hands from the hood and ran them up and down my body, rough and bruising against my skin. It was quick, as if reassuring himself I was there. He dipped his palm between my thighs again and I inhaled sharply, arching into him, needing his touch. It was light, though, brief and fluttering before he removed his hands from me and placed them back on the hood. I missed him instantly.

“I hate what you’ve made me do,” he snarled, pressing his face against my neck. Beneath tendrils of wild, wet hair he looked up at me, and I could see his furious glare.

“I hate what you’ve turned me into,” I countered. Lifting his head, he pressed his lips to mine, but it was hardly a kiss. Biting and sucking, ferocious and violent, he punished me with the embrace. The sharp, coppery taste of blood intertwined with our saliva. I tilted my chin, gave him my tongue, my lips, my breath, needing more.

“You don’t hate anything,” he said, dragging my lip between his teeth. “You love all of this, you fucking liar. You revel in it. This is you to your very marrow, a need so deep it echoes.” He gave me one last burning kiss then lowered his head and bit my shoulder until I screamed.

I threw my head back, trying not to get lost in Anteros. I needed to convince him of the truth, but I couldn’t treat him like a man. Something had snapped within him and he was wild, untamed—but some part of us had always been wild. Like Anteros said, we were never good at talking. We spoke in a language before man, a language of need, of blood, of impulse. I knew what I needed to do.

I tried pushing him off me to get more space, but he growled an angry sound low in his throat. Using what little space I had, I brought my good arm up, sliding my finger under the tight bandage. He tried to grab me, but I quickly pressed my finger to the wound in my arm.

“Ahh!” I cried in pain and he ripped my hand away, gripping my wrist until the skin was white beneath. His eyes darted from me to my finger, now fresh with blood. He still didn’t understand. I tugged on his hold and he let go, but still eyed me suspiciously.

I brought my finger down to my bare chest then used the fresh blood and drew over the A he’d carved. It was messy and barely readable, but the point was made. Anteros watched me, intent visible by the way his viscera coiled and throbbed. Still, he wouldn’t come to me, so I grabbed him with my good arm, snaked my still bloody fingers into his hair, and pulled him close. I crushed my lips against his and he responded brutally—thrusting his tongue into me, fucking my mouth. All I could do was lie back and moan into him.

“I love you,” I panted against his lips when he finally pulled back to give me a chance to breathe. “You have me. All of me. You’re inside me forever.”

“You’re a fucking liar,” he said. “But I don’t care.” He dipped his head to my neck, sucking and savage, leaving marks. He gripped my waist with such ferocity I was sure I would get bruises. He was driving me out of my mind and I wanted to let my head fall and give in to the madness, but he still didn’t believe me and I didn’t know what I could do to make him.

Then it came to me.

And it was horrible.

It would be the ultimate betrayal. It would utterly destroy my old self. The tiny thread I’d been clinging to, the thread that said I was normal—a good girl. Then again, he’d just destroyed his old self, obliterated it, and I was naked and drawing on myself with blood.

The thread was frayed to begin with.

“You—” I swallowed, trying to gather the courage and untie my tongue as his hands worked black magic. “You can’t trust Levi.” His coil loosened from my waist, his kiss died. His lips were at my neck, his breath purgatory. I expected to feel worse about betraying my only friend, but I only waited for Anteros.

“What?” Anteros lifted his head, stared into my eyes. I exhaled. Anteros. The deep bluegreen of the ocean was looking at me, no longer a furious maelstrom of black. A deep hurt still ringed the irises, his defenses and walls gone. It was like when he’d come to me drunk after the Christmas Eve party, but even more stripped. It was beyond seeing his beating heart—he ripped it out. He gave me the bloody thing and it went thump thump thump in my hand until blood seeped down my wrist.

In his eyes, I saw pain.

Uncertainty.

Fear.

Then, as if he knew what was happening, it vanished and he hardened his gaze once more. Still, it was nothing compared to the earlier madness.

“He’s working for Lucia.” The dim glow of a parking lamp made the furrow in his brow even deeper. I sucked in all of my courage and continued. “There are probably others working for her, too, but I don’t know. She doesn’t tell me anything. She killed my father right in front of me. I didn’t know Nikolai was going to be there tonight. I think Nikolai is a goddamn snake.” I tried to get all the truth out at once, and once I had, I was breathless. Silence fell, and I could see the cogs working in his head as he absorbed everything. He backed away and I was worried he was questioning me again.

