He brings his finger to the side of my head, running it down to my lips. My skin prickles. “Nah, but I’m about to.” He slides his thumb between my lips, and I don’t know if it’s from the stress happening around me or the utter feral hold that our bond has on both of us, but my hips grind forward. His thumb disappears, related by his lips as he pulls my dress up and grips me around my thighs, slamming me against the door. Gripping on to the lace garter around my thigh, he tears it off. My legs wrap around his waist as I feed him everything he’s ever wanted.

“You wanted this,” I whisper against his mouth, sinking my teeth into his pout every few seconds. “To fuck me in my wedding dress knowing I was marrying him.” He grips my throat and forces me back against the door. Pain erupts against the back of my head, but I suck the taste of him off my lips anyway. Wicked is toxic for my soul, but the thing about toxicity is it’s addictive. He will always take care of us. Yet even then, I want to scream at him. Ask him why he would kill my mother? Because I fucking know he did, and as the saying goes—my throat constricts around the realization of what I need to do. Just one last time. One last time before my knife finds his heart.

I fight with his zipper and belt, moaning when his heavy cock fills my hands. Smooth and hard, I pump it slowly, watching the torment in his eyes. A battle I probably don’t understand—one I won’t understand because he never wanted me as a soldier. Now we would pay. One of us isn’t walking away from here alive.

“You can marry whoever the fuck you want, Ruby.” His hips buck forward. “You’re always going to be mine.” His grip around my throat intensifies, his eyes wild on mine. “Say you’re mine.”

I don’t answer, my tongue sliding over my bottom lip. Even in death, lover.

“Say it, Ruby.” He forces my head back again and a moan slips from my mouth as my pussy tightens. I don’t answer, unable to feed him lies. “You may be his wife, but you’ll always be my little slut.” I breathe out loudly, my forehead falling forward as my clit tingles with need. I need to be fucked. By him. Only him. Only ever will be him.

He raises his blade up, running the edge over my skin. I relax against him, fighting tears from falling down my cheeks as I slowly grind. Needing friction. Needing to be owned, dominated, and damaged by him.