Page 112 of His Eternal Claim

He crowds behind me, his chest pressing flat against my back for a fraction of a second before he fists a thick handful of my hair at the nape of my neck, forcing my head back. His other hand comes down in a sharp, stinging slap across my bare ass; the sudden crack of sound echoes. A violent jolt of shock and pure arousal bolts straight to my core.

“Look at how wet you are for me,” he rasps, his fingers sliding down to roughly part my lower lips, smearing the slick heat across my skin before delivering another stinging slap right against my aching center. “A good little wife, begging for her husband to ruin her.”

Before I can even find my voice, I am flipped, my back hits the mattress, and I find myself looking into his intense eyes.

They’re grey and endless.

He hooks one of my legs, pulling it high and draping my knee over his broad shoulder, completely exposing me, leaving me wide open beneath his gaze. He drives into me.

A choked scream escapes my throat, but it’s muffled as his large hand shifts from my hair to wrap firmly around the front of my throat, cutting off my breath just enough to send a dizzying rush of endorphins straight to my brain. He pumps into me relentlessly, at a punishing speed, his hips slamming against mine. “You’re mine,” he snarls, his grip on my throat tightening slightly as his other hand fists my hair again, pulling my head back so I’m forced to look toward the dark expanse of the room. “Tell me who owns this cunt, Dolcezza. Tell me.”

“You,” I sob, my fingers clawing desperately at the velvet sheets beneath us as the pressure builds into an unbearable, terrifying peak. “Zagreus—please, you do… you own me.”

“Good girl,” he growls against my ear, his thrusts turning erratic as he drives himself into me one last time, totally consuming whatever is left of my sanity and morality.

Chapter 39

Exile

THE REQUIEM | Past

Idon’t recall when I finally slept, or when he finally stopped. The memory of the night is a beautiful blur of moans, whimpers, and sex, followed by the suffocating weight of my husband’s body pinning me to the sheets until the early hours of the morning.

I blame the wine.

When my eyes flutter open, a throbbing fullness sits between my thighs. Our bodies are entangled under the duvet, and as I try to shift, a soft, involuntary groan escapes me into his bare chest.

He is still inside me.

Even in his sleep, the sheer roughness and girth of him keep me stretched open, reminding me of who I belong to.

I look up at his sleeping face, and a mixture of disbelief and fondness tugs at my heart. This shameless man. When will he understand that it is not hygienic for a man to stay inside a woman for this long? It could cause an infection, for heaven’s sake. But my husband doesn’t understand that—or rather, he chooses to ignore medical science. When I brought it up last night, he just tightened his grip and told me it was his right, that staying buried deep inside me was the only way he felt truly close to me.

As if sensing my thoughts, Zagreus’s long eyelashes flutter, and his stormy grey eyes find mine, clear of sleep’s usual grogginess. A lazy smile touches his handsome face that was buried between my legs a few hours ago.

Instead of moving, he arches his hips just a fraction, making me gasp as he slides a millimeter deeper.

“Morning, Dolcezza,” he rasps, leaning forward to press a kiss right to the tip of my nose.

My heart aches.

For a second, the dangerous mafia don vanishes, leaving only the man who holds me like I am the center of his universe. But the tender moment doesn’t last long before his hand slides down to cup my hip, his thumb rubbing circles into my skin as he hardens against my inner walls.

“Zagreus, no,” I complain softly, placing my palms flat against his chest to push him back. “Stop. I’m sore.”

He chuckles amusedly, his chest vibrating beneath my hands. He doesn’t pull out, but he hovers over me, bearing that wicked glint in his eyes. “Sore? That’s strange. Because I distinctly remember a certain beautiful girl weeping into my chest last night, begging me to go faster. Begging me not to stop.”

My cheeks flame. Mortified, I hide my face in his neck. “Stop it. Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” he teases, completely brazen as he leans down to bite gently at my earlobe. “I can say whatever I want to my wife. Especially when she looks this beautiful stretched out under me, still dripping from what I did to her hours ago—”

Smack.

I bring my hand down on his chest. “Zagreus Vitale, shut up!”

He chuckles and finally relents. With an agonizingly deep slide, he pulls out of me, leaving me cold and empty. He rolls off the bed and stands up, entirely unbothered by his nakedness. He leans down one last time, pressing another kiss to my lips.

“Go take a warm bath,” he commands softly, tracing my jaw. “I’ll have breakfast ready for you when you’re done.”