He began to speak, gently stroking my body with one hand. I listened alertly. "My father passed this blade to me. It's a symbol in itself, a private tradition that goes beyond rituals." He rotated the blade slightly. “Things were different when he was in my position. They called him Del Diablo.”

  “Different how?” I asked distractedly, my mind racing with implications on why he needed the knife.

  “He hadn’t established himself here yet and had to move quickly to claim my mother or risk losing her forever due to some family issues at hand.” He shifted and spread my legs, partially easing himself between them. “My mother was branded with savagery and marred by trauma. She’s never quite forgiven him for it. He hasn’t been able to forgive himself either. I chose to spare you from such an experience.”

  I took that in, feeling a sort of kinship and immediate curiosity for this woman. If she was marked in such a disturbing way, that had to mean she wasn’t part of this clandestine world either. I imagined she grew to accept it.

  Did that mean she loved him too—Alexander’s father? Had she happily created a family and raised their kids?

  I couldn’t imagine him sharing this entirely out of kindness. There had to be more to it, something deeper and perhaps darker.

  “Why are you telling me this?” I finally asked, keeping my voice light. “What do you want from me?”

  “Everything.” His gaze lowered, and even with the scar marring his face, his features were the epitome of masculine perfection. “I’m going to take everything from you because I have that right. Because I’m selfish and more than a little obsessed and want everything you have to offer.” He spread my legs wider and ran the edge of the blade along my inner thigh. “Body, mind, and soul. I want it all, deliciae. And I will have it.”

  The blade pressed into my skin—not enough to cut, but the sting was there. “Will you give me it willingly, or do I need to take it from you?” he questioned with a deceptive softness.

  I swallowed, my heart beating so soundly I could barely hear myself think. I wasn’t sure what he was asking for. Submission? Me? Or was it more than that? Maybe this was another gesture of possession.

  I was afraid.

  I feared him and those eyes that seemed to see right through me, making everything inside my head a chaotic mess. Feared what he planned to do with me with the knife pressing against my skin. Most of all, I feared myself for being the special kind of screwed up that wanted to find out.

  I could fight him, tell him exactly what I thought of his Isle and its inhabitants and their sadistic, bloody rituals while pathetically trying to get away. But again, I knew to pick my battles, and this wasn’t one I would come out on top in. Not yet.

  “Just this once,” I replied with a shaky exhale, refusing to fully give him all he wanted.

  “I prefer always, but I’ll compromise tonight.” He leaned down and captured my mouth in a dominating kiss. His tongue teased the seam of my lips, and the second I granted him access he rendered me breathless, one hand slipping between our bodies.

  His touch was teasing at first, alternating between barely there and just enough to make me hot and wet. I moaned softly when two of his fingers finally slid inside me, my lingering soreness a dull ache.

  He broke the kiss and pulled away, watching closely as his fingers moved in and out of me. He pushed deeper, a sound of approval slipping from him when I arched into his hand with another moan. When he abruptly pulled away, I was left confused and wanting more.

  “Be patient, deliciae. I’ll give us both what we need.”

  Arousal slipped from between my legs, the light from the fire illuminating everything. My face heated as he looked down at me, taking it all in as if committing this vision to memory.

  “Fucking beautiful.” He pressed the serrated edge of the knife against my left thigh, carefully rotating it as he glided along my skin. Still not enough to cut, but I could feel the warmth of the metal and the prickling of its blade. He continued across my navel, slowly moving the blade higher, watching me intently.

  My breath caught as he circled my left breast so tightly the knife’s tip rubbed against it. I bit back a moan when he got to the right and did the same thing. He brought the blade higher, teasing my throat as his other hand went back between my legs.

  With light teasing motions, he began to circle my clit with his fingers. I moaned softly, squeezing my legs closed when he applied more pressure to my throat.

  He slipped two fingers inside me again and curled them upward, hitting a spot of pleasure I’d never been able to find, pressing the pad of his thumb to my clit at the same time. He began to rock in and out with a skilled deftness, keeping the blade against my flesh.

