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I’m not sorry. I think it’s important that you know this about me—that you understand this. I’m not sorry. I’d do it again.
Trevenas outlast. Trevenas are cruel. We are salt-skinned and thorned with gorse, and we worshipped capricious gods long after the saints began crawling over our hills. We have hearts of tin and minds of slate, and we do not flinch.
She’s in there, I know, waiting for him. With her honey hair and her unusual mouth, made while God was in a playful mood. With her turquoise eyes and her features so delicately shaped that you’d think she was part porcelain doll. She is not a porcelain doll, obviously. Dolls don’t murder people.
The fucking president of the United States called me to offer his condolences. And he just laughed when I asked him through my teeth if he hadn’t been the runaway bodyguard in this scenario. Yes, but the difference is that Greer’s husband would have never let us run away, he’d purred.
Quarto optio.
a fourth option
A noise tears free of him—half gasp, half sob—like the orgasm is a mean thing sent to afflict him, and you’d think from the way he scratches at the carpet that he’s being flayed alive.
Sweet puppy, my darling hero, unraveled by only the gentlest pull of a string.
I thought I could watch them fall in love. I thought I’d be utterly unaffected by it. I was wrong.
But I have to see them one last time. I want them. I hate them. I love them.
I felt a reasonable envy when it came to their lust, but when it comes to this? I am unreasonable beyond compare. I am livid with distrust and spite; I am as resentfully possessive as one of those dragons Tristan is always reading about. I am mortally wounded by them holding hands.
I was supposed to care about nothing, and now I care about two things, and it’s a little fucking irritating, if I’m honest.
“I would have let you play house with my wife if you wanted, Tristan. All you had to do was ask.”
This love is aching for him on a yacht in the middle of the ocean. This love is the moonlight catching on Isolde’s tears.
“Then let the dragon add me to his hoard,” I say quietly. “I still pledge to his service.”
I’ll never know Eliot, but I feel a sort of respect for him, a kinship maybe. He too loved Mark Trevena. It’s not for the faint of heart.
The world is such a hard and cruel place. Why must we also be denied Tristan’s hair?
But if this is a pathetic life, then I’ll live pathetically, and if this is love on the edges, I don’t know that I can endure love in its glowing, fulsome center.
I’m physically incapable of denying him anything he wants when he looks at me like that.
“Let’s be real in the dark,” she murmurs into my mouth, the words tickling my lips and tongue. “I’ll give you anything you want,” I answer as I slot my lips to hers. “Anything at all, it’s yours the moment you ask.”
Where is America’s hero now? Fucking another man’s wife with absolute, mindless abandon. Getting ready to unload inside her hot cunt because he just can’t help himself, honor be damned.”
Pull out to the tip now, almost all the way out—good—God, you’re so wet with her, I can see it shining all over you—back in. Harder, my little knight, harder. She’s begging for it, aren’t you, sweetling? Yes, I thought so.”
Peerless performance or not, he is alchemically hard: metal out of flesh, desire out of disloyalty. A husband ready to go after watching another man on top of his wife.
“I love you,” she exhales, and I bend my head into her neck. “I love you too,” I say, the excruciating pleasure clawing at my body, and then, at last, tearing me all the way open.
I feel like a beast fucking into her while she’s already turning her head to kiss Mark’s erection, but I can’t stop. I don’t think I can ever stop.
He can just be so goddamn charming sometimes. It’s not fair.
“You came back,” I whisper.
“I came back.”
“...
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Through her tears, she laughs, that rare laugh that should be kept in a tabernacle and venerated on feast days. “Because I love you. Because I choose to. Because I d...
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Isolde returns, wearing a harness with a silicone cock fitted into its O-ring, a slender blue length that looks absolutely lovely on her.
OH HELL YEAH i fucking love pegging
“You have the power to utterly unravel me,” I murmur as I pull her close.
“Looking like you do in that lingerie with a cock between your legs. I should have you fuck me with it sometime. Would you like that?”
If the rest of my life is enduring their revenge, then I’ll die with a smile on my face, and if our love always feels like obsession, like hunger and sickness, then I’ll pay any price from my past or my future to keep it.
Like the rings we still wear—black and silver, gold, ruby-studded, etched invisibly but indelibly—our love is mismatched, full of warnings, born of lies, strange and strangely sourced. But it is ours. Scarred as it is, jagged as it is, bitter and burning as it is, it is ours.
Forever, I remind myself. You have forever now.
