Page 32 of Seek Me Darling

There’s weight on me. Heavy. Unmoving.

A man straddles me, knees planted firm against the mattress, pinning me like I’m prey. One of his hands traps both my wrists above my head, fingers tight and unyielding. The other is over my mouth—hard and deliberate—muffling the scream that claws its way up my throat.

I can’t see his face. But I can feel the certainty in his grip.

Moonlight cuts through the window, landing across the figure above me. He’s covered head to toe in black tactical gear. No insignia. No identity. Complete with glasses that gleam with an odd light that hints at night vision and full head covering. Everything about him screams precision. Discipline. Purpose.

And something about the full tactical getup speaks directly to my dark fucking soul.

Like he came for war.

And if that’s what he wants? I’ll fucking give it to him.

“Don’t bite,” he murmurs.

The voice is filtered through a modulator, distorted and mechanical—just like the ones we use in our skull masks with the organization.

My body twists hard, hips bucking against his to throw him off-balance. I twist, push, strain against him, shifting all my weight to try and roll, throw him, anything—but he's heavier than me. Stronger. Built like he was made for this exact moment. My wrists ache in his grip. My muscles scream, but he never so much as flinches. All he does is hold me there—contained, restrained, completely under his control.

Once I wear myself out—my breathing ragged, chest heaving—he leans down. His mask brushes against the skin of my jaw, a cool scrape of hard polymer against flushed skin. I hear it then, clear and unmistakable—a breath. Inhaled deep, slow through some hidden valve in his mask like the fucker is savoring me. Drinking me in.

Jealousy flickers sharp and stupid across my thoughts—because our skull masks don’t have that nifty little feature.

"You smell so fucking good," he breathes, voice modulated but thick with hunger.

His gloved fingers press against my mouth, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to make his point. I can feel the strength in his grip, the casual dominance that sets my blood on fire even as my mind screams in defiance.

"I'm going to move my hand now," he says calmly, that modulated voice somehow more unsettling in its evenness. "And it won't matter if you scream. In fact, I want you to scream for me, Seanna. I want to hear every desperate sound you make."

Slowly, he slides his hand from my mouth, trailing it down to rest against the column of my throat. The leather of his gloves is buttery soft, a sensual contrast to the unyielding strength I can feel coiled in his body above me.

"Ruin," I hiss through clenched teeth, glaring up at that impassive mask. "You sick fuck, what the hell do you think you're-"

A dark chuckle cuts me off, the sound distorted and mechanical. "Oh, darling. I'm not Ruin." He leans in closer, that blank facade filling my vision. "You can call me Rule. As in, you're going to follow my rules like a good girl.”

Indignation flares hot and bright in my chest. "Like hell I will," I snarl, trying to thrash against his hold again. But he merely tightens his grip, pressing me harder into the mattress until I'm gasping for air.

"Ruin may indulge your defiance," he murmurs, a thread of cruel amusement winding through his words. "But I'm not as nice as him. You need to stop this foolish crusade against Reyes. No more meetings with Cruz. Because if you keep pushing, keep putting yourself at risk, you'll only have yourself to blame for what happens. So, the meeting tomorrow? It's not happening. Cancel it."

Fury lances through me, white-hot and blinding. How dare he try to dictate my actions, my choices? I open my mouth, a barrage of vicious insults ready to spill from my lips, but he cuts me off with a squeeze of his fingers around my throat.

"Careful, darling," he purrs, the endearment dripping with mocking condescension. "Wouldn't want to say something you'll regret."

I bare my teeth at him, anger and something darker, more primal, coiling tightly in my gut. "Fuck you," I hiss venomously. "I don't take orders from psychotic stalkers who get off on breaking into women's bedrooms."

His hand tightens fractionally around my throat, a warning and a promise. "You'll take my orders because you don't have a choice, Seanna. You’re ours, you belong to us. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be for everyone."

Despite the fury churning inside me, a traitorous shiver of heat slides down my spine at his words. Belong to them? Like hell. I'm Seanna fucking Darling—I don't belong to anyone.

"You're delusional," I snap, still straining against his unyielding grip. "I don't know what sick game you and Ruin are playing, but I'm not interested. Now get the fuck off me before I show you exactly why messing with me is a bad idea."

He laughs then, the sound dark and mocking even through the modulator. "Oh, I'd love to see you try, darling. But we both know you're not going anywhere until I say so."

As if to prove his point, he leans down, pressing his masked face against the sensitive skin of my neck. I feel his breath, hot and damp, as he drags the smooth surface of the mask along my thundering pulse point. Every muscle in my body goes taut, a mixture of revulsion and reluctant arousal warring for dominance.

"I could do anything I wanted to you right now," he murmurs, his free hand sliding down my body with deliberate slowness. "And part of you would love every second of it, wouldn't you? Because deep down, you crave this. The danger. The loss of control. Being at the mercy of someone strong enough to overpower you."

I clench my jaw so hard my teeth ache, hating the kernel of truth in his words. I've always been drawn to the darkness, to the razor's edge between pain and pleasure. But I'll be damned if I let this asshole use that against me.

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