“I was running away tonight,” I said, putting my palm on his chest. “I was coming to you.” Anteros stopped and eyed the hand on his chest. His glare flicked from my hand to me.

“But you knew he was working for Lucia,” he tested.

“I did,” I said honestly. I was worried telling him the truth, worried I would shatter the tenuous bond we’d reformed, but I had to be truthful. We were starting fresh, rebuilding from the ashes. There was no room for lies anymore. I waited, breath completely pulled, for him to give me any sign of forgiveness

“Please,” I whispered. “I just want the lies between us to die. I’ve told you everything, I will tell you everything, just like you’ve done with me.” Anteros’s features twisted, and again I wondered if there was something he might want to tell me, but just as quickly he went blank.

I stood up on my tiptoes, getting as close to him as I could, and said against his lips, “Let me fall with you, Lucifer.”

The reaction was immediate. Anteros pressed me against the car, so flat I could only press my head on the hood and tilt my chin. He held my breath captive, a wicked glint in his eye. There was too little space between us but too much all at once, and in that space he devoured me. My lips parted and his eyes darted to them before glancing back to lock with mine. There was a barely noticeable smile on his lips.

“Mio cuore…” He slid his open palm along my cheek, unfurling it around my neck. At first, it was just enough pressure to be firm, but then he tightened. I opened my mouth, sucking in as much air as I could. I welcomed the lack of oxygen, the pain, and the bruising on my neck, though. I wanted it all because I needed his fingerprints on my neck—an indelible sign of who I belonged to.

He pressed his lips to my ear, words licking the skin. “You’ve been a very bad girl. What are we going to do with you?”

* * *

What are we going to do with you?

We. He’d said we. It was such a simple thing, but it made all the difference. It brought a smile to my lips and goose bumps to my skin as we whipped along the highway going at least ninety miles an hour. I wasn’t focusing on the speed. I wasn’t even focusing on New York disappearing behind us into the black, black night. I was stuck on him.

He hadn’t said a word after that, just grabbed a blanket, wrapped it around my naked body, and shoved me into the car, not bothering to turn on the heat. The silence between us wasn’t angry, it was a promise. It was heavy and thick, like a decadent chocolate sauce. Under the blanket I clenched my thighs, knowing the wetness wasn’t from the river.

His tank still clung to his muscles and he was bleeding, red weeping down his slick skin. I was angry with myself for not noticing it before, but it didn’t seem to affect him. Nothing did. His red lips were taut in concentration and his skin rose with a chill he didn’t notice. Soaked hair fell over his chiseled face while his hands gripped the wheel. The water made his skin shine, reflecting whatever light could be found in the night—light from the dash, the occasional street lamp outside. The wet sheen on his skin made his cheekbones even harder and more determined. I rubbed my neck, mesmerized by him.

We drove for about two hours before he pulled the car to a stop. We’d driven north, to some kind of forested area. It was pitch black now and the moon backlit the many, many trees. There was no real road, just a dirt path muddied with snow. I made out the shadow of a house and beyond that a lake that was black in the night.

I didn’t bother asking where we were. Maybe I should have, but I was too wrapped up in us. I kept thinking that eventually I would figure us out, but as he slammed the door behind him, I knew that would never be true. We were like a black hole—the more you learned, the less you understood. There was just feeling and experiencing, and trying to understand or predict only led to more misunderstanding.

He stalked around the car to my side, eyes burrowing into me the entire time. His shoulders were tense, muscles riveted, throbbing against his clinging shirt. He was predator, I his prey. He tore open the door and pulled me out, lifting me into his arms as he’d done when saving me from the water. Briefly I thought of telling him I was fine, that I could walk despite the bullet wound and the cold, but the way he clung to me, the way the veins on his neck bulged, told me he didn’t care.

With near death behind me, I again remembered the loss of my letter. I couldn’t see it on Anteros, but I wondered if he’d been able to save it.

“Anteros—” I started, but he placed his lips on mine, immediately shutting me up. He was ravenous. Claiming. His tongue plundered my mouth, wet and sucking and forceful. When he was done, we were inside, and I couldn’t remember what I’d been thinking.

