Page 6 of My Violent Valentine
I shelled out millions of dollars to buy her, to possess her, never understanding why I had to have her. But she has owned pieces of me I didn’t even know existed from the very first moment. I’ve been shifting toward her like a plant bending toward the rays of the sun, but my roots are deep in the dirt and filth and there is no way I can join her or ever truly rise to her level. Still, one has to try.
I open the door to our dungeon room and let out a low whistle. The lights are off, the room illuminated only by candles. She’s still wearing the leather corset from half an hour ago, but the pants are gone. She sits in a chair in the middle of the room, facing me. Her legs are spread wide, revealing secrets only I am allowed access to.
Spike heeled leather thigh-high boots with lacing all the way up encase her legs. Her hair is in a messy upsweep, and her lips are a perfect enticing blood red—like she just killed a guy and feasted on his blood. Her nails match her lips.
My vicious dark goddess.
She smirks at me. And with her next words, it’s like she read the thoughts right out of my mind. “Have you come to pray at my temple?”
I nod. Then I say, “You know, anyone could have just walked in here.”
“Yeah, Gabe did earlier this morning. Did he find you?”
“I’ll kill him.”
She laughs. “Jealous?”
“Never. He’s not monster enough for you. He wouldn’t know how to handle you.”
“True.” She crooks a finger. I start toward her.
She puts up a hand. “Wait. Lock the door. People are taking liberties with their hall passes around here.”
I nod. Probably for the best. The deadbolt slides into place, and I turn back toward her, a predatory smile sliding over my face. I am not a submissive. But the past couple of months I’ve slowly discovered the delicious nuance of surrender… and not to sound like a self help book but… the power of letting go.
When I reach her I bend and press a kiss to the top of her head. “Tell me what you want,” I whisper against her hair.
She looks up at me, her eyes far too guileless for the predator she has become. “I want you to worship me, of course.”
“Of course,” I reply. What else could she possibly want at her temple?
She squeals when I scoop her up from the chair. I lay her out on the bed and carefully unhook the corset. I love the ones that hook in the front, so much easier to get into.
My gaze shifts to the edge of the bed, and I notice a black card poking out from under the folds of the blanket. The death card from Benjamin Barker’s costume shop. His blood stains the skull.
A trophy? Did she just take that one card? Why is it out? A chill runs down my spine. And I don’t chill.
“Brian? What’s wrong?”
I shake my head and turn my attention back to her. “It’s nothing.” No way am I going to interrupt this to talk about fucking tarot cards. I may be many things, but I am no fool.
I watch her for several long minutes, the glow of her skin in the candlelight, the way her cat-like green eyes glimmer, the rise and fall of her chest, those perfect nipples.
She sighs in mock annoyance. “Maybe I should find some new worshippers.”
I chuckle. “I suspect this is your blood lust talking. Why else would you put innocent people’s lives in danger?”
“Would they really be innocent?”
“If they tried to fuck what’s mine? No.”
I take my time with her. Goose flesh pops out over her skin as I slowly encircle first one nipple, then the other with my tongue. They jump to attention.
“Cold?”
“Freezing,” she whispers.
I kiss and lick a trail down her body until I find the spot I know needs attention. “Did you touch yourself like a bad girl this morning?”