Intense (Beneath Blaze #3)

by Luna Mason

“Where are your rings, wife?” “I’m not wearing them. This wedding isn’t real. Do we need to send you to the psych ward? This is insane. Even for you.”

No one sees me cry. No one has ever stayed long enough to deserve that piece of me. I back away. Silent.

No. Killing my boss, and now my apparent husband, would be a bad idea.

His crazed eyes don’t just stare; they consume. They track every inch of my face, dissecting me. Assessing me. Breaking me open. And I can’t hide. Not from him. Not now. The tears have already betrayed me.

“You’re like me. We don’t break. We don’t show our weakness in front of people.”

“I don’t hide my crazy. I am who I am. But you? You’re trying to conceal it, like I can’t see straight through you. Like I haven’t spent the past six years analyzing your every move. I know you, Stephanie. Now how about you fucking show me?”

“No, Finn. Just fuck off.” He cackles. “Words are pointless to me. People lie. You can never trust what comes out of someone’s mouth. Actions are the only thing I believe.

“Do you believe that lust and hate can’t walk the same line, temptress?”

And I hate it. I hate that I can’t stop. That my hands are already traveling, one tangled in her hair, the other gripping her hip like I’m staking a claim. Like I own her. Because maybe I fucking do. She is my goddamn wife.

I could fuck her right here. Against the rooftop wall. Bend her over the ledge and brand her with every brutal inch of my obsession.

“You kissed me back,” I whisper. My voice is low. Her mouth opens. Closes. No witty comeback. No sass. Just her. Laid bare for me. I drag my thumb across her bottom lip, smearing what’s left of her lip gloss. “That’s what I wanted. Not tears. Not lies.”

they press into me. I feel the war she’s trying to fight—but I’ve already won. Because I’ve seen it now. The one thing I was yet to assess in my notes about Stephanie. The way she falls when she’s not pretending to hate me. The way she needs me to ruin her. And I will. But on my terms. When I decide. Where I choose.

Her silence is everything I need. And nothing I expected. Because Stephanie Quinn just stopped fighting. And now? Now I have no intention of letting her get back up.

I’m hot. But I’m not Stephanie. I’m Angel. I’m a fucking monster.

I’m not a hitwoman for hire. I’m a surgeon. And I’m now someone’s wife.

Fuck, I’m getting too old for this. It was easier when I was eighteen. Thirty-three? Not so much. I’ll be paying for this tomorrow.

I grin as I grip the handle, but it doesn't budge. Even better.

don’t think a lot of people realize the psychological warfare that goes on in a victim’s head for the rest of their fuckin’ lives. But I do. I live it. And I will continue to hunt these monsters down in their sleep.

Without a word, I close my eyes and breathe her in. That scent. Floral and innocent, yet underneath it’s laced with sin. Something dark and beautiful that’s lived in my bones for six years. I exhale. A war between anger and lust battles within me.

It’s almost as if I’m trying to prove myself wrong. That this cannot be my Stephanie.

And then, right there. The spot where I held her yesterday. My fingers dig in, and her breath catches. The shoe fits. Or in this case… the hand fits. Perfectly.

I’ve never wanted someone this badly. Not like this. Not where it hurts. It’s not just sex. It’s the fire in her eyes. The challenge. The sharp tongue and brutal wit. The way she fights me without ever actually walking away.

She’s chaos. And I’m addicted.

He’s a disease I should’ve cut out the second he infected my life. But instead, I married the fucking virus. And now, I want him to ruin every inch of me.

“I like the name choice, but I suppose even the worst of us could be fallen angels,”

“You came up straight from hell, Dr. Quinn,” I whisper. He chuckles darkly. “How do you know? Were you holding my hand on the way up?”

“I’ll strip for my divorce,” she purrs, “and you be a good husband and watch.”

“You think this makes you the one in control?” I ask, breathless. She leans down, her breasts brushing my shirt, her lips at my ear. “No. I think it makes you obsessed.”

I should push her off me. Remind her who the fuck I am. Remind her that no one, not even my wife, gets to pull strings on me. But instead… I watch.

I’ve just found my weakness.

“I want you to bleed for me, temptress. But before I can do that, I need to break you in. Make you all fuckin’ mine. Is that what you want?”

“Fuck. Please tell me you aren’t a virgin. I don’t have it in me to be gentle with you,”

“This is pretty simple stuff you’re doing. We haven’t even gotten anywhere near the interesting part yet,” he continues. A thrill shoots up my spine. “Interesting?” I ask. He smirks. “All in good time. I don’t wanna scare you off just yet.”

“Now, what was surprising about being finger-fucked and choked?”

“Stephanie… serious question. How many brain cells did your past lovers have? And why couldn’t they find the clit? What the fuck were they aiming for?”

“Fuck knows. But I’ve never had a clit-stimulated orgasm from a man before.” A slow, deadly smile spreads across his lips. “Never? Fucking hell. You shouldn’t have told me that, because I’m about to come in my boxers.”

Then, he drops to his knees in front of me. And that’s when my pulse nearly stops. My boss. My husband. The man who makes me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt, on his knees, for me. Not to propose. Not to beg. But to devour. I never, ever, in a million years, thought I’d have him like this.

She’s strapped to the chair like a fucking offering.

I should be ashamed of how hard I am just from watching. But shame left me a long time ago, along with mercy.

She thinks I’m going to be gentle. Sweet. Maybe even a little romantic, because I’ve kissed her. Let her in. She’s wrong. Because what I’m about to do? It isn’t kindness. It’s ownership.

Her thighs clamp around my head, and I welcome the pressure. Let her fucking smother me. If this is how I go out, it’ll be worth it.

Her eyes flutter closed, and I slap her thigh, hard. “Eyes on me.” They snap open, completely wide and wild.

“Please, Finn⁠—” “Don’t beg. Not yet,”

“You think you want release, but you don’t. Your body is demanding to submit. You want me to give it to you. And I will. But on my terms. Not yours.”

“That’s what you are, isn’t it?” I murmur against her cheek. “A little desperate slut for me, who gets wet for praise and cries when it’s taken away.” She nods, eyes hooded, lips trembling.

“Say it. Who do you belong to now?” “You.” She doesn’t hesitate. “Damn right, you do.”

“Next time you want your orgasm, temptress... you better earn it.”

I’ve given her a taste, and if it’s meant to be, if the obsession goes both ways, she will run right back to me.

I need release, and it turns out, to do that, I need a doctor. Specifically, Dr. Quinn.

There’s concern in his voice, and that eases my anxiety. He makes me feel safe.