Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Each gentle touch sent a ripple of unwanted awareness through me, betraying my attempt at indifference. When I was finally naked, I dared to look at myself and see what I had refused to earlier. There were bruises on my hips in the shape of his hands. Not as permanent as the brand on my shoulder, but still a mark of his no less.
“I’ve dreamt of these moments for years,” he confessed, gently easing me down until I was flat on my back, the decorative pillow beneath my head. “I should be fucking you in every room of this house.”
He stood then and took a step away, staring down at me. I lay there, acutely aware of my vulnerability. My skin felt like an open canvas under his scrutiny, every curve and contour on display for his beautiful eyes to trace.
My heart raced in response, the rush of blood echoing the heightened awareness of my own body. I instinctively shifted my gaze upward, fixing my attention on the vaulted ceiling above. The patterns and designs etched into the wood became my point of distraction.
He turned and began to remove his shirt. I watched from the corner of my eye, seeing the scratches marring his back. It was a satisfying sight. I refocused on the ceiling as he began to turn my way again. He moved away momentarily, his form fading into the shadows. When he returned, the silver blade was in his hand. I watched as he handled it with care, so he didn’t burn himself on the handle.
It was then I noticed his pants were off. I hadn’t heard him remove the belt he was wearing, let alone the slacks. He was left in only his black briefs.
There was a conflicting sense of resentment and reluctant admiration at how physically striking he was. It felt shallow and absurd to consider when thinking of my current situation, but I couldn't help but acknowledge that facing all this would have been even more challenging if he hadn't been so compellingly attractive.
As he settled beside me, the way his golden-brown skin glowed with a sun-kissed hue made him even more enticing. His dark hair was still styled the same as usual, and I found myself wanting to touch it. My attention drifted to the intricate tattoo that adorned his skin, the devil in his likeness.
He began to speak, gently stroking my body with one hand. I listened alertly. "My father passed this blade to me. It's a symbol in itself, a private tradition that goes beyond rituals." He rotated the blade slightly. “Things were different when he was in my position. They called him Del Diablo.”
“Different how?” I asked distractedly, my mind racing with implications on why he needed the knife.
“He hadn’t established himself here yet and had to move quickly to claim my mother or risk losing her forever due to some family issues at hand.” He shifted and spread my legs, partially easing himself between them. “My mother was branded with savagery and marred by trauma. She’s never quite forgiven him for it. He hasn’t been able to forgive himself either. I chose to spare you from such an experience.”
I took that in, feeling a sort of kinship and immediate curiosity for this woman. If she was marked in such a disturbing way, that had to mean she wasn’t part of this clandestine world either. I imagined she grew to accept it.
Did that mean she loved him too—Alexander’s father? Had she happily created a family and raised their kids?
I couldn’t imagine him sharing this entirely out of kindness. There had to be more to it, something deeper and perhaps darker.
“Why are you telling me this?” I finally asked, keeping my voice light. “What do you want from me?”
“Everything.” His gaze lowered, and even with the scar marring his face, his features were the epitome of masculine perfection. “I’m going to take everything from you because I have that right. Because I’m selfish and more than a little obsessed and want everything you have to offer.” He spread my legs wider and ran the edge of the blade along my inner thigh. “Body, mind, and soul. I want it all, deliciae. And I will have it.”
The blade pressed into my skin—not enough to cut, but the sting was there. “Will you give me it willingly, or do I need to take it from you?” he questioned with a deceptive softness.
I swallowed, my heart beating so soundly I could barely hear myself think. I wasn’t sure what he was asking for. Submission? Me? Or was it more than that? Maybe this was another gesture of possession.
I was afraid.
I feared him and those eyes that seemed to see right through me, making everything inside my head a chaotic mess. Feared what he planned to do with me with the knife pressing against my skin. Most of all, I feared myself for being the special kind of screwed up that wanted to find out.