Series: The Sacrifice Series by Natasha Knight
Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
I’m sitting on the floor of my room, trying to ground myself, when I hear the door shut in Azrael’s bedroom. Tension bleeds into my muscles as I listen to him move around, his footsteps creaking around the hardwood floor.
I’m holding my breath when the adjoining door between our rooms opens. I wonder if he’ll go away if I just pretend he isn’t there. But of course he doesn’t.
“What are you doing?” His voice reverberates over my skin as if he were right beside me, even though I know he isn’t.
“Trying to manifest a different husband,” I answer in a serious tone as I peek one eye open. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to be working.”
His eyes flash, and I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused. But it’s obvious that whatever the case may be, he’s exhausted. His face is drawn, shadows lurking in the hollows, and I wonder if he slept at all last night with me in his bed.
I suspect he imprisoned me there on the advice of the old adage to keep your enemies close. He’d probably rather hear my every breath, my every move, than await me sneaking into his room at night to stab him in the back.
“I didn’t hear you complaining about me last night when I impaled you with my cock,” he answers dryly. “And despite your naivety, you didn’t even die.”
Irritation lances through me as I tear my eyes away, hoping he can’t see the flush creeping over my skin. I know how stupid it sounds now, but what did he expect when he married a virgin and unveiled that weapon of mass destruction in his pants? He doesn’t need to throw my inexperience in my face, particularly when his archaic family demanded my virtue.
“Did you need something?” I grit out. “Or have you just come here to ruin my day?”
His brows pinch together slightly, and I know he’s questioning my sudden hostility toward him. But I’m not going to tell him. He can stew on it and analyze his faults until the end of time for all I care. He has plenty of them, even if they aren’t outwardly visible. I should know because I’ve been tallying a list in my head all morning.
“I came to see that you were settling in,” he says, his eyes moving around the room in disdain as he examines my belongings. When he notices my altar with a charcoal portrait of Elizabeth Wildblood on display, something I can’t identify flickers through his gaze.
“Yes, I’ve made the room more to my taste,” I agree. “All I need now is my own bed.”
“That won’t be happening.”
“Why?” I tilt my face up to meet his gaze. “I fulfilled my obligations to you last night. You took my virgin blood. Now we just get to be miserable together until one of us inevitably dies.”
At this, storm clouds roll through his eyes, and he stalks toward me like a slow-moving predator—so calm and sure of himself as he descends upon me. Before I can even utter a protest, he tugs me up from the floor, caging me in one steel arm as the other fists my hair and forces my head back.
“Tell me,” he growls. “Was it an obligation when you came on my cock?”
I shiver, searching my brain for a smart-ass retort, but my sharp tongue seems to have dried up under that withering gaze.
“Was it your obligation that made you so fucking wet for me?” The heat of his words licks along my skin before he grazes my ear with his teeth. “Should I see how obligated my wife is feeling today?”
I let out a quiet gasp as he nips at my ear and drags his teeth even lower, down my throat, to the wildly beating pulse that can’t hide the truth.
“I’m still sore,” I choke out, my only defense as my traitorous body melts against him.
“You seem to think that’s a problem.” He inhales me like he can’t help himself, his grip tightening on my hair. “Do I need to remind you that you have two other holes I’ve yet to fuck?”
I open my mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a strangled sound at the imagery his words provide.
“I imagine your ass won’t fare any better after I’ve buried my cock inside of it,” he murmurs, his voice dipping an octave. “I doubt you’d be able to sit for a week.”
My knees nearly buckle when I feel one of his hands sliding up between my thighs. I don’t even know when he released his hold on me or how he got beneath my dress without me noticing. But I’m starting to think this man has a little sorcery in him too.
“Are you wet for me now, little liar?” His fingers brush over my thong, and he groans in satisfaction when he feels that I am.