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“And then you left. You left me there. With your absence upon me... like a goddamn open wound.”

“You disgust me,” I breathe, but my hips move involuntarily beneath his. A filthy groan escapes me.

“Repeat it without moaning, if you can.”

“You filthy—”

His hands tighten further around my wrists, his fingers clamping down like iron shackles. He pins them above my head.

“I thought of you every single goddamn moment,” he rasps, his heavy breath washing over me without touching.

“In bed, during the journey, while I ate... always you.”

His tongue travels along my throat.

“Your voice, your scent, the taste you denied me. You—you have poisoned me, Viscount.”

“Then provide the remedy for this contamination.”

He lowers his gaze toward my ankle, still reddish. His fingers lengthen, slowly scraping against the bare, raw skin. A shiver runs down my spine, indistinguishable between pain and desire.

“How much does it hurt?”

I bite my lip. The wine, the rage, and the heat mingle in my mouth. He squeezes my ankle while his teeth sink into my jugular.

“Stop.”

“Make me.”

I gasp. Another sound escapes me, a choked rattle.

Pain?

Pleasure?

“Stop it,” I push him weakly.

“It isn’t what you want.”

I continue to push him back with my hands.

“You are a sodomite!”

He halts, lifts his face, and stares at me, his pearly eyes narrowing as a smile curves his lips.

“And what would that make you, then?”

My groin moves, pushing him against me.

“I believe this makes you a sinner as well.”

“Allez vous faire foutre!”

“I don’t want to hear your lies.”

My breath hitches again, ragged, and my fingers intertwine nervously over my face, trying in vain to hide the chaos hollowed out inside me.

“Stop... stop saying these things.”