I took the cigarette hanging from Arthur’s mouth, put it between my lips and took a long, drawn-out drag. The smoke filled my lungs and I tasted Arthur on my tongue. I blew the smoke into his face. Then I placed the queen at the base of Arthur’s throat.
Fixing my gaze on his, I dragged her down through the thick layer of blood on his skin, sullying her remaining cleanliness. Smearing the evidence of death and torture on her smooth, polished surface.
I stopped when I reached the waistband of his trousers. They had dropped low on his hips, the V leading to his prominent cock, a perfect gutter for the blood and sweat that dripped down his body.
Stepping closer, so close that I could feel the blazing heat pulsing from his skin, I tucked the queen into his trouser pocket, his hard cock brushing against my hand as I did. I released the queen, then wrapped my hands around his length through the fine material and gave him a slow, hard stroke before pulling my hand away.
I finished the cigarette, blowing the smoke over Arthur’s face one last time before flicking the butt to the floor. Arthur’s jaw clenched, then he placed his hand around my throat and pushed me back a few feet until my back slammed against the wall.
His eyes were wild and his nostrils flared. He was breathing hard, pants ripping between his lips, yet the hold on my throat was not tight, just a placeholder, a way to keep me still and obedient as he exerted his dominance. Arthur raised the sword he still held and placed the tip at my throat, above the hand that held me in place.
“Are you scared?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave. The low light in the pit glimmered off the few remaining slivers of clean steel on the sword’s blade.
“No,” I said, nothing but truth in my response. “You won’t hurt me.”
“Are you sure about that? I could kill you,” he said, pressing the tip harder against my skin. I could feel its sharpness, how easily it could slit my throat, pierce through my flesh.
“You won’t,” I said, knowing it to be true.
I know it to be true …
Here stood the most dangerous man in London, his hand around my throat and a sword precariously pressed against my skin. And I knew. I knew with unwavering faith that he would not harm me. It was a revelation, a clear burst of sunshine on a grey and drizzly day.
I was one of the only people who could say with true certainty that Arthur Adley, Dark Lord of London Town, would never ever hurt them.
I swallowed, something shifting inside me at that knowledge, something at a cellular level. Irreversible. An eclipse, his moon casting me in much-needed shadow. It was the acceptance of letting go of my old life and being reborn—my cleansing baptism in hell’s raging fire.
It was a heady surge of power charging through my veins.
Arthur’s sword nicked my throat, propelling me back into the moment. A tiny trickle of blood ran down my neck and toward my breasts—my communion, my sanguine pledge to join his side. Arthur’s eyes were stone, stones rolled in lava and ash and solar flares, as he pushed and pushed me.
“You’re so certain,” he said, head tilted. His eyes were narrowed as though he was searching for my deception, any doubts in my heart.
There were none. Not a single, solitary one.
Making sure I had his undivided attention, I said, “I am your queen.” Arthur stopped breathing. Taking advantage of his pause, I lifted my hand and pressed down on the blade until it was back by his side. He let me take away its threat.
The residue of the recent tragedies faded, and a new feeling was awakened. An opening of a new door in my heart. One that only allowed in Arthur and his family. One that kept me safe, sheltered and in his dangerous embrace. I felt taller, stronger … changed.
I pressed my palm to his chest, sharing the blood he had just spilled. “I’m your tainted, sullied, and corrupted queen.”
“You’re not ready for me,” he growled, but I caught the hint of yearning in his voice. He was cracking before me, the way the ground fractured during the early pangs of an earthquake. The warning that its devastation was coming. That once its wrath was released, there was no going back to how things were before.
Once Arthur let me into his granite heart, I could never leave it.
“Try me,” I taunted, and cupped his cock with my free hand. He was rock hard under his trousers, and he hissed as I squeezed him. I made sure he was looking right at me when I said, “Try your best to destroy me, Arthur. Try your best to break me apart. But I’ll still be here when you’re exhausted, my claws sunk deeply into your flesh as you drag us both to hell.”
“I won’t let you go,” he warned, and shivers ran down my spine at the malevolent honesty of the threat. “You want to rule at my side? Then I’ll never let you leave me. If you walk by my side, you can never ever fucking leave.”
I was making a binding contract with the devil. An Adley’s word is his bond … that’s what Arthur had said in the pit. He was waiting for the verbal agreement to be signed. Waiting for me to finally hand over my soul.
“I am your queen. And you are my king. Your dark kingdom is now ours.”
I removed my bloodied hand from his chest and drew a cross over my heart with my finger. “Forever.”
And that was when he broke. My world shook as Arthur smashed his mouth to mine. He wasn’t gentle—but I had never expected him to be. He was savage and cursed with a wickedness that was born from loss at a young age and a father who saw violence and death and the suppression of feelings as a form of bonding.
But I would love him. All of him—the wicked and the warm. I always had. I had never wanted him to change, only to let me in.
Arthur’s tongue slid along mine and I moaned, grasping his hair. His hands fell to my leathers. He snapped the button, and I heard it drop to the floor. He wrenched the trousers down to my ankles, and I kicked one leg off my feet. Arthur ripped off my knickers and pushed two fingers straight inside me. His lips pulled away from mine and trailed down my neck. He bit down on my skin, and I tossed my head back, my clit pulsing at his roughness.
I pulled on his hair, so hard that he had no choice but to look up. “I love you,” I said, and Arthur stilled. His jaw clenched and his hands moved to my waist, holding on to me tightly. My eyes blurred. “I love you, Arthur Adley,” I said, softer, and cupped his cheek. His skin was boiling, and my chest caved when he turned his head and kissed my palm. It was the only flicker of tenderness he offered. A fleeting expression of softness before the darkness blanketed us both again.
A second later, he pulled out his cock and lifted me against the wall of the pit. With blood smothering us both, he pushed inside me, slamming into me with a savage grunt.
I cried out, clutching his back as he filled me after these many months without him. I had missed him. I realised just how much. Nothing felt like this. No one had ever filled me this way, possessed me this way.
In this moment, I had never been more sure of anything than that Arthur was made for me. As I felt his hands bruising my thighs as he ploughed into me, his wide, muscled body caging me in, I knew I would never go back on my promise. I would never leave his side. There was no longer a choice. I was soldering myself to him.
Melding our souls, splicing our hearts.
I kissed him. As my pussy started to tighten, I kissed him and kissed him as his hips moved faster. His tongue duelled against mine, fucking my mouth just as hard as he was fucking me. “I love you,” I murmured against his mouth, seeing his eyes dilate as the words hit his ears like bullets.