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Omitting the ugly truths in favor of sharing pretty lies felt like a standard part of the courting process from what I’d seen. But most human men didn’t stab their dates and summon archdemons.
He could have my body, as other men would when he was gone, as much as it might pain me to think. But no one would ever have my heart again. He’d made sure of it.
I could claim I needed to take charge all I wanted, but there was something addictive about knowing I was only in control because he allowed it. There was something in the cruel punishment of his grip that made me want to please him, even aside from needing to do it so that I could hurt him the way he had me.
She made me a god, and her body was my altar.
Who needed Heaven when I had my wife’s body ready and waiting for me?
“Then call me your queen of disappointment, and I’ll add that to the list of things I don’t give a fuck about,”
For her, I’d spend my life on my knees if she asked it.
We would fight. We would die. But we would never give up.