He set me down gently on a couch. I reached out for him; it was instinct, like breathing. I cupped his cheek, staring into his eyes. Anteros covered my hand and for a moment, it was perfect.

“You need stitches,” he said, voice low, and then he stood. He walked into another room. I sat up slightly to get a better look, noting the long corridor he’d gone down. I glanced at the bandage Anteros had put on my arm earlier. He was right—red was seeping through the little fibers.

We were in a cabin with cobblestone walls and a cobblestone fireplace, but the walls were all glass, floor-to-ceiling windows that exposed a pitch-black night. Plush furs were draped over minimalist furniture. It was the perfect mix of rustic cabin and modern decor.

It reminded me of the penthouse, of Anteros. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Home.

Anteros returned carrying a nondescript box and a glass of water. He got to his knees and set the items on the table behind him—a glass coffee table so pristine I almost didn’t notice it. Then he threw a fresh blanket over me.

“You need to lie down,” he said and pressed his hand to my chest.

“You need a bandage first,” I said, fighting against his hand. “Stitches can wait.” Anteros hadn’t stopped bleeding since the river. Though the lower left half of his tank was nearly drenched red, he shot me a look like what I’d said was ridiculous. Still, he temporarily stopped trying to get me to lie down and reached for the box. I hoped it was for a bandage, but he turned back to me a second later with some pills.

“Take these.” He handed me white pills with the glass of water.

“You need a bandage, or antiseptic. Possibly both.”

“Frankie,” Anteros growled, warning on his tongue. I pursed my lips and moved my mouth to the side. I wanted to say more, but put my palm over his, accepting the pills anyway. His glare told me I didn’t really have a choice.

I sank farther back into the couch, the only sound between us the dull click of the cap being removed from the antiseptic. His hands were a mesmerizing bronze, just a shade darker than my own. They were like an ancient warrior’s shield, flawless and beautiful, yet hard and strong. I wondered how I’d never noticed it before. I waited for him to pour the liquid on the gauze, but instead he poured it on the wound in my arm. I hissed in pain but said nothing. He poured some on his hand and set the bottle down but didn’t cap it. With two fingers, he pressed next to where Pretty Boy had shot me.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, eyes on the wound. He reached behind him and grabbed something as my gaze drifted down to his still-wet thighs. Even though it wasn’t hard, his cock was thick, long, and perfectly outlined, resting on his thigh, begging to be stroked. He pulled out a needle and thread and I refocused on him, but he was already looking at me, smirk on his face.

“Get distracted by something?” he asked.

“I…have no comment,” I said. “What are you doing?”

“Sewing you up,” he replied, even more amused, like my question was obvious and I was ridiculous for asking. I tensed, eyeing the needle in his hand. When he’d said I needed stitches, I’d thought we would go to a hospital or something, but now that I thought about it, I realized how stupid I was. We couldn’t go to a hospital. In fact, I wasn’t sure where we could go now.

But it didn’t matter, because we’d imploded together. Wherever we went, whatever happened next, it would finally be as one.

Anteros pressed against the flesh around the wound and the blood sputtered then flowed, like a river over rocks. With his free hand, he knotted my hair and forced me to look into his eyes.

“I won’t hurt you,” he growled, breath hot against my lips.

“I know.” And I did. Taking a deep breath, I said, “Do it.”

* * *

Anteros focused hard as he stitched me up. Back at the docks, he’d been aroused in a painfully obvious way; now he just treated me like a patient. It was annoying. Frustrating. I tried to capture his gaze and when that didn’t work I moved, released a sigh. He pushed his hand against my chest and said, “Stay still.”

I released another frustrated breath and stopped moving—for the moment.

He’d numbed my arm so I hardly felt the stitching, and that combined with the drugs had me feeling floaty. The slight pricking from the needle was actually invigorating. He was halfway done when he turned to get something from the box. I didn’t know what and I didn’t care. I was a little high and a lot horny. I sat up so the blanket fell and exposed me. When he turned back his hand froze with the needle, gaze devouring me.

When his eyes met mine they were fire burning over coals. I could smell the smoke, the charcoal. His jaw was clenched so hard I was sure he was hurting himself. I hoped he would tear the rest of the blanket away, but he just put the needle back into my arm.

I was mesmerized by every movement: the needle going through my skin, in and out, in and out, reminding me of sex, of him. Each prick further sensitized an already oversensitive body. I wasn’t sure if I was getting higher or if the feeling of euphoria was simply us.

