Chapter 2: Cleaning His Cock With My Mouth
The silence after was worse than the act itself.
Kade's weight shifted, and he rolled onto his back, dragging me with him like I was a blanket he couldn't be bothered to fold. My cheek landed on his chest, rising and falling with each breath. His heartbeat thudded against my ear, slow and satisfied. His hand came up to rest on my head, fingers threading through hair that wasn't mine, stroking like I was something precious.
I should have moved.
I should have pushed off him, found my clothes, run down those stairs and out into the night. But my legs felt like water, and the ache between them pulsed with every beat of my heart. A deep, full soreness that reminded me exactly what had just happened.
His cock was still out, resting against his stomach. Still thick and heavy even soft, glistening with the mess we'd made. His seed mixed with my wetness, drying in streaks along the shaft. The head was slick, a deep pink that looked almost angry, and there was something about it—something that made my mouth water before I could stop the reaction.
I hated that.
I hated that my body was reacting at all. That the sight of him, the smell of him, the taste of him still lingering on my tongue from that first brutal kiss—all of it was making something low in my belly tighten with fresh want.
Morrigan's voice echoed in my skull. The change has already started to work on your mind. Hormones. Instincts.
I lifted my head.
Kade's eyes were closed. His breathing had evened out, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He looked almost peaceful. Almost human. The scar across his jaw caught the lamplight—a pale line against stubble that was getting longer by the hour. His hand stayed in my hair, possessive even in near-sleep.
I could slip away. I could try.
Instead, I found myself staring at his cock.
It twitched under my gaze. A tiny movement, involuntary, but I saw it. And something inside me—something I refused to name—made me slide down his body.
My breasts dragged across his stomach, the tank top riding up to expose skin. My nipples brushed against his heat, and I sucked in a breath. He smelled like sex and sweat and something underneath that was just him. Leather. Smoke. The faint trace of gunpowder that seemed to cling to his skin.
His hand tightened in my hair. Not pulling. Just... there.
"What are you doing?" His voice was rough, thick with sleep he hadn't quite fallen into.
I didn't answer.
I couldn't. Because I didn't know. I didn't know why I was sliding lower, why my lips were parting, why the taste of my own wetness on his skin was somehow making me hungrier instead of disgusted.
The head of his cock bumped against my chin. I stopped. Stared at it.
Up close, it was... a lot. Thick and veined, the skin soft over the hardness underneath. The slit at the tip gleamed with moisture. I could smell us on him—that musky, salty mix of my cunt and his come, and something else underneath. Something raw and male that made my thighs clench.
Kade's breathing had changed. Deeper now. Watching.
"You gonna suck it, or just stare at it all night?"
The words should have made me pull back. Should have made me tell him to go to hell. Instead, something hot and defiant rose in my chest. I wasn't going to let him win. Not this. Not after everything.
I licked my lips.
Then I took him into my mouth.
The taste hit me first. Salt and musk and something almost sweet underneath. My own wetness, still coating his skin, mixed with the remnants of his come. It should have been revolting. It should have made me gag.
Instead, my mouth flooded with saliva. My tongue flattened against the underside of his shaft, and I moaned before I could stop the sound.
"Fuck," Kade breathed.
His hips twitched. Just a small movement, like he was forcing himself to stay still. The hand in my hair loosened, then tightened again, like he didn't know what to do with it.
I sucked him clean.
Slow. Deliberate. I dragged my tongue up the length of his shaft, lapping at the skin, tasting every inch. His drying seed, my own slickness, the salt of his sweat. I licked it all up like it was something I needed to survive.
He tasted like power. Like something conquered. And God help me, I wanted more.
I curled my fingers around the base of his cock and squeezed. It was already stiffening in my hand, growing harder with each pass of my tongue. Blood rushing in, filling him out, making the veins stand up against my lips.
"You like that?" His voice was strained. "You like the taste of your own cunt on my dick?"
I pulled off just long enough to answer.
"Shut up."
Then I took him deeper.
The head bumped the back of my throat, and I gagged. Just a little. Just enough to make my eyes water. But I didn't stop. I breathed through my nose and worked him with my hand, sliding my fist up and down the shaft while my tongue swirled around the tip.
His hips bucked. A sharp movement, involuntary. His cock pushed deeper, and I felt him hit my throat again. I gagged harder this time, throat constricting around him, and Kade groaned like I'd just given him the best gift of his life.
"Shit, Donna."
The name stung. But I kept going.
