I can’t think. That one little question has rocked me. And he keepslookingat me, standing there in all his toned, muscular glory. Wisps of shadow caress his caramel skin as he towers there, the epitome of a dark god.
He tilts his head slowly, studying me in silence, and that smile of his is wicked, evil, knowing.
Then he steps closer.
“Scared of what I’ll do,” he murmurs, in that rich, heavy voice. “How I’ll taint you.” His shadows curl around my legs. “Ruin you.” They part my thighs. “Claim you.” He steps between them.
Then, eyes never leaving mine—
He lowers to his knees.
My heart pounds so hard I swear he can hear it.
“Shh,” he murmurs, that smile still lingering as he settles on his knees. “Don’t be scared.” His fingers caress my ankle, gentle, the barest touch. “You wanted this.”
He’s right. I did. I do. I teased him, pushed him, dressed like this.
It should scare me, and maybe part of me is. But it’s the kind of fear that sets my pulse racing and my skin burning. The kind that coils low in my stomach and makes me forget how to breathe.
Because I like him like this.
The teasing threat in his voice, the dark promise in his stare, the wicked curve of his mouth.
I’m not scared of him. I’m scared of how much I want him.
Dark. Dangerous.Mine.
His hand brushes over my shin, my knee, my thigh—reaching the hem of my dress before he rubs the soft fabric between his fingers.
“Was this for me?” he asks, peering up, dark lashes casting shadows over eyes that promise very dark intentions.
I nod. It’s the first bit of movement I’ve managed.
A breath of a sound escapes him, low and rough. A hum of approval. It hits me deep.
My expression crumples under the sound, my lips parting. It’s like my body’s been hard-wired to that tiny, devastating sound of praise.
Of course I’ve worn this dress on purpose. I thought it’d be funny. White, soft, angelic, every inch of it calculated. A callback to another time. A little innocent. A little not.
I thought it’d throw him off. But all I’ve done is set him loose. And I don’t regret it.
“Take it off.”
What? He’s still holding the dress, still staring up at me with those gleaming eyes of obsidian as his order rolls over me.
I should just do it. Part of me is desperate to, but another part… maybe my darkness, doesn’t want to be so easy.
He said he liked the fight.
I stare at him, on his knees before me, and slowly shake my head.
He closes his eyes, and those lips curve into another dangerous smile.
It’s not anger in his expression, that’s not what he’s feeling at all from my little denial. No, it’s the very opposite.
When he opens them again, the glimmer has darkened.
“Take it off,” he repeats, voice lower—deeper. His fingers slip under the hem, spreading out over my thigh. “Or I’ll rip it off.”
