Page 66 of Dark Souls

“Fuck!” he roared, zooming towards me with his blazing eyes and his fangs bared. His hands gripped the side of the armchair, tilting it back, so it was balancing on the back legs as he trapped me in it.

My breath hitched but not out of fear like he clearly expected. Being this close to him again was stirring up all those forbidden desires I was trying to keep buried so I could maintain a clear head. But his scent, the warmth of his body so close to mine, his rapid breathing tickling my face was only heightening my need. I was not a weak woman, but I was starting to realise this man may be my weakness.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I whispered, our noses so close they were almost touching.

Those hellish eyes flicked down to my lips. “You should be. You should run from me. Get as far away from me as you can because I am bad fucking news.”

“If you don’t want me, why did you kill that man?” I challenged him again, wanting to break through and prove to him that he felt more than just rage when it came to us. Wetting my lips when his eyes remained on them, I arched my back a little, pressing my head back into the cushion so I could stare into his eyes. He slowly lowered the chair back to four legs but kept his hands gripping the arms like he needed it to ground him.

“He lay his hand on you. So I ripped it off. He disrespected you. So I ended his life. It is as simple as that.”

“You disrespected me, too.” I arched an eyebrow. “Who fucks their soulmate and leaves without a goodbye?”

His eyes flashed up to mine as he brushed the tips of our noses together. “I’d rip my own head off if I could, trust me.”

“I’d be more than happy to do it for you. In fact, it’s all I’ve been dreaming of ever since.”

His lips lifted into a devilish smirk that made my knees weak. Why did he have to be so disgustingly hot? Why was the universe so cruel?

“Please. Do me the honours. Put me out of my misery.”

Our breathing mingled together, mixing as one breath as we got lost in each other’s eyes.

“Stop staring at me like that, Spitfire. Those fucking eyes are too much,” he husked, sending waves of desire coursing through my veins as my heart raced.

“How am I looking at you? Like I am not scared of wanting you? Like I’m remembering what it felt like to have your huge cock stretching me so good it hurts? It makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it? Looking me in the eyes. Why?”

“Don’t do this, Ilaria. I’ll destroy you. I’ll corrupt you. You give yourself to me and I’ll ruin your fucking life.” His lips brushed against mine as if I was the one controlling his actions. “Go home,” he ordered, contradicting his words by keeping me trapped in the chair. Actions speak louder than words, my beloved.

“Why do my eyes make you uncomfortable?” I pushed, feeling how close to the edge we both were to breaking.

“Ilaria.”

“Why?”

He bit his lower lip between his fangs as his eyes danced with fire. “Because… when I look into those pretty fucking eyes, they make me forget. For a moment, they make me forget everything I am. Everything I’ve done. They make me want things I can’t have.”

“What things?” I whispered. I knew I was treading dangerous waters here; one wrong move and I’d lose him. My fingers ached to reach up and caress his high cheekbones or trace his tattooed chest but I refrained, remembering how he’d tensed at the cabin when I’d tried to touch him. Instead, I lowered my hand to my thigh, drawing small circles over my skin as his gaze followed the movement.

“I want things I don’t deserve. Night after night, I want to feel your body shuddering beneath mine while I fuck you in our bed. I want to learn every little noise you make and what they mean when I’m exploring your limits. I want to draw a map of your body and memorise every curve, every scar, every blemish, every inch until I know it better than I know my own.”

My breathing became laboured, listening to his seductive words in that deep, accented drawl. I hitched my dress up my thighs as his words set my soul alight and the embers danced across my skin. His hungry eyes drank in my creamy thighs and the glimpse of my black lace thong as my fingers moved to the material, needing to satisfy the ache in my core and wanting to torture him at the same time.

“I want to know the taste of your blood. I want to cover you in mine. I want us raw, wild and untamed. I want to escape the world I know and only live in yours. Be where you are. I want to feel what it’s like to have everything I don’t deserve.”

My back arched as my fingers rotated over the fabric of my underwear, circling my clit as I moaned, “Who says you don’t deserve those things?”

He swallowed, his breathing shallow as his grip tightened on the chair, his eyes unable to move from where I was pleasuring myself with no inhibitions.

“I do. I’m not a good man, Ilaria. I never will be. You deserve better than me.”

“What if I don’t want a good man?” I moaned as the pleasure built. Just having his dangerous eyes watching me with so much primal need like it would kill him if I stopped was the biggest turn on of my life. My fingers dipped inside me and he groaned. “I just want someone real,” I breathed, my voice strained as the orgasm built. “I don’t need you to be honourable or perfect. Clearly, you are far from that but I am still here. I just need you.”

A moan escaped me as he leaned forwards, pressing his forehead against mine as my fingers moved faster, chasing the pleasure that was imminent. With our chests heaving, his pupils blew wide as his eyes held me captive, inches from each other.

“Are you going to come for me, love?”

“No,” I panted. “I’m going to come for me. You’ll be on your knees begging before I ever come for you again.”

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