I bobbed my head, taking him as deep as I could, then pulling back to lick around the head. My hand stayed busy at the base, stroking in time with my mouth. Spit dripped down my chin, messy and wet, and I could feel his balls tightening under my fingers.
He was close. Already close. I could taste it—that change in his skin, that slight swelling just before release.
But I didn't want him to come yet.
I pulled off. Let his cock fall from my lips with a wet pop. He was fully hard now, standing straight up from his body, glistening with my spit. Red and swollen and absolutely furious.
"Don't fucking stop," he growled.
I looked up at him through my lashes.
"Beg."
His jaw tightened. That scar went white against his skin. For a second, I thought he'd flip me over, take what he wanted. But then something shifted in his eyes. Something that looked almost like... respect.
"Please," he said. The word sounded foreign in his mouth. "Please, Donna. Suck my cock."
I shouldn't have felt anything at that. Shouldn't have felt that warm little thrill in my chest. But I did.
I lowered my head and took him again.
This time was different. I wasn't just cleaning him. I was worshipping him. My tongue traced every vein, every ridge. I kissed the head like it was something precious. I pressed my lips to the sensitive spot just below the tip and sucked.
Kade's fingers twisted in my hair. Not guiding. Just holding on.
"Oh fuck," he groaned. "Oh fuck, that's it. That's—shit—"
I dragged my mouth down the shaft until my lips touched my own fingers at the base. Then I went lower. Past his cock, to the heavy sac underneath. I licked him there, lapping at his balls with broad, flat strokes. The smell was stronger, muskier. The taste made my head spin.
He jerked like I'd electrocuted him.
"Fuck!" His hand slammed down on the mattress, gripping the sheets. "Donna, what the—warn a guy."
I smiled against his skin. Then I took one of his balls into my mouth and sucked gently.
The sound he made was almost inhuman. A low, guttural noise that vibrated through his whole body. His thighs trembled. His hips lifted off the mattress, chasing my mouth.
I pulled back, letting him fall from my lips with a wet sound.
"Like that?" I asked innocently.
"Fuck you," he panted.
I laughed. Actually laughed. The sound was strange in my new voice—higher, brighter, but still laced with something bitter. But for a moment, just a moment, I forgot to hate him. Forgot to hate myself.
Then I took his cock back into my mouth and sucked him like I meant it.
Fast now. No more teasing. I wanted him to come. Wanted to taste it. Wanted to feel him fall apart the way he'd made me fall apart earlier. The hand in my hair tightened, and his hips started to move, fucking up into my mouth in short, sharp strokes.
"That's it," he grunted. "Take it. Take all of it."
I did. Every inch. Every thrust. My throat worked around him, swallowing, and my eyes watered, and I didn't care. Spit ran down my chin, down his shaft, pooling in the thatch of dark hair at his base. The sounds were obscene—wet and sloppy and loud in the quiet attic.
"I'm gonna come," he warned. "Donna—fuck—I'm gonna—"
I pulled off. Stroked him fast with my hand, squeezing just under the head.
"Come for me," I said. "Come on my face."
His eyes went wide. Then dark. Then absolutely wild.
"Shit—"
The first spurt caught me across the cheek. Hot and thick, splashing against my skin. The second landed on my lips. The third painted my chin. I kept stroking, watching him come, watching his face twist with pleasure, watching the way his whole body shuddered under the force of it.
When he was done, I sat back on my heels. His seed dripped from my jaw. My hand was sticky with it. I felt it on my neck, my collarbone, even in my hair.
Kade stared at me like I'd just hung the moon.
"Holy shit," he managed.
I wiped my face with the back of my hand. Then I licked it clean.
He made a sound between a laugh and a groan.
"You're something else, you know that?"
I didn't answer. Because in that moment, kneeling over him with his come drying on my skin, I wasn't sure what I was. A victim? A whore? Something in between?
What I did know was that my body was humming. Every nerve ending alive. My nipples ached, pressed against the tank top, and that wet heat between my legs had returned with a vengeance. I'd just sucked him off, and I was already thinking about what it would feel like to have him inside me again.
Morrigan's words clawed at the back of my mind. Hormones. Instincts. The change has already started.
I pushed the thought away.
Kade reached for me, his hand closing around my arm. He pulled me up his body until I was straddling his stomach, my bare thighs bracketing his hips. His cock, still hard, pressed against my ass.
"You're soaked," he murmured. His hand slid between us, fingers finding my cunt through the shorts I'd never taken completely off. "I can feel it through the fabric."
I bit my lip.