  “Do you like that?”

  The knife pressed down harder, nicking my flesh hard enough I felt a trickle of blood.

  “Yes, yes,” I repeated on a breathy moan, feeling my eyes begin to water.

  “I could so easily slice open your pretty little throat.” He rocked harder inside me when I tried to respond. “You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

  “N-no,” I breathed, or at least I thought I did, grabbing hold of his shoulder to anchor myself.

  “You’d look so beautiful, bleeding out while I fuck you. Like art.”

  He was so goddamn sick.

  But at that moment, I was no better.

  I closed my eyes, the pleasure in my core becoming too much. He abruptly pulled his fingers out of me. I opened my eyes and watched as he wiped them on the blade of the knife, coating the metal in my arousal.

  “Clean it off,” he commanded, bringing the blade to my lips. I obeyed, careful not to slice open my tongue. I was sweeter than I would’ve thought.

  “Good girl,” he praised before sucking his fingers into his mouth, holding my stare when he removed them. “Never tasted anything better. I need more.” He began to toy with me again, making his way back down my body with the blade.

  By the time he reached my right thigh and stopped at the juncture where it met my pussy, I was bleeding in three different places, distracted enough that I didn’t brace before he made the first real slice. I jerked and failed to withhold a cry.

  The knife was still slightly warm from the fire, the remaining heat traveling through the metal, intensifying the experience. I felt the distinct drag of resistance against skin as it split apart to shape the first letter of his name. The sensation was painfully raw and insanely pleasurable. I shut my eyes and concentrated on my breathing, biting back a whimper as he began to tease me again.

  “That’s it,” he soothed, adding more pressure to my clit. By the time he reached the fourth letter, I was breathing noticeably heavier—practically panting. Blood was running down my thigh and dripping onto the rug beneath us.

  At the sixth, I didn’t recognize myself. I was so wet I felt as if I were going insane, yet tears streamed down my face from the pain.

  The more I reacted, the rougher he got. He pressed the tip of the knife deeper into my skin, his movements harsher. I hoped he knew what he was doing and didn’t kill me, but for some stupid, foolish reason, I trusted he wouldn’t.

  I knew come morning there would be no pleasure in this, but there was a curious duality to it, as if something deeper was being unlocked. When he was finally done, he set the blade aside and ran his fingers across his bloody handiwork. I sucked in a breath and flinched at the sensation.

  With a gentler touch, he lifted my legs and hooked them over his shoulders. My heart raced in anticipation as I watched him descend, his actions deliberate and measured.

  “You’re fucking dripping,” he murmured lowly, his face now between my thighs.

  The first swipe of his tongue was unlike anything I had experienced before. The blood, a reminder of the name he’d just carved into my skin, continued to trickle from the letters, now pooling onto his shoulder and down his back.

  He didn’t seem to care, and I couldn’t bring myself to focus on anything other than his mouth. He was feasting on me as if he were a man starved. I arched against him, my fingers finding purchase in his thick, silky hair as he thrust his tongue inside me. He groaned appreciatively, the sound intermingling with my wanton moans.

  The room spun with a heady mix of sensations as he skillfully brought me to the precipice and then eased off to start all over again.

  My body trembled with a potent mixture of anticipation and overwhelming desire as pleasure coiled within me.

  Every nerve ending seemed to sing, drowning out the world around us. As I teetered on the edge, he closed his mouth around my clit and begin to tease it with the tip of his tongue. I cried out as a tidal wave of ecstasy crashed over me. My breath caught in my throat as my body bowed, the sensation overwhelming.

  Before I had a second to process what was happening, the world shifted once again. He raised himself up and spread me wider, hooking my legs over his forearms. With one harsh thrust, he was inside me, filling me with an intensity that had me digging my nails into the closest part of him I could reach.

  My body welcomed him with an aching, almost desperate hunger, but it couldn’t handle him.

