Page 138 of Seeking Vengeance

“I’m not helpless,” I snarl.

“No?” He sinks to his knees before me, the show of submission in conflict with the sickening severity in his eyes. “Do you really think you can protect yourself?” He places his hands on my knees, the heat of his palms seeping through my jeans. “That you’d stand a chance?”

“Don’t touch me.” My voice shakes with the demand. With the disgusting thrill his contact provides.

He slides his fingers farther along my thighs and leans against my shins. “You’re in danger, Layla.”

I know. And not only from Emmanuel.

The man before me is my biggest threat.

His touch is impending doom. His gaze promises suffering of the most wicked kind.

“Get. Your hands. Off me.” I enunciate the words slowly. Violently.

“Admit it,” he murmurs. “You still want to fuck me.”

I raise a hand to slap him only to have my wrist captured in a vise grip. I try with the other and he steals that, too, dragging me forward by my forearms until we’re face-to-face, our breath mingling.

“What we have is real whether you like it or not,” he snarls against my lips. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re still hungry for me.”

“I’m hungry for blood.” I struggle to free my wrists, wriggling, tugging, hating not only the hold he has on my arms, but the one he has on my heart. “You’re going to regret what you’ve done.”

“No, I won’t. Because what I did brought us together.”

His confidence sparks insanity. I thrash, scream, attempt to kick at his thighs.

“Enough.” He stands, dragging my arms above my head. “Want me to prove how much you want me?” He swings me sideways, stretching me across the sofa.

I buck and twist and struggle, fighting and fighting while he climbs on top of me.

“No,” I scream. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

I stop breathing, stop moving as the heavy weight of him sinks against my hips, my hands trapped above my head, his eyes never leaving mine.

I hate this.

I hatehim.

But he’s right. I want him, too.

I need him. Crave him. Can’t stop my nerves tingling from the lust-drunk memories of what it means for our bodies to be joined.

And his dick—oh, God—is erect, hard and adamant against my pubic bone, sending me into a world of tingles.

I despise him. I love him. I loathe him. I’m lost.

He leans in, attempting to kiss me, my mouth watering in response.

“Don’t.” I turn my face away, not willing to capitulate. I’m stronger than this.

“Amore mio,”he murmurs against my cheek. “You’re all that matters to me.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing down the pained cry that demands to be heard.

He nuzzles my jaw, my neck, his lips leaving gentle kisses along my carotid. “I will earn your trust.”

“Impossible,” I whisper. “I’ll never believe a word you say.”

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