"Your body wants more," he said. "I can give you more."
I should say no. I should tell him to fuck off, that once was already too many times.
But he pulled my shorts aside and thrust two fingers inside me before I could speak.
The stretch was sudden and full. My back arched involuntarily, and a moan tore out of my throat. His fingers curled inside me, finding that spot, and my vision went white at the edges.
"Look at you," he said. "So desperate for my cock. Say it."
"No."
His thumb found my clit and pressed.
"Say it."
I hated him. I hated him so much.
"I want it," I gasped. "I want your cock."
He smiled.
Then he lifted me by the hips and impaled me in one brutal stroke.
He didn't wait for me to adjust.
Kade drove up into me with a force that knocked the breath from my lungs. My hands flew to his chest, nails scraping against his shirt, and I felt every inch of him splitting me open. The angle was different like this. Deeper. He hit something inside me that made my vision blur at the edges.
"There it is," he grunted.
His hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise. He lifted me up until just the tip remained inside, then slammed me back down. The wet sound of it filled the attic—obscene and loud and impossible to ignore. I choked on a moan.
"That's my girl."
"I'm not—" I started.
He did it again. Lifted. Dropped. The words died in my throat.
I braced my hands on his chest and tried to control the rhythm, tried to find some position that felt less like being impaled and more like something I could survive. But Kade wasn't interested in letting me find my footing. His hips bucked up to meet every downward stroke, meeting me halfway, driving just that much deeper.
My tits bounced with each thrust. The tank top had ridden up, and I could see my own breasts moving, nipples hard and dark against tanned skin. It was surreal. Watching this body—this stranger's body—react to being fucked like it had been made for exactly this.
"You see that?" Kade's voice was thick. "See how good you take it?"
I looked down at him. At the scar on his jaw. At the hunger in his eyes. At the way his lips curled like he already owned me.
I wanted to hate him. I did hate him.
But my hips were moving on their own now. Rolling against him. Finding a rhythm that made my clit grind against his pelvis with every stroke. The pleasure was building again, low and tight in my belly, and I couldn't stop it any more than I could stop my heart from beating.
"That's it," he said. "Fuck yourself on my cock. Show me how much you want it."
I bit my lip hard enough to taste copper.
His thumb found my clit. Pressed. Circled. My whole body jolted like he'd hit me with a live wire.
"Say it," he demanded.
"No."
He stopped moving. Just stopped. Buried to the hilt inside me, not thrusting, not grinding—just there. Filling me. Stretching me. His thumb still working my clit in slow, deliberate circles.
I tried to ride him. Tried to take what I needed. But his hands on my hips held me still.
"Say it," he repeated.
"Fuck you."
He smiled. Then he moved.
Not the way I wanted. Not fast and hard and mindless. Slow. Deliberate. He pulled out almost all the way, dragging against every sensitive nerve ending inside me, then pushed back in with the same torturous pace. Over and over.
I wanted to scream.
"You want to come?" he asked. "Tell me what you want."
The pressure was unbearable. My clit throbbed under his thumb, and my cunt clenched around his cock, desperate for more friction. More speed. More anything.
"I want it," I gasped.
"Want what?"
"Your cock. I want your cock. Please—"
"Please what?"
"Please let me come."
He didn't speed up. Instead, he pulled me down onto him harder. Angled his hips. Found that spot inside me that made my legs shake and hit it again. And again.
"Then come for me," he said.
The orgasm hit like a brick through glass.
Everything shattered at once—my vision, my breath, my ability to think. I screamed. I screamed loud enough that Morrigan probably heard it from wherever she was lurking downstairs. My whole body clenched around him, rippling in waves, and Kade groaned like he'd just won something.
"That's it," he said. "That's my good girl."
I was still shaking when he flipped us over.
One second I was on top, the next I was on my back with my legs shoved up toward my chest. Kade loomed over me, still inside, still hard, and he started fucking me in earnest. No more games. No more waiting.
His hips pistoned against mine. Fast and brutal and relentless. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed off the walls. I felt his balls slapping against my ass with every thrust, and I knew I'd be sore tomorrow—sore in ways it would take me days to understand.
"That's right," he panted. "Take it. Every fucking inch."
I couldn't answer. Couldn't do anything but hold on and let him use me. My nails raked down his back through his shirt, and he hissed but didn't stop. Just fucked me harder, deeper, like he was trying to bury himself inside me permanently.
His face was close to mine now. I could count the beads of sweat on his forehead. Could see the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes. Could smell the sex on his breath, mixed with something like cinnamon.