When he was finished, he gently ran the pad of his finger along the fresh stitches. The contact hurt, but the pain meds were working so I just felt alive. Awakened. I reached for him but he moved away. I whimpered in protest.

“You need to rest.” His voice was hoarse, eyes locked with mine. He might not have been touching me anymore, but I saw through him. He was barely restraining himself. I stood up and ripped the blanket completely off.

“I need to heal,” I emphasized. With a groan low in his throat, Anteros pulled me to him, ran his nose along my neck like he’d done earlier. I felt the rumblings in his chest, the barely restrained need as he held me, grip so tight my flesh whitened and my stitches tugged.

“I can’t take you gently.” He ran his nose down my neck to the hollow of my collarbone where the bones connected, fibers of his beard teasing my flesh. I sighed, head falling back. Everything about him was coiled tight—his muscles, his rough, grating voice vibrating against my bones.

“Did I ask you to?” My voice was barely a whisper. Abruptly he stopped and pushed me, making me stumble to the couch. I braced my landing on my elbows.

“Go to sleep,” he said before turning to leave. What. The. Fuck?

“Where are you going?” I asked to his back, scrambling to get up. He didn’t stop walking, about to disappear under the stuffed deer head that delineated the start of the dark corridor he’d walked down earlier. I had to do something.

“Oh I get it,” I called out. “You’re injured. You’re going to go sleep because you’re too weak and tired and bleeding…” I listed everything I thought might piss him off. Come to think of it, the pain meds might have been working a little too well. The muscles on his neck corded, and I hoped he would turn around.

His hand shot out and gripped the edge of the entryway, but he didn’t turn back. A little part of my brain told me to shut up and stop pushing. It told me I was injured, told me the only reason I felt so good was because I was getting high—but I didn’t stop.

“Coward,” I said. He spun around and closed the distance between us in three purposeful steps.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said, pushing me back into the couch. His bluegreen gaze was sharp, penetrating. I fell into the color the same way I’d fallen into this world. Fast. Heady. Without any warning or thought to consequence.

“Did it work?” I whispered. There was just a sliver of space between us, lips close but not close enough to taste, his heady, spicy musk invading my senses and getting me drunk. My lips parted to speak—or maybe just to let out the steam inside my lungs—when he plunged a finger inside me. His charged stare was on me the entire time, keeping that sliver between us. I could only get my fix through watching him, but his gaze, almost as much as the magic his fingers worked, was sending me over the edge.

As I was about to come, he pulled them out. I groaned at the loss, but seconds later my groans were silenced.

Salty, delicious on my tongue.

Anteros fucked his fingers into my mouth, into my throat, simultaneously making me taste myself and gagging my protests. I tried to lick them, but I gagged harder.

Slowly he slid his fingers from my mouth, but he kept his thumb lightly on my tongue. I sucked it fervently, greedily, like he would take it away any minute. His eyelids hooded.

“Bad girl.” He tapped his thumb against my tongue as he took it from my mouth. I went after it, but he stopped me.

A charged silence hung in the air as I waited for him to make his next move. My wide eyes looked up at his narrow ones, fingers licked clean, tauntingly close to my mouth. Suddenly he snaked a hand behind my neck, grasping the hair so tightly my eyes watered.

“Get on your knees.” He dropped his hold and I quickly slid off the buttery leather couch. There wasn’t much space between the coffee table and the couch, but I waited, hands on my thighs.

He was so beautiful, his wet shirt clinging to the cut muscles of his Adonis Belt, which pointed down to a rock-hard cock, slacks painting the outline as a steel bar against his leg. Everything ached within me, and I raked my nails against my thighs in an attempt to distract myself.

“You want this?” he asked, palming himself. “Yeah, I can see you want it. You’re so fucking transparent.” I moved toward him, feeling on fire with my need, itchy, practically coming undone. “You want this?” he asked again, and I nodded my head frantically. “Earn it.”

“Please,” I begged, reaching for him. “Please, I want you inside me.”

“I didn’t ask you to beg.” He gripped the back of my neck again, bending over so his words were a harsh snarl in my ear. “I said earn it.” He let me go with a thrust and I fell, bracing my landing with my palms. I studied the floor; I wasn’t sure how to earn it. Then it came to me. It was so fucking obvious. I stood up, reached for the seam of his pants, and undid him.

