Salt in the Wound (Lyonesse)

by Sierra Simone

Some devils hide, you see. Right in plain sight.

No one had ever looked at me like Mark Trevena had the night of the party, like he was right now. Like he wanted to cut me open and taste the blood that came out, and then make me taste it too.

Some people had men woo them with jewelry, with roses and orchids and champagne. I had a man who sent me knives and parasitic flowers. I was smiling the rest of the day.

am all want with you, Isolde. You think that I don’t think about you all the time? That I don’t want your scent all over my bed? You think that I don’t wish I had you under my desk with that serious little mouth available for my relief every morning? That I don’t want your snug cunt whenever I goddamn feel like it? Yes, I want you, and I want you collared, and I want you mine. That should be enough to terrify you, because I would hold nothing back until I’d eaten your very soul. I would hold nothing back until it was written on your skin and scratched into your bones how much I crave you.”

“After we’re married and you come to live with me, you’ll take my cock every night. Every day. As often as I need, and I need it a lot, Isolde. I’ll need your mouth and cunt and eventually your ass too, and you’ll be my pet, my little wife, to give me relief.”

It was bad enough that I’d been forced into this marriage, but to have fallen in love with him too? To have been played, tricked, and now abandoned? It was just salt in the wound.