"I'm gonna come inside you," he said. "Fill you up. Make sure you remember who you belong to."
"Do it," I heard myself say.
The words shocked me. But I meant them.
He growled and drove deep. One final, brutal thrust that bottomed out inside me, and then he was coming. Hot and thick and pulsing, flooding my cunt with his seed. His hips shook. His arms trembled. And through it all, he kept looking at me—like he was memorizing this moment. Etching it into his brain.
When he finally stilled, I could feel everything.
His cock still inside me, softening. His come starting to leak around the edges, dripping down onto the rumpled sheets. His weight pressing me into the mattress, crushing but somehow not unwelcome.
I should have felt disgusted. Should have felt violated. And maybe some part of me did. But there was something else too. Something that felt almost like safety. Like for this one moment, nothing could hurt me because he wouldn't let it.
I hated that feeling more than anything.
Kade pulled out slowly, and I winced as he slipped free. The emptiness was immediate and strange. He collapsed beside me, one arm thrown over his face, chest heaving.
"Holy shit," he breathed.
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
The ceiling was cracked in three places. I counted them while I waited for my heart to slow down. Outside, a dog was barking. Somewhere in the house, a clock ticked. The world was still happening, still turning, even though everything about me had changed.
Morrigan's laugh drifted up the stairs. Soft. Knowing. Like she'd expected exactly this.
I closed my eyes.
Kade's hand found mine. His fingers laced through mine, rough and calloused, and squeezed. It was almost gentle. Almost tender. My eyes burned with tears I refused to shed, so I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, and let the weight of what I'd become settle into my bones.
When I finally looked at him, his eyes were open.
"Don't," I said.
"Don't what?"
"Don't look at me like that."
He didn't even blink. Just kept staring, that dark, hungry expression softening around the edges. Something almost human lurking behind it.
"Like what?"
I swallowed hard.
"Like I'm yours."
He smiled. Not the sharp, predatory grin from before—something quieter. More dangerous.
"You are."
He pulled me against his side, and my head found its place on his chest without my permission. His heartbeat was steady under my ear, a counterpoint to the chaos still spinning through my skull.
I wanted to fight. Wanted to run. Wanted to scream until my voice gave out.
But the sun had set, and the attic was dark, and Morrigan was still laughing somewhere in the walls.
The attic had swallowed the last of the daylight hours ago.
What remained was lamplight and shadow, and the slow crawl of something cold across my skin that had nothing to do with temperature. Kade's arm was heavy across my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck. He'd drifted off at some point—not quite sleeping, but close, that liminal space between consciousness and oblivion where soldiers learn to rest with one eye open.
I couldn't do the same.
Every time I closed my eyes, I felt it. The phantom weight of his hands on my hips. The stretch of him still echoing inside me. The slick heat between my thighs that refused to dry, that kept pulsing with a low, persistent ache I couldn't name.
My body wanted more.
That was the thought that kept me awake. That was the truth I couldn't swallow, no matter how many times I told myself it was Morrigan's curse, Morrigan's magic, Morrigan's sick game.
It wasn't just the curse. It was me. Some part of me—some newly awakened, terrifying part—had liked what happened. Had wanted it. Had begged for it.
I shifted, and Kade's arm tightened.
"Can't sleep?"
His voice was rough with exhaustion. But his eyes were open when I turned to look at him—those hazel depths catching the lamplight like they were lit from within.
"Can't stop thinking," I admitted.
He propped himself up on one elbow, and the sheet fell away from his chest. Broad. Scarred. Dark hair trailing down his stomach to where the sheet pooled at his hips. He looked like something carved from stone and left out in the rain.
"About what?"
I laughed. It came out bitter.
"Everything. Nothing. The fact that I have tits now."
He didn't smile. Just watched me with that steady, unreadable gaze.
"You'll get used to them."
"I don't want to get used to them." The words came out sharper than I intended. "I don't want any of this. I want to wake up in my own bed, in my own body, and forget any of this ever happened."
Kade was quiet for a long moment.
"The witch—Morrigan—she told me things," he said slowly. "About you. About who you were before."
I went still.
"What did she tell you?"
"That you were nobody." His voice was flat. Matter-of-fact. "A man with no future. No family. No one who'd miss you if you disappeared."
The words hit like a fist to the sternum.
"She said you spent your nights in bars, drinking alone. That your job was dead-end and your apartment was a shithole. That you had exactly one friend, and he'd stopped calling months ago."
