The Annihilator (Dark Verse #5)(14)

Her body stiffened.
“Then you’re my slut.” His thigh pressed into her where she was empty, pressing her clit hard. “Mine.”
Even though she hated the word, when he said it like that, something inside her bloomed. She would remember it. Next time someone called her a slut, she would remind herself of this moment.
“Now, moan for me and I’ll give you a gift to take back.”
A noise escaped her lips, completely unbidden, muffled as he pressed his thumb inside her mouth while she rode his leg, her movement limited because of the tight hold he had on her.
“Good girl." She felt the words against her neck just as he opened his mouth. Teeth scored her flesh and the multiple sensations from all over made her neck fall back, her lips clamping on his thumb as her body shuddered. His teeth on her neck sent heat through her entire body, an orgasm surprising her with its intensity, the stars behind her eyelids so beautiful she chased it for another second, holding onto them.
This was precious. A willing orgasm was so fucking precious.
Tears in her eyes, she blinked, looking up at the high ceiling.
Awareness filtered in slowly, the sound of laughter and music and chattering, and she looked down to find his gaze. For the first time in her memory, the aftermath of an orgasm didn’t leave her feeling dirty, didn’t leave her wanting to rip her own skin open.
She felt... pure. Precious. Powerful. All illusions, but she held on to them for a moment too.
His face remained neutral as it always did, the only sign that he had been affected in any way being the large bulge between his legs and the enlarged pupil in his light eye. He let go of her wrists and took his thumb out of her mouth, her teeth denting the gloves deeply. A throbbing sensation on her neck made her bring her hand up, touching the sensitive spot.
He’d marked her. For the first time, he’d visibly marked her.
In her experience, marks were never good. Marks meant pain and cruelty and carelessness. The mark he had given her had been pleasure and tenderness and deliberation. It was a gift, a claiming for her to remember she was his, that no one could get to her as long as he was there.
And to someone who had been owned but never belonged, it meant everything.


Chapter sixLyla, Present day


Being back in Sanctum after months brought memories rushing to the surface for her. The last time she'd been there, he had marked her. It had filled her with hope again, and as time had passed, the hope had dwindled. Again.
She knew she needed to learn to keep her expectations in check, that she needed to accept her fate and her state of being without letting treacherous hope take over until she began to dream of more. But no matter how much she reminded herself of the same, it always happened unbidden. Hope was borne, hope died, and so did a little piece of her.
Shaking off her gloomy thoughts, she focused on the pain in her feet in the high heels. The club was particularly rowdy tonight. It wasn’t a usual sex club, the kind that just catered to sex. No, it was a club that was the underbelly of operations. Dark deals, drugs, drinks, and dickheads were found in abundance there.
As she weaved her way through the crowd in the VIP lounge area of the single-level open space, the exact space where he’d made her moan, the balls of her feet ached in the platform heels all working girls had to wear. Her heart ached too because a year ago, she had been more full of hope than she was now, somehow expecting the moment to lead to something—an escape at the best, a deeper intimacy at the least.
It had led to nothing. Not a thing changed. He never touched her again but he continued his vigilance. And she was fucking sick of it.
He was clearly someone important within the underworld. She’d seen him make public appearances too many times since then, around too many powerful-looking people to question it. Mr. Blackthorne, as they called him, was someone important. He also walked the night as the Shadow Man, though she doubted anyone even suspected it. The Shadow Man was a hot, unhinged killer, thriving in the chaos he created. Mr. Blackthorne was cold, self-contained, and meticulous. If anyone suspected they were the same men, it was genius.
And she knew his secret. She could use it against him, threaten him with exposure, but she couldn’t. She was weak and powerless, and the Shadow Man was the only being giving her a modicum of protection for whatever reason. She couldn’t jeopardize that.
As she made her way through the club, she kept her face averted from that particular section. Even after years of tottering on the heels, she hadn’t mastered them as perfectly as others. Something about walking in them made her feel more on display when all she wanted was to hide. She hated being on display when she longed for invisibility.
Completing an order of drugs and drinks to one of the tables where one of the servers was eating a well-dressed woman out, she turned to go back to the bar quickly when her eyes paused on Mr. H sitting in a dark corner of the section, talking to a man with light hair. She couldn’t see his face, but from Mr. H’s body language, the light-haired man seemed someone important.
Driven by some instinct she couldn’t name, she headed to the alcove beside their table, eavesdropping.
“—and that’s what I mean,” Mr. H told the man, his voice low since the music was quieter in the VIP area. The light-haired man listened, the back of his head visible to her as he swirled the drink in his glass, a ring with some kind of snake symbol hefty on his right index finger.
“If it’s him, we might finally have something,” Mr. H continued. “If it’s not, the girl is useless now anyway.”
“The girl has more uses than you know of,” the light-haired man replied in a cool tone. “But I hear you. He’s been... disruptive for too long.”