Page 85 of Take Me Darkly

For an agonizing second, he froze, his muscles corded like iron bands as his past fought his present. Then, with a long, shuddering exhale, his head dropped forward, and a single, rough word tore from his throat.

“Yes.”

I laid my palms flat between his shoulder blades. I kept my touch firm, warm, and fiercely deliberate. Beneath my hands, I felt the exact, breathtaking instant his body stopped bracing for violence—as if a part of him that had spent a lifetime waiting to be struck from behind was finally being held with pure, reverent love.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered into his skin. “I’m taking care of you. Let me.”

I moved back around to face him. Instinctively, his hands reached out to take command, but I pressed one palm flat against his chest, holding him in place.

“Stay there. Just watch me, Anton.”

His dark pupils dilated until his eyes went almost entirely black. The heat in his gaze landed low in my stomach, a heavy, liquid pulse that shortened my breath. I crossed my arms, gripped the hem of my shirt, and pulled it over my head, letting him watch every inch of skin reveal itself—my stomach, my waist, and the sheer lace of the purple bra underneath. I let the shirt drop into a soft heap at my feet.

He didn’t move an inch, but I saw what the restraint cost him by the heavy pulse thrumming violently in his throat and the way his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

I reached for the button of my jeans, taking my time, sliding the denim down my hips until I could step free of them. Then I straightened, standing bare before him in nothing but the dark lace and the amethyst pendant resting in the hollow of my throat.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel small or vulnerable under a man’s stare. I felt powerful. I held the flame, and I was going to watch his walls burn.

“Princess,” he rasped, his hands straining, the tendons in his forearms standing out like wires. “You’re killing me.”

“No,” I repeated, stepping into his space, taking his clenched fists in mine and uncurling his long fingers one by one until his broad palms lay open against my hips. “I’m bringing you back to life. There’s a difference.”

I took his hand and led him down the short corridor to the dimly lit bedroom. When the backs of his knees met the edge of the mattress, I pressed a hand to his chest, guiding him down, and immediately climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips.

I unbuckled his belt and stripped the remaining denim from his body, taking my time, tracing the heavy muscle of his thighs. He was rock-hard against my touch, his heavy shaft pulsing against my palm as I wrapped my fingers around his length. A harsh, broken breath hissed through his teeth, his head snapping back into the pillows, exposing the long, powerful arch of his throat.

I leaned down and set my mouth to his pulse point, feeling his heart hammering wildly against my lips.

“Fuck, Serena...”

He was trembling beneath me. His large hands came up to grip my thighs, his knuckles white. I rose up over him, guiding his thick tip to where I was already drenched and aching for him.

Slowly, deliberately, I lowered myself onto his shaft. I took him into my body inch by agonizing inch, expanding around his immense girth until my core met his hips. The sheer fullness of him stole the air right out of my lungs. He filled me so completely that for a moment neither of us could breathe. His dark eyes locked onto mine, both of us suspended in the absolute center of an emotional storm.

“Dio mio,” I gasped, my back arching.

Then, I began to move.

I set a slow, deep, devastating rhythm, rolling my hips, watching the iron control he guarded so fiercely shatter across his face in magnificent, agonizing waves. His hands moved to my waist, then up to cup my bare breasts, holding onto me for leverage rather than steering the pace.

For once, Anton Romano was not the commander.

For once, the brutal weight of being strong belonged to me, and all he had to do was feel.

“Look at me,” I commanded, borrowing his own favorite phrase.

His dark eyes lifted instantly, obeying me.

There was nothing guarded left in his gaze. The billionaire mask was gone, the tactical calculations were gone, and even the scarred survivor was gone. What looked back at me was simply the man—raw, undone, and completely mine.

I gave him everything I had. I quickened the pace when his gasps turned ragged, and slowed when I felt him climbing too fast toward the edge. I held him right at the precipice of ecstasy, the friction between us building into a white-hot fire. It gathered deep in my center, tightening into a knot of pure sensation. He swelled even harder inside me, his hips rising off the mattress to drive deeper into my slick heat despite his attempt at restraint.

“Serena, I can’t...” he ground out, his knuckles digging into the sheets. “I’m not going to last... not like this... not with you⁠—”

“Then don’t,” I breathed, leaning down until our lips brushed. “Let go, Anton. Give it to me.”

My words broke him.