I wanted to deny it. Wanted to tell him Morrigan was lying, twisting things, making me sound more pathetic than I'd actually been.
But I couldn't. Because it was true. Every word.
"Does that make this easier for you?" I asked. "Knowing I was nothing before?"
He shook his head.
"It makes it harder."
"Why?"
He reached out and touched my face. Just his fingertips against my cheekbone, light as breath. I flinched.
"Because you weren't nothing," he said. "You were just... waiting. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting for someone to find you."
I stared at him.
"And you think that someone is you?"
His hand dropped.
"I think Morrigan made sure we'd find each other. I think she planted things in my head—memories of you, dreams of you—until I couldn't tell the difference between what was real and what she'd made up."
"You're saying you were brainwashed."
"I'm saying I don't care." His eyes burned into mine. "I saw you, and I wanted you. That part's real. Everything else is noise."
I should have been disgusted. Should have felt violated, used, manipulated. And I did—somewhere underneath the confusion and the fear and the relentless pulse of my own treacherous body.
But there was something else too. Something that felt dangerously like gratitude. Like relief.
Because for the first time since I'd woken up in this nightmare, someone was looking at me like I mattered. Even if it was all a lie.
"You're fucked up," I said.
"So are you."
"That's not—" I started, but the words died in my throat.
Because he was right.
I was fucked up. I'd let him fuck me without a condom. I'd sucked my own wetness off his cock and swallowed his come and begged him to fill me up. And even now, even after everything, some part of me was still aching for more.
I sat up.
The sheet fell away from my body, leaving me bare from the waist up. My breasts were heavy, full, the nipples dark and still peaked from the cold and the memory of his mouth. I watched his eyes drop to them and linger.
"You want to go again," I said.
It wasn't a question.
"Always."
"You're going to hurt me."
"I know."
I should have stopped this. Should have gotten up, found clothes, figured out an escape route. But my hand was already moving—sliding down my stomach, past the tangled sheets, finding the wet heat between my thighs.
Kade's breath caught.
"What are you doing?"
I didn't answer. I just pushed two fingers inside myself. The stretch was familiar now—different from his cock, but enough to make my hips jerk. I pulled them out, slick and glistening, and held them up where he could see.
"You did this," I said. "You made me like this."
His jaw tightened.
"I didn't make you anything. That's all you."
"Then you don't want it?"
The words hung in the air between us. A challenge. A dare.
Kade moved faster than I could track. One second he was lying beside me, the next he had me pinned on my back with his body over mine. His hands caught my wrists and pressed them into the mattress. His thighs spread my legs wide.
"You think I don't want it?" His voice was barely a whisper. Dangerous. "You think I haven't been hard since the second you put your mouth on my cock?"
I couldn't answer. His hips were already moving, grinding against me, and I could feel him. Thick and stiff and ready. The head of his cock slid through my wetness, catching my clit with every stroke.
"You want to play games?" he breathed. "Fine. Let's play."
He didn't enter me. Instead, he kept grinding—slow, deliberate, the length of him dragging against my slick folds without ever pushing inside. The friction was maddening. My cunt clenched around nothing, desperate to be filled, and a sound escaped my throat that I didn't recognize.
"Please," I gasped.
"Please what?"
"You know what."
He laughed. Low and cruel.
"Say it."
"Fuck me." The words tumbled out before I could stop them. "Please, Kade. I need you to fuck me."
He pulled back just enough. Then he thrust inside.
The first stroke was brutal. No adjustment. No waiting. Just the full, splitting stretch of him filling me in one go. I screamed, hips bucking, and he caught my legs over his shoulders and drove deeper.
"Look at you," he said. "All that fight, and you're still just a wet hole for me."
I should have hit him. Should have scratched his eyes out. Instead, I wrapped my legs around his back and pulled him closer.
"Shut up and fuck me," I snarled.
His grin was savage.
"Bossy."
He fucked me like he was trying to prove something—to me, to himself, to whatever gods might be watching. His hips slammed against mine with a rhythm that bordered on violent, and every thrust drove a sound out of me that would have embarrassed me if I'd had any shame left. The headboard banged against the wall. The bedframe creaked. The whole attic smelled like sex and sweat and the faint, lingering rot of Morrigan's burnt herbs.
His fingers dug into my thighs hard enough to bruise. I could feel them—dark marks blooming under my tan skin, fingerprints etched into muscle. Tomorrow I would see them. Tomorrow I would remember.
Right now, I didn't care.
"Harder," I demanded.
