Page 100 of A Beautiful Crime

God damn him.

My hand without thought gravitates towards the steak knife. My fingers itch to wrap themselves around the handle.

And the most depraved thought crosses my mind. Would his flesh break easier than this tender piece of meat?

As he bites into another piece of steak I take hold of the knife.

To my horror it feels right. Holding this knife, in this manner, with my impure twisted thoughts, it feels like an extension of my hand.

“Unless you are going to do something with it I suggest you drop it.” Constantine eyes the knife in my hand with a bored expression. Intuitively I know he’s done calculated every move Ican possibly make. He isn’t afraid of a mere knife. He wouldn’t even be afraid of a machine gun.

I eye the knife and then him. And although I tell myself I would never bring any harm to him I don’t drop the knife. “Are you challenging me?”

He drops his own cutlery, pushing his plate which is only half eaten to the side. He raises a brow at me. “And why would I do that?”

My nostrils flare. “Don’t attempt to be funny. You are challenging me. All you ever do is challenge me!” Unable to contain my anger I rise from my seat and tread across the hardwood floors driven by no plan but only by intense emotion.

Distantly I hear the creak of his own chair as he abandons it.

And my traitorous body feels him before I can even turn to see him. It yearns to close the distance. To have his morally corrupt hands on my skin and for it to feel like heaven.

And I loathe how even the deepest part of me that I refuse to accept yearns for it, too.

“You’re even more desirable when you’re wrathful.” I turn to find his eyes gleaming with pleasure and his voice oozes desire. I loathe how his voice is a soft caress to my skin and how it ignites a heat in my lower abdomen.

Surprising both him and I, I press the knife against his throat. A whisper of a touch that is threatening. “I will slit your throat.”

My threat causes his pupils to dilate, the pleasure swallowing his eyes whole.

Dio mio.

I turn breathless as I imagine him swallowing me whole.

His hand ghosts over the flare of my hip. And I find myself sickly anticipating his touch. My body hums like a live wire for him.

He continues to tantalize me. His hand ascends, his fingers a hairbreadth from touching me. He pauses over the swell of my breasts which are rising and falling in an exaggerated way due to my erratic heartbeat.

My body is all but begging for him to touch me but I do not lose grip of the knife against his throat.

“Give in to the darkness inside you.” His voice is the art of seduction. My breath hitches in my throat. “Stop fighting it.”

“Why must you keep pushing this? What’s in it for you?” I press.

“To see you alive.”

An intense heat unfurls in my stomach and my heart pounds ferociously in my chest. I apply pressure to the knife, although it doesn’t faze him. “I don’t wish for that.” What a lie.

“Mia leonessa, Carina.” The way he says my name induces a shiver down my spine. With the smirk that graces his lips he knows the profound effect he has on me. Damn him. “What beautiful lies pour from your lips so easily. Tell me, do they taste bitter or have you formed an acquired taste?”

“I’m not lying,” I vehemently deny.

He hums in thought, lips pulled upwards with amusement and eyes dancing with mischief. Seeing him like this should repulse me but it has the opposite effect. He thrills me.

Dio mio. If I had the strength to kill myself I would. Because these feelings Constantine evokes, the damn unkillable flutters, the maddening need to feel his lips on my own, it shouldn’t be.

And yet, here I am, standing before him with a knife pressed to his throat with my voice denying him at each turn and my body eagerly awaiting him.

“Then let me taste it for myself.” He’s not asking for permission nor is he seeking an answer.

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