Page 45 of Take Me Darkly

“Drink.”

I parted my lips, letting the cold liquid slide down my throat. Bubbles danced on my tongue, crisp and slightly sweet. A rogue drop escaped the corner of my mouth, trailing down my chin, and I licked it away, catching his dark gaze as I did.

His eyes burned black. His thumb and forefinger caught my chin, tilting my face up to meet his uncompromising stare.

“What’s your safeword, Serena?”

The question sent a shiver through me. Although we’d established it during the club tour, hearing it now, in this context, made everything feel real. Final. Like I was about to cross a threshold I couldn’t uncross.

“Denaro,” I breathed.

“Good.” He smiled, dark and possessive, and something in that smile made my stomach flip. “On your knees, princess.”

For a single second, I hesitated. Not because I didn’t want to—God, I craved it—but because some deeply ingrained part of me whispered that good Catholic girls didn’t do this. That pleasure, especially this kind of pleasure, was something to be ashamed of.

I’m tired of being good. Tired of denying myself.

I sank to my knees.

Looking up at Anton, taking in the steady rise and fall of his broad chest and the heavy, undeniable bulge behind his dark trousers, a rush of empowerment washed over me. He wanted me with a hunger that defied reason.

“Close your eyes,” he said softly.

I obeyed, my lashes fluttering shut. Footsteps circled behind me, the air shifting as he moved. Then, a cool strip of folded silk pressed over my eyelids.

A blindfold.

The world went dark, instantly sharpening every other sense to a razor’s edge. The knot was secured firmly at the back of my head. The music swelled around me, the sultry vocals rising in a crescendo of longing, but I was hyper-aware of everything else: the rustle of tailored fabric, the sharp clink of his belt buckle, and his signature scent—sandalwood, leather, and pure heat.

“Can you see anything?” he asked from behind me.

“No.”

“Good.” His fingers traced down my spine, and I shivered. “Do you know what I love about blindfolds?”

I shook my head, my throat too tight to speak.

“They make you focus and force you to surrender control.” His broad hands settled on my shoulders, his thumbs digging into the tense muscles at the base of my neck. “No distractions. Just sensation and feeling. Give it all to me, princess.”

Surrender all control.

The idea sent heat pooling between my thighs.

I heard him step back around to face me, followed by the harsh drag of a zipper. Then his hand tangled firmly in my hair at the crown of my head, guiding my face forward.

“Open that beautiful mouth.”

I parted my lips, and he filled me.

The taste of him hit my tongue—salt, warm skin, and pure male essence. He was thick, hot, and unforgivingly hard. As he pushed deeper, I focused on breathing through my nose, relaxing my throat to accommodate him. My hands came up instinctively, gripping his thick, corded thighs for balance. The dense muscle beneath my palms trembled with rigid restraint.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his grip tightening in my hair as he set a slow, deep rhythm. “Fuck, Serena. You look so perfect like this.”

And I felt perfect like this.

The realization shocked me. Being ordered to my knees should have felt subservient, but it didn’t. The blind sensation of him in my mouth and the sound of his desire—the harsh breaths and low curses—made me feel intoxicatingly powerful. I was holding the key to his undoing.

That knowledge sent heat flooding through me. I was wet, aching, my body responding to his pleasure as if it were my own. I took him deeper, using my tongue the way he’d used his on me. Exploring. Tasting. Learning what made him moan. When I hollowed my cheeks and sucked, his hips jerked forward involuntarily.