Page 669 of Coal Hearts

With a breathless groan, he withdrew, tripped backward, and fought hands that no longer worked to stuff his spent erection into his black slacks and buckle up.

Twisting upright, I sat primly on the edge of the bed.

A wet patch soaked into my dress, matching the silvery trails of my arousal glinting on the black fabric over his fly.

He caught me looking. “Told you your juices were all over me.”

I smiled, embracing the flood of possession. You’re mine. My body says so.

He nodded and placed a fist over his heart. Forever.

“Come along, little nightmare.” Snatching my wrist, he dragged me off the bed and carted me toward the door. “Time to party.”

A flood of moisture oozed hotly down my thigh.

I cringed.

He wrenched open the door and laughed at my screwed-up face. “Bit of a mess down there? Maybe if you’re a good girl tonight, I’ll lick you clean.”

I stumbled.

He caught me.

He whispered into my ear, “You still with me, mon cœur?” (My heart.)

I caught his gorgeous grey eyes.

I fell into even deeper feelings. “Always.”

He shivered.

I smiled.

Together, we descended into a night where ghosts and demons came out to play.

And hoped we’d still be alive come morning.

* * * * *

“Something doesn’t feel right, jaanu.”

I spun and caught Peter behind me.

He shifted on the spot, pressing his lips to my ear. “Victor has a smug look in his eyes. It’s giving me the fucking creeps.”

I shot a glance at Victor laughing with Roland across the room.

Slim and tall, with his own dark cape, Victor looked like a distinguished art gallery curator or slightly eccentric benefactor. The mask cutting his face in half hid a lot of his sins, but Peter was right.

His navy eyes seemed particularly pleased, kind of pompous actually.

“Come.” With a quick look at Henri who stood talking to Ben and Stewart not far away, Peter snatched my cuffed wrist and dragged me into the alcove draped with white netting that’d been hung on all the walls of the Great Hall.

For two hours, we’d mingled, all while I did my best to forget about the stickiness between my legs. Henri kept giving me knowing glances as Masters ate, drank, and grew merry.

Victor had spared no expense.

The Great Hall travelled almost the entire length of the east wing. Its polished parquet floors, sweeping high brimstone and devil painted ceilings, and hundreds of stained-glass windows made it seem as if we truly were in hell. Each stained-glass window depicted some sort of erotic carnage. From women skewered on spears, to girls burning at the stake. Each one died a slow, painful death all while being fingered, fucked, or whipped.