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For the brave souls who burned the bridges between themselves and their demons. And for those still trying to light the match—we’ll wait for you.
“Love. Loathing. Same passion, different names,” he told her. “And how easily and swiftly the line can be blurred, don’t you think?” “No,” she seethed. “I don’t think it will ever be anything but crystal clear to me that I hate you.”
The golden-eyed stranger stood a little less than a foot over her own—very respectable—five feet and five inches. His disheveled black hair was a bit longer than the preferred style of the men in New Orleans, combed back haphazardly and curling ever so slightly at the ends. His face was conventionally attractive—square jaw, sharp cheekbones, perfectly straight nose—in a way that may have leaned toward boring on anyone else. But the golden hoop that was pierced through his full bottom lip and the hypnotizing gold of his eyes enticed Genevieve in a way that was sinful.
“Hello,” she greeted with a vibrant smile. He said nothing as he scrutinized her as carefully as she had him, and it was an effort not to shift under the intensity of his gaze. She lifted her chin. “My name is Genevieve Grimm.” “And?” he drawled. “What the fuck do you want?”
“Do you not understand when you are unwanted somewhere?” he growled. “About as well as you understand how to treat a guest, I presume,”
“You’re a Specter?” he demanded between clenched teeth. “Do you have some sort of issue with that?” she snapped, itching to bring her knee up between his legs and make him move out of her way. “What I have an issue with is the fact that you clearly don’t know how to fucking listen,”
“We were married, with Knox’s permission, and eventually went on to have our seven children: Gravington, Covington, Rowington, Remington, Sevington, Wellington, and Ellington.”
“But a mortal… a mortal’s body cannot survive being separated from its soul without dire consequences, Miss Grimm.” “And I’m mortal,” Genevieve whispered. “You catch on quick,” Rowin snorted. She spun to bare her teeth at him. “You’re an ass.” He smirked. “Are words the only claws you’ve got?” “Come closer and let’s see,” she crooned.
“Can’t I marry one of the others instead?” she suggested. “No,” Rowin stated. “This was my idea. Therefore, you’re mine. If anyone is winning freedom from the Hunt, it’s me.”
“I’m sure you can pretend just fine,” he murmured, as he raised his hand and began to twirl one of the curls that framed her face around his index finger. “Think of it as playing a character. Inside the walls of Enchantra you’re no longer Genevieve Grimm. You’re my wife.” He tucked the strand of hair he’d been playing with behind her ear, letting his fingertips graze her cheeks ever so lightly and making her suck in a breath as she resisted the urge to lean into the touch. “In front of everyone you’ll smile and pretend like you actually enjoy my company. There can be no arguing.” A wicked
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“Might I remind you this is equally, if not entirely, your fault,” he told her. “You decided to open an invitation that was not yours. You decided to break into the house despite my very clear warnings to leave. And what sort of mother forgets to mention the sadistic curse her dear friend’s family have been suffering through for centuries—” “The sort that’s dead,”
Me fr
She twisted around and launched herself at him. He grunted in surprise as she pinned him down, straddling his waist. “You’re an absolute bastard—” she seethed. In a blink he rolled her over until her back was pressed into the dirty ground, the melting ice soaking through her dress. She let out a shriek of frustration as she tried to reach up between them and claw at his face. He easily gathered both her wrists in one hand while he flattened the other on the ground next to her head to hold the brunt of his weight off her. “And you’re half wild,” he observed, a spark igniting in his golden eyes.
He rolled off her, blithely climbing back up to his feet in one fluid motion. She sighed in relief, until a blink later, when she found herself being lifted and thrown over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Never had she been manhandled like this before.
Pick up that plus size woman ik thats right <3<3<3
Ophelia is going to murder me. If I manage to make it out of this house alive. I’m pretty sure I’ve said that before. X, Genevieve
“Do you?” she asked as they made their way into the ballroom now. “Have a favorite game I should know about?” His expression turned thoughtful as he led her across the expansive marble dance floor. “I’ve really enjoyed the one where I ask you to do something, and you simply refuse to fucking do it.” “What a coincidence, I love that game, too,” she remarked as they reached the foot of the grand staircase. “You know, if you tried being nice to me you might find—”
“Relax,” he demanded under his breath, “and try to pretend like you enjoy being this close to me. We have an observer.”
Rowington Silver was a vision in obsidian against the white of the snow and marble beneath their feet. His black suit had an intricate, monochromatic silk filigree embroidered over the coat and trousers. All impeccably tailored. His cravat was a golden silk that matched the details of his cuff links as well as the earrings now dangling from his ears. Even his hair had been combed back handsomely, an effort that surprised her.
“And I won’t be showing you any mercy if you lay a finger on my wife.”
“And I thought choking was more your thing.” Genevieve gave Rowin a taunting smirk. “Now that I’m game to try. I’ve wanted to strangle you since the first time I heard you speak.” Rowin rolled his eyes as Sevin corrected, “I don’t think you’d be the one doing the choking, sweetheart.”
“I’m not sure I have any nightgowns that would be appropriate to wear in front of you,” she finally said. He snorted. “Whatever you have wouldn’t be anything I haven’t seen before.” “I hate when people say that,” she told him. “It is something you’ve never seen before. Me. And I’m spectacular.”
covering every inch of his newly exposed arms and neck. I want to trace them with my tongue. She made a noise of shock at the thought before she could stop herself. No, I most certainly do not.
“You have to fight it,” he implored, his voice thick with… lust? That couldn’t be right, and yet, when she peered up into his eyes, she saw that his pupils had nearly completely swallowed the gold of his irises. “We have to fight it,” he gritted out again. When she saw how hard he was clenching his jaw, the strain of keeping his breaths steady in his chest, she knew she was not the only one losing her mind. “I don’t want to fight it.” “Fuck,” he hissed. “Neither do I.”
“Because you wear all of your emotions on your face,”
“With how strongly the passion fruit affected you, I’m inclined to believe that no one has made you come, properly, in quite a while.”
“Do not get any closer.” “Or what?” Grave barked. “All of this over a girl you don’t even—” “She’s mine,”
“Whatever you might think of that, whatever problem you have with it, if you ever try to touch her again, I will make the rest of your eternal life even more fucking miserable than it already is.”
“Touch me,” she pleaded. “I am touching you,” he said, giving a lazy swirl of his tongue. “Fuck me, then,” she growled.
“I’m not going to fuck you,” he told her as he splayed a hand over the plump curves of her belly. “Yet.” “But—” she began to protest. “I’m supposed to be thanking you, remember?” He shifted his gaze back to hers. “Let me show you what it’s like to have my gratitude, trouble.”
“I need you to taste me,” she told him, the sultry voice coming from her lips nearly unrecognizable to her own ears. “I need to feel you worship me.”
He smirked. “I’m a creature of Hell, worshipping is not usually in my nature.” Then he lowered himself between her legs and flicked his tongue out to taste her. “But for whatever time you remain in my bed, I will make it your shrine.”
“You want me on my knees, trouble? Then I’ll get on my knees. But first…” He used his shadows to slip around her thighs, pulling her legs up and around his waist in one fluid movement without lifting a single one of his fingers. In fact, he placed both of his palms flat against the wall on either side of her waist, as if to prove a point that he could fluster her without even using his hands.
“Fuck,” she choked out, practically panting as she felt him smile against her cheek. “Quiet,” he ordered as his shadows squeezed a bit tighter around her throat to emphasize his words. “I’m being as quiet—” His shadows tightened in punishment at her disobedience, and she whimpered,