He was hot in my palm, iron hard, silky smooth. I rubbed my cheek against him.

I’d missed him so much.

“Greedy cock whore,” he rumbled, but I barely heard the words, I was so distracted by him.

I moaned as I wrapped my lips around him. This didn’t really feel like earning it. He tasted so delicious. Everything about him in my mouth got me going. It lit a fire in my body. If this was earning it, I would gladly earn it every goddamn day.

“You like this?” he asked. “Are you hungry for my cock?” When I didn’t immediately respond, he gripped my hair in a painful clamp. “Look at me.” I did, eyes watering with the pain of his grasp and trying to fit him into my mouth.

“There you are.” His voice got softer. “Take it like a good girl. Choke on me.” I slowly swallowed him until his head breached the back of my throat. Then I relaxed, opening up for more.

“That’s good,” he coaxed. “You are so good.” His head fell back slightly, but his grip on my hair didn’t loosen. I watched him, watched how I had all the power in this. The muscles in his neck were so tight they were like cords of thick wire. It was intoxicating.

I hadn’t thought I could swallow anymore, he was so goddamn huge, but I was determined. I breathed through my nose, relaxed my throat and took him. His lids popped open and our stares collided.

“You look so fucking good swallowing my cock. Fuck.” His grip in my hair tightened painfully. “You’re the most beautiful thing. Goddamn devastating.” Both of his hands fisted in my hair, his head fell back, and he furiously fucked my skull. My eyes watered so much that my vision of him became a beautiful, watery thing.

I heard him groan, so deep it sounded inhuman. Then he was coming in hot, salty, delicious spurts. He was so deep that it just fell down my throat. I swallowed as much of him as I could, but a little bit escaped down my chin. When he finished, I was still looking at him, and he looked back with so much adoration, so much love.

He put his thumb to where the little bit of him had escaped, swiped, and pushed it into my mouth. I sucked him willingly, eyes locked. No, locked wasn’t the right word.

Tethered.

“Sei una dea, mio cuore,” he groaned in Italian as I sucked the salty taste off his skin. The dichotomy between the flavor of him and his flesh was totally addicting. I found myself frantically palming myself as I sucked his thumb. I was going insane, absolutely aching, and it was just instinct to touch myself. He grabbed my hand, lifting it so my fingers were just below his chin.

“Greedy girl,” he said. “Don’t you know your orgasm is mine? I own this.” He sucked my fingers until they were clean and I moaned, rubbing my thighs together. I was so overstimulated, I was sure I was going to come just from the friction. I rubbed my thighs harder and he laughed darkly, pushing me off him. I fell to the ground.

Eyes still locked, Anteros reached behind and flipped over the coffee table. The glass crashed and shattered. Some shards hit my thigh, but I didn’t think about that or the mess or the possible danger because moments later Anteros was on the ground with me.

He crawled between my legs and spread them wide in the new space. I got to my elbows, watching him rapt.

“If you come without permission,” he said, licking a long, razor sharp trail from behind my knee to inside my thigh, “you will be punished.”

* * *

“Please,” I moaned, biting my arm until I saw marks, trying to keep the orgasm away. He raked his fingers up and down my thighs, working his tongue along the inside of my pussy. If I wasn’t allowed to come, why was he making it so difficult?

“Greedy girl, can’t stop herself,” he said. “So wet, too. You’re going to ruin my fucking floors with your cunt.”

His teeth dragged against my folds, finding my clit, where he bit. My vision blurred and my abdomen pulsed. My nails scratched against the floor. I pushed my head deeper into the floor, trying to stay grounded. It didn’t work. I came violently, abdomen clenching and cramping until it felt like the only release I could get was through my voice, in screams and wails.

When it was over I was satiated…nervous. Slowly he crawled up my body and wiped sweaty hair from my forehead. His cock was hard against my thigh, already ready to go again.

“Are you going to punish me?” I whispered.

A smirk came to his lips. “I think you’ve been punished enough for today.”

Disappointment hit my stomach in an odd ache. I was fucked up. I actually wanted to be punished. His gaze slimmed as if he could read my mind, and then his fingers darted back between my lower lips, spreading them.

