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“Whatever you say, but don’t be surprised when you find yourself having to resist begging me for more.” She glared at him. “I will never beg you for anything,” she said. He grinned. “Famous last words.”
“Please,” she whispered. “Please try.” He pushed away from the dresser to place his hands on her shoulder, turning her around and ushering her to the bed. “I will. Now, get some sleep. You’re going to need it for the next level.”
He stretched the blankets up around her shoulders and made to turn away, but she reached out and snagged his hand. “Are you leaving? What if there’s a haunt in the middle of the night?” “I can stay until you fall asleep,” he told her, gently tugging his hand out of hers to take up residence in the armchair a few feet away.
He was silent for a long moment. Then, “Nothing is going to hurt you while I’m here, Ophelia. Rest.”
“Ophelia,” a deep voice said. The Shadow Voice slinked off into the depths of her mind and finally it was quiet. Blackwell was suddenly there, gently prying her hands from her hair. “What’s going on?” “It wouldn’t stop,” she groaned. “What wouldn’t stop?” he pressed. “The Shadow Voice,” she gritted out, squeezing her hands into fists to resist the urge to plunge them back into her disheveled tresses.
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” he vowed. “Next time your mind tries to convince you otherwise, remember this: there is nothing about you that I find undesirable. Okay?”
“I’ll have to strip down to nothing just to avoid a heat stroke,” she gasped to herself, wiping the back of her good hand across her forehead. “As much as it pains me to say this,” Blackwell’s voice rang out, “keep your clothes on, angel.”
“That’s it, angel,” Blackwell continued. “The next one is just a little further.”
“Ophelia.” At the sound of his voice, the Shadow Voice shriveled up and disappeared. A sob caught in Ophelia’s throat as she spotted the blood now coating her knuckles. “The Shadow Voice…” she whispered. “It won’t stop unless I do what it says.” “Tell me who the Shadow Voice is,” Blackwell pressed gently. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “Angel?” “I don’t know,” she finally answered, sniffing. “Sometimes, I think it’s me. All the bad parts of me. But the things it tells me to do… I know I would never want those things. I hate it.” “Hey,” he murmured, and she suddenly felt a warm
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“Come on,” a deep voice murmured, cool hands running over her face, brushing back the hair on her forehead. “Wake up for me.” Ophelia didn’t want whoever was touching her to ever stop. “Mmm?” she muttered, trying to open her eyes, but they were much too heavy. “I’m going to start healing you,” the voice told her.
“I can fix myself without your help.” She huffed. “I was just under a lot of stress. It gets louder when I’m stressed.” “Ophelia.” His tone was firm now. “You don’t need to fix yourself. You’re not broken. But it’s okay to get outside help if it gets too loud.” “I can control it,” she insisted. “Just drop it.” “It was making you beat your hand into a bloody pulp,” he stated bluntly. “Excuse me for being concerned.”
“Can we please talk about something else?” she implored. “After everything that just happened, Hell, I just want to feel good again.” The intensity in his eyes heated at her words. “And what would make you feel good right now, angel?”
He placed a hand above her head for balance as he leaned in and taunted, “C’mon, angel. Tell me what I can do to make you feel good. I’m at your service after all.” She tilted her head up, her lips brushing over his as light as a feather, but still she said nothing. A low, sensual sound hummed in the back of his throat, and he lifted his free hand to the front laces of her corset, skimming the backs of his fingers over the material across her stomach. He slowly tugged at the laces holding her corset closed, nimbly undoing them, one pull at a time, the blood still covering his hands smearing
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“You first,” she whispered. “What do you want?” He moved in, turning his head so he could lightly touch his lips to the underside of her jaw. “I want you to let me see you.” His mouth began tracing up her jawline, languidly, torturously. His words tickling her skin. “All of you. There is nothing I have seen yet that has made me look away. No atrocity you could commit to make me not want you like this. No matter how forbidden.”
“I want to know everything. I want to see all the darkest corners of your mind.” He tilted his face up to whisper his next words right into her ear. “I want to taste your sins.”
“I dare someone to bother us right now,” he threatened. Her voice was shaky as she asked, “What… what are you doing?” He gave her a wickedly roguish look. “Tasting.” She nearly choked on her shock, but there was no time to respond before he leaned in and began kissing the sensitive skin of her exposed inner thighs.
“You taste like heaven,” he murmured. “Blackwell,” she pleaded, tugging on his hair with her impatience. She needed relief. This teasing was too much. Finally, he gave it to her. His tongue flicked over her clit, sending a piercing wave of pleasure through her body, making her toes curl, her stomach clench. She tightened her hold in his hair as if to keep him right there forever.
“You’re so beautiful. It’s quite irritating.” “I know,” he said wryly.
“Come here,” she whispered, reaching out for him. He undid the belt of his pants with a single hand and tossed it aside before lifting a knee onto the bed, placing it between her legs. He planted a kiss on her belly, just above her navel, before licking and nipping his way up to her breasts. He gently clamped his lips down over one of her pert nipples and her back arched off the mattress as the fire inside of her reignited.