  He was so deep inside me that I swore I was going to be spit in two. My hand automatically flew to his chest when he began to move. It was too much. I felt every thick, solid inch of him.

  “I can’t,” I cried out weakly, trying to push him back. “Please.”

  “You don’t have a choice.” He lowered one of my legs and lifted the other—the one bleeding his name—fucking me harder and forcing my body to slide across the rug.

  “Alex,” I pleaded as he relentlessly followed, never slowing.

  “Fuck,” he cursed, going impossibly deeper. “You’re taking it so good,” he soughed, turning his head to place a kiss on my bloodied thigh, bloodying his lips in return. When he finally lowered my leg and settled between my thighs, wrapping one hand around my throat, I felt boneless.

  He continued fucking me with a savage intensity.

  Each thrust seemed to deepen the connection between us, erasing the boundaries that separated him from me. The air was heavy with the sounds coming from our mouths—my breathless moans and whimpers, his groans, and throaty growls of pleasure—and where our bodies met as skin met skin.

  As I surrendered to him, I was left teetering on the edge once again. My body shuddered as heat coursed through every fiber of my being. I only realized he’d held off on coming until I did when his movements slowed, and his cock pulsed inside me.

  He didn’t immediately pull away. His body remained above mine, his eyes studying my flushed face and the way my chest rose and fell as I tried to catch my breath.

  Staring up at him, I found myself engulfed in emotions.

  “Thesaurus es,” he murmured, gently cradling my face, trailing kisses along my skin until he turned my head to capture my lips. I tasted the blood now, a metallic tang that mingled with the taste of him. In that moment, I was torn between the magnetic pull of the present and the heavy realization of the potential repercussions that might follow.

  When he pulled away from me, I rolled my lips together, staring up at him. He reached down and carefully stood me up. I bit back a wince as the effects of what we’d just done began to set in.

  "I need to use the bathroom," I said quietly.

  “Come.” Still holding my hand, he walked me into the bathroom and gently turned my body in the direction of the door I had guessed housed the toilet earlier, thankfully not asking or needing an explanation.

  Once I was standing on my own, he left to start the shower. I quickly attended to my needs, feeling a mild discomfort and burn from how sore and tender I was. I didn’t see him when I was done, so I walked to the shower and wordlessly stepped into it. The hot water provided an instant relief and unpleasant sting.

  The small cuts were no longer bleeding—one a few inches beneath my right breast, another near my belly button, and a third my hip. The one on my inner thigh had yet to stop. I didn’t look—I could feel it. I wasn’t confident in my ability to keep my shit together if I saw his name on me right then.

  As if summoned by my thoughts, Alexander returned from wherever he’d gone and joined me, his arms wrapping around me in a protective yet possessive embrace.

  I allowed him to hold me, giving in to a moment of vulnerability. Irony in its purest form. I finally shifted away from him to reach for a bottle of shampoo, and he beat me to it.

  "I don't need you to take care of me," I tried to assert, the silence becoming too much.

  He gathered my hair in his hand and tugged until I was looking up at him. "You like when I take care of you.”

  I huffed, having no energy to argue with him out of some obligation to myself. He was surprisingly good at untangling my hair. Being dragged across a rug had turned it into a wispy bird’s nest. His firm yet gentle hands worked a subtly fragrant shampoo into the thick tresses, his fingers tenderly grazing my scalp. After thoroughly rinsing the shampoo, he applied conditioner in the same manner.

  Then, he attentively tended to the rest of me, being especially mindful of where he’d carved his name.

  He traced the lines with a gentleness that belied the possessiveness of his actions. His fingers, deft and deliberate, moved over the letters with a reverence that touched a chord deep within me. The care he took, the way he tended to me with unwavering concentration, was a gesture that reached beyond the physical realm.

  I didn’t know how to handle it. I’d never expected or wanted anyone to treat me this way. Everything about it was out of my depth and with him, all around confusing.