“Unless you want to be punished.” His thumb worked a taunting rhythm beside my clit, not ever touching it, just enough to drive me mad. I clawed his neck, head falling with a sigh into the soft fur rug. “Do you want to be punished?” I nodded frantically and he said, “Say it.”

“Please punish me.” There was no hesitation. The words fell from my lips the minute he demanded it.

He laughed, rumbling and low. “Too fucking bad, little slave. You’re mine. I’ll use you however the fuck I want.” I groaned then caught the glint in his eye. This was his punishment: making me admit my need, making me beg, then having him deny it.

His grin widened. Before I could protest his punishment, he plunged his fingers inside me.

I still wasn’t sure where we were. Maybe we were in New York, or maybe we’d driven to Maine. All I saw when I looked outside the windows was black. They were tall, pristine windows with no curtain coverage, and as Anteros fucked his fingers into me, I wondered if anyone could see.

Anteros gripped my chin, pulling my gaze back to his. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing.” At my response, he plunged a fourth finger inside, filling me with a painful but pleasurable stretch. “Just wondering where we are,” I groaned. “If anyone can see—see us!” The words caught on a breath as he worked a hard and fast inside rhythm inside me. He laughed darkly and grazed his teeth along my neck. Then he bit.

“Dirty girl,” he said. “Do you want someone to see us?” The idea had goose bumps peppering my skin, but I didn’t respond. He turned my head back to the window, hand on my neck keeping it in place.

“Do you like the idea of someone watching me fuck you, Frankie?” His words were like wine, twisting into my body, getting me loose and intoxicated. “Do you want to spread your legs for everyone to see?” he rumbled, biting my earlobe, dragging the skin with his teeth. I moaned, hands reaching for his waist, groping his slick flesh. As if I couldn’t help it, my legs fell open even farther.

He laughed. “Who are you spreading your legs for? Trying to get them as far open as possible so everyone can see your cunt?” I whimpered when he slid one finger from inside to stretch my lips farther apart. The air tickled my parted flesh so I knew I was on display. “Do you want them to see you come?” I whimpered again, body alight with tingles. Anteros laughed and said, “I fucking knew you liked it. You got so fucking wet at the warehouse.” He was talking about the night he showed me off to his Wolves. It had been so horrifying, but he was right. I did like it.

His teeth raked against my neck, my ear, my chest. His hands were in my hair, on my arms, on my waist. His words were a powerful beat in my blood.

Then his fingers were gone, but before I could miss them, Anteros was inside me. Thick. Hot. So perfect. Exactly what I needed. My vision blurred. My heart ratcheted. I was barely aware of where I was.

“Oh fuck, Frankie,” Anteros groaned. “I can feel you coming.” I closed my eyes, giving in to the feeling. Blood so hot I felt it to the tips of my toes, melting in between my thighs, bursting through the skies on butterfly wings of pleasure until my sighs became cries. Earlier I’d thought I would die, and now I was so alive it was painful.

When it was over, my eyelids fluttered open. The lights above us were so bright, the fur beneath my skin so soft, and Anteros was hot, delicious against my skin.

“People can watch you.” His whisper was gruff against my ear. “They can watch because”—he gripped my chin, turning my face from the window—“you fucking belong to me.” He plunged his tongue into my mouth, swallowing my groans.

“Say my name,” he said, still hard inside me. He kissed the wing of my collarbone, going along my shoulder and to my arm, to the stitches he’d just placed. He lifted his head and looked straight at me, cock pulsing.

“Anteros,” I said, voice hoarse from screaming. When he began a slow, delirious rhythm of pumping into me, this time I didn’t look out the window.

“When you come you’ll say my name,” he ordered on a powerful thrust. “Only my name.” I nodded.

I didn’t know what this meant for the future outside these walls. It felt like with our wounds and stitches, we’d mended some of our fractured relationship. But Lucia, Nikolai—the war—it was all still out there. Waiting for us.

I screamed his name as another orgasm broke me into a billion pieces. With Anteros, it was never easy; even the orgasms were hard. You’d think they would get normal, simple, but each time they stole my body.

One thing was certain, though: I’d do anything for this feeling, for the bliss, the fracture. I’d be lost to it forever, but I didn’t want to be found. I wanted to drown in it. It was terrifying being so helpless, so addicted. I knew Anteros owned me forever because he owned the feeling, the feeling that utterly owned me.