Pushing herself up, palms flat against his chest, she maneuvered herself until she was straddling his upper thighs. She smiled. “It’s my turn to taste.” Scenes from the second trial flashing through her mind. Of lovers feasting on each other in ways she had never before imagined. And she wanted to try it for herself.
Reaching between their bodies, she unbuttoned his pants before lifting herself up just enough for him to kick them off to the floor. She looked down. Holy. Shit. The impressive length was considerably more than she had realized the previous night when she had ground herself to a climax against him.
she stopped. A sensual curse fell from his lips. She lifted her head, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and grinned down at him. “Payback.” “You’re a fiend,” he told her, voice thick with lust and affection. In a blink, he transported them both into a new position, pressing her back into the pillows at the head of the bed, his body hovering over hers. He reached a hand between their bodies, moving it down to her core to rub circles against her clit with the pad of his thumb, kissing her until she could hardly remember her own name or the fact that she was required to breathe in order
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And just as she wondered if he was going to wait for her to beg—determined to prove that what she’d said about never begging him for anything were, in fact, famous last words—he removed his fingers and placed the tip of his cock at her entrance. He broke their kiss and pulled back just enough to read her face in the dark. “Tell me you want this.” “I want this,” she swore, breathless. “Very much.”
“Blackwell,” she whimpered, her body beginning to tighten beneath his. “More. More. More.” “You can have everything, angel.”
Blackwell reached up to gather her hair out of her face, pushing her long curls over her shoulders so he could see her fully. She couldn’t help blushing as she met his gaze and slowly rolled her hips forward before grinding them back down again. Over and over again she moved up and down his cock, his hands coming up to grip her waist and guide her into a smooth, steady rhythm. Teaching her how to ride him perfectly.
“You’re such a good fucking girl,” he growled as she shifted forward again, moving one of his hands between their bodies to rub his thumb over her clit. “Come for me again, angel.” “Blackwell,” she whimpered as his thumb rubbed faster and faster between her legs, sending every nerve in her body into a lust-filled frenzy. “Fuck me,” he told her. “Harder, angel.”
“If you let me up, I can take care of it.” The rain turned into a drizzle, the warm splashes of scarlet dying his hair pink, sliding down the bridge of her nose, running over more sensitive areas… Ophelia began moving against him again, and his brows shot up in utter shock. He quickly recovered and a devious smile slowly curled up at the corners of his mouth at her boldness. “Are you sure?” She shrugged and repeated his own words from earlier. “It’s only blood.”
As evenly as she could, she asked, “You’re leaving?” He glanced at her as he bent to swipe his shirt from where it had been haphazardly discarded on the floor. “Do you want me to stay?” A beat. She felt strangely more vulnerable in this moment than she had during their throes of passion, but she swallowed and whispered, “Yes.” “Then, I’ll stay,” he avowed.
Blackwell traced affectionate circles over her back and down her spine, and in no time, she drifted off to sleep.
“I can take over for a while if you need a break,” she offered. “I just need to get dressed—” He snapped his fingers and suddenly she was fully clothed beneath the covers.
She asked, “Is there somewhere quieter we can go? The screams are going to give me a migraine.” “Your wish is my command.” He smirked as he took her hand and transported them away.
“For the last twenty-one years Genevieve’s made a point of avoiding all things even remotely strange—our mother’s practice, visiting relatives at the cemetery, any mention of our family’s magic—but Phantasma she jumps right into? And then I find out she has an entire social life I’ve known nothing about. From a contestant here, of all people!”
“For what it’s worth,” he started, “being normal is incredibly dull.
About an hour and two more glasses later, Ophelia was feeling amazing. Blackwell, however, almost seemed stressed as he ushered her over to the jacquard silk couch in the center of the room, a hand at her waist as she wobbled a bit on her feet. She sank into the couch cushions, a giggle bubbling in her throat as she grinned up at him. “I think maybe I’m drunk.” He crouched down in front of her, until they were eye level. “Yes, I think maybe you are. Do you feel any better at least?” “About what?” she questioned, the only thing on her mind the warmth spreading through her blood and the vibrant
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She leaned forward and placed her forehead against his, let her eyelids flutter closed. “Why do I feel like this?” “That would be the four glasses of liquor you downed,” he murmured as he leaned back so he could brush the hair from her face.
She tried to protest, but he ignored her, standing to scoop her up and lay her out horizontally on the couch. He blinked out for a moment and returned with a blanket. Once she was tucked in, he took up post on the ground against the armrest near her head, leaning his back against it and propping his elbows onto his bent knees.
In the silence she softly brushed her fingers through his hair, sifting through the strands at the nape of his neck to admire all the silver threaded throughout the white. She’d never known anyone with such striking features as his,
“What’s it like being a Phantom?” she whispered. “Is it terribly lonely?” He shifted his eyes to her, a loaded emotion in them. “Most of the time.” He reached over to cup her cheek in his hand, brushing his thumb over her pouted lips. “But not always.”