He hit something inside me that made my vision go white.
"Harder."
He released my legs and grabbed my hips instead, pulling me up to meet him with each brutal stroke. The angle changed. His pelvis ground against my clit with every thrust, and the pleasure coiled into a tight, painful knot in my belly.
My arms wrapped around his neck. My nails dug into his back through his shirt. His mouth found my throat and sucked hard enough to leave a mark.
We were both animals now—grunting and sweating and rutting in the dark. There was nothing romantic about it. Nothing tender. But it was raw in a way I'd never known, and I gave myself over to it like a prayer.
"I'm close," I panted.
"Not yet."
"I can't—"
"You can." He slowed down, dragging out each stroke until I wanted to scream from the buildup. "Wait for me."
I bit my lip until I tasted blood. The pressure was unbearable—hovering right at the edge, but never tipping over. Every time I got close, he pulled back, found a rhythm, forced me to hold on.
"Please," I begged. "Kade—"
"Almost."
His hips stuttered.
I felt his cock swell inside me. Felt the moment before he broke, that split second of tension when everything in his body went rigid. His eyes locked on mine—wild, desperate, almost afraid.
"Now," he gasped.
He drove as deep as he could.
The orgasm hit me like an explosion.
I came so hard I screamed—his name or a curse or maybe just pure sound. My body convulsed around him, every muscle clenching and releasing in waves. My vision blurred. My ears roared. The whole world narrowed to the feeling of his cock pulsing inside me.
He was coming too. I could feel it—that hot, thick flood filling me up, spilling over the edges. His hips jerked twice more, then stilled.
He collapsed onto me, all that weight and muscle going limp, and we lay there panting and slick and tangled together. His face was buried in my neck. His breath came in ragged gasps against my shoulders.
Neither of us spoke.
Outside, the world kept turning. Inside, I felt something shift. Some final wall crumbling. Some desperate resistance giving way to a truth I didn't want to name.
Kade lifted his head.
His eyes were soft now. Almost kind.
"Donna—"
"Don't," I said.
But I didn't know what I was telling him not to do. Don't speak? Don't care? Don't look at me like I'm something more than a curse?
He didn't listen anyway.
"I'm not letting you go," he said. "Not now. Not ever."
I closed my eyes.
And somewhere in the dark, I heard it. A soft, rustling laugh. Morrigan, somewhere in the house, watching. Always watching.
The game wasn't over.
It had barely begun.
The attic door opened.
I jerked upright, heart slamming into my ribs. Kade was already moving—rolling off me, reaching for something under the pillow, a knife I hadn't seen him stow there. Where had he gotten a knife? I didn't have time to ask.
The figure in the doorway was too tall for Morrigan.
Marcus. The other man.
He looked nothing like Kade. Where Kade was broad and dark and brutish, Marcus was lean and fair-haired, with ice-blue eyes that caught the lamplight and held it. He was handsome in a sharp, aristocratic way—high cheekbones, a straight nose, lips that curled into a smile more dangerous than any scowl.
He was also covered in blood.
Not his own, I guessed. He held himself too easily, no limp, no visible wounds. The blood was splattered across his white shirt like some kind of grotesque painting. His knuckles were raw.
"I won," he said.
His voice was smooth. Cultured. Cold.
Kade stood between us, knife in hand, naked to the waist. His body was a wall I hadn't asked for but was suddenly grateful to hide behind.
"You didn't win," Kade said. "You just showed up late."
Marcus's eyes slid past him. Landed on me.
I felt that look like a physical touch. It raked over my bare breasts, the tangled sheets, the red hair spilling around my shoulders. Lingered on the marks on my neck, the slickness on my thighs that hadn't dried.
His smile widened.
"Looks like you've been busy."
"Get out," Kade growled.
"I don't think so." Marcus stepped into the room, and the air changed. Got colder. Thicker. "Morrigan said I could have her when I won. And I won."
"You fought me and you lost."
"I fought dirty and I let you think you lost." Marcus shrugged. "Then I took care of the rest of the problem."
"What problem?"
"The other one." Marcus's eyes never left me. "The one who thought he could take what's mine."
I didn't understand. What other one? Morrigan had only mentioned Kade and Marcus.
Kade's jaw tightened.
"You killed him."
"He was in my way."
The words hung in the air. Casual. Matter-of-fact. Like murder was just another chore to check off the list.
I should have been terrified. Maybe I was. But underneath the fear, something else was stirring. Something darker. Something curious.
Marcus took another step forward.
"My turn," he said.