  Once we emerged from the shower, his tenderness persisted. As I dried my hair with a plush towel, he applied a soothing ointment to the delicate lines he had etched, ensuring that only his name would remain. We brushed our teeth, and then he handed me the same plush robe I had worn earlier.

  Finally, with a soft touch, he guided me to bed, his presence a constant reassurance in the midst of my swirling thoughts as I approached it. I settled into the soft cocoon of his arms, my back to his solid chest, almost believing I was as precious as he wanted me to be. Sleeping beside him was the least taxing thing I’d been subjected to since being taken.

  The room was engulfed in silence, my body sinking into a state of deep exhaustion, yet my mind raced relentlessly. I pondered over Anya's situation, concerned about how she was doing and what awaited us the following day.

  This unknown layered additional anxiety atop my already stormy thoughts. Alexander shifted closer, strengthening his grip as he whispered softly in my ear, "Somnus, puella pulchra," his words a gentle lullaby, intertwining the unpredictability of what lay ahead.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I woke seconds away from coming.

  The room was still dark, just like outside, and the fireplace was nearly out, barely offering any light. I was disoriented. It took my brain longer to catch up to what was happening than my body. The robe was halfway off, my breasts fully exposed. I could tell from how sensitive they felt that he’d been toying with them.

  “Alex,” I moaned, unable to stop it from slipping out as I struggled to push myself up onto my elbows. His face was buried between my legs, and he was slowly fucking me with his tongue.

  “Alex,” I tried again, unable to close my legs since he was holding them in place. “Fuck,” I whimpered, fisting the sheets as I came. He still didn’t stop. He alternated between fucking me with his tongue and sucking on my clit, making me come until I was begging him to stop.

  When he finally relented, kissing his way up my body until his lips sealed over mine with a rough, “Good morning,” my come and arousal all over his face, I kissed him back, moaning softly when he slid inside me.

  When I opened my eyes for the second time, morning light streamed through the windows, casting a soft glow across the room. I could tell it was later in the day than when I’d woken yesterday. The lake was free of its early morning fog, and I was alone.

  That was better for me.

  There were a conflicting number of emotions for me to work through after how the prior night had unfolded—as well as this morning.

  I felt the aftereffects in full. I imagined being hit by a car and then steamrolled would’ve felt similar.

  I didn’t want to move.

  On top of feeling bloated, my inner thigh burned as if it had been lit on fire each time I so much as shifted. My throat felt scratchy and raw from screaming for half the night—and morning. Whatever Alexander had forced me to swallow down after he finished with me had worn off.

  I couldn’t very well lie around all day, though. I forced my body into a sitting position, catching sight of fresh flowers on the bedside table—night-blooming jasmines, their petals a ghostly white. It was an eerie sight. A notecard accompanied them, bearing elegant handwriting that could only have come from one person. I reached out and lifted it up.

  His words instructed me how to dress for the day, where to go, and acknowledged that these were my favorite flowers.

  The domestic gesture gave me a confounding mix of pleasure and nagging sense of manipulation. This too was something he’d learned from essentially stalking me and doing an extensive deep dive about my entire life.

  There was little I could do about it, and since I was determined not to let myself get lost in a new labyrinth of questions that had no answers, I slowly rose from the bed and made my way to the bathroom.

  I entered the compact space housing the toilet—a sleek, shiny black porcelain fixture adorned with an array of digital buttons, their functions a mystery to me. Like the rest of the house, it was spotlessly clean, and that’s all I cared about. Settling onto the heated seat, I briefly entertained the thought of staying there indefinitely.

  I cradled my head in my hands, drawing in deep, deliberate breaths in an attempt to manage a cascade of emotions and playback of memories. The reality of my situation was getting harder to compartmentalize.

  The abduction, the events that had transpired since, loomed large in my mind. Alexander. He was a contradiction of epic proportions. His care was as confounding as it was comforting, his control both unsettling and oddly reassuring.