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July 13 - July 22, 2024
I don’t realize I’ve stopped walking until a deep voice rasps right beside my ear, “The first thing that draws most women’s gazes when they step past my threshold is the expensive art on my walls or the breadth of my entry hall, yet you, Calamity, seem enraptured by my floors.” “I was expecting the fires of Hell, or the stones to runneth over with blood.”
Whatever she picks, she ends up with me, the god of her misfortune, because my magic, for reasons that elude me, has made Calanthe Bloom mine.
“Because Tarian could’ve saved himself, but instead, he depleted his powers to save you. Which an Atlantean would know.”
“Turn,” I bark. “I want to check the rune.” “You know, the word please has never shrunken a man’s testicles.”
“You’re not some means to an end. You’re my fucking salvation, Calamity.”
“I could never be friends with someone like you.” My jaw slackens before zippering shut. “Like me?” Saul’s throwaway people in need comment resurfaces. Is that how Tarian perceives me? “Yes, like you. A woman I’m dying to fuck.”
“Once I break free, I will hire a designer whose sole purpose in life will be creating footwear for you. He will never produce more than a single pair, and that pair will only ever grace your feet, and once you’re done with them, we’ll burn them so they can never find their way into someone else’s closet.”
“A word of warning”—the runes on his biceps glitter as he brushes a kiss to the hollow of my collarbone—“you’ve awakened the beast, Calamity Darling, and beasts aren’t always gentle when they devour.” “Devour away, Beast.”
“That’s right, darling. Yours. Now be a good girl and hook the fabric between those plump lips of yours and pull it aside for me.”
“You inspire my heart to beat, Calamity Darling.” He traces the outline of my mouth. “To keep beating.”
“That’s a good girl.” She shivers. “Should we see how many more orgasms I can wring out of your beautiful body?”
“There will never be anyone else for me. I sensed it before, but now it’s far more than a feeling—it’s a conviction. You’ve burrowed yourself so fucking deep inside me that pieces of your soul have merged with mine.” I trace every letter on her spine, reminding her of their presence, of their meaning. “I’m not saying that you have to stay with me—I may be an asshole, but I would never take that choice away from you—but I am saying that I am irrevocably and entirely yours.”
“You are awakened, little bloom?”
From this day forward, you will thrive in my son’s soil in slumber and in wakefulness. Forever his. Forever mine.
“Forever hers. Forever mine.”
