Well, I said I was going to push him, so I nod stiffly.
Shock registers on his handsome face as he realizes I’m serious about this. He shakes his head to himself. “No. No! I won’t. Don’t push me, Aefre,” he says again.
He releases his hold on the tie and I stand up. Oh, I’m going to push him so fucking hard, he won’t know what hit him.
“Do you think I will compare you to him, to Lance? Compare how sadistic you can be compared to him? Is that what you are worried about?” I ask.
His face closes off entirely as he registers my words. “Will you?” he asks quietly.
“No. You are nothing like him,” I say.
“He is just like me, Aefre. Not the other way around. Don’t you see?” he pleads with me.
“No. I don’t see. Constantine, do you love me?” I ask.
“Yes,” he doesn’t hesitate to say.
I smile. “That makes you different. You can love. You love me. I love you. We have had a really hard day, the whole Gregor thing notwithstanding. Just do this. Make us both feel better.”
He doesn’t need telling twice after this. He launches himself at me, pinning me to the ground with a dagger in each palm that he pulled from who the fuck knows where.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Y es, I’m in pain, but it’s not unbearable. In fact, I know I could get myself out of this if I wanted to. The Power is surging up, indignant to be treated in such a fashion but I ignore it. At least I know it is there if I need it. But I don’t. Not yet, at least.
With my hands attached to the floor by ancient Vampire strength, I’m seemingly pinned in place. I wriggle in discomfort, because, yes it hurts like a bitch, but I won’t let him know.
A feral grin tearing his handsome face apart, he extends his claws and rakes them down me, neck to toes in slow, searing gashes that would make a lesser Vampire wither. They are gradually healing, painfully, which makes it worse when he pours the rest of the bottle of Scotch onto each slash. It burns like acid but I still won’t give him the satisfaction of hearing me scream. Christ knows I’ve had enough practice with the methods of torture, both giving and receiving. Mostly receiving, I think
ruefully as he trails his tongue up my gashes in a slow, steady movement, which makes me want him despite the pain he is inflicting on me.
Pulling the daggers out of my hands, he flips me over quickly to my front and reinserts them with two vicious thrusts before they have healed, making me buckle.
“Had enough?” he whispers gently, almost as if he wants me to say yes.
Never.
At my silence, he rakes his claws down my back, “You are so stubborn, my sweet. You know you are no match for me.”
Hm, I think you have no idea.
Another dagger appears in his hand. He slashes at my back with little flicks, drawing blood and lapping it away. My She Power is getting pretty pissed off now and is ready for action, but I push it away.
“Why are you letting me do this?” he asks suddenly in anguish.
Heaving a sigh of frustration, I pull my hands up from their pins to his utmost surprise. “Why can’t you ever just accept a gift in the way it was intended?” I snap, rubbing my hands as they heal instantly.
“I don’t want to hurt you. This is killing me. Don’t make me carry on,” he says, dropping his head into my lap, making me falter.
“Make you? Since when could I make you do anything?” I ask in bewilderment.
“Always,” he replies honestly, and we are back to vulnerable sire time. I don’t like it.
“Fine. If you can’t do it to me then take me downstairs and let me watch you do it to someone else.”
“Excuse me?” he asks warily.
“Your Pets in the dungeons,” I snarl at him in frustration.