Page 106 of Dance of Madness

The question slams into me at the same moment I realize she’s not clawing my chest, she’spushing it away.

I go still, the red haze of lust fading slightly as I look down into her eyes.

Milena’s bottom lip retreats between her teeth as she looks up at me with those big blue eyes that wreck me more than they fucking should.

“The other day,” she whispers, both of us panting as we stop grinding together, my cock still buried deep. “At Greymoor. Why did you?—”

My jaw tightens.

“It doesn’t matter,” I growl quietly. A whimper rips from her throat, her eyes rolling back as I draw my cock almost all the way out and then thrust back in.

I start to fuck her again, but then there’s that hand, patting my chest to stop me.

So I do.

Begrudgingly.

“It matters tome,” she murmurs, her pulse still hammering madly in her neck. Her body still twitching and trembling. Her pussy still rippling up and down my dick like it’s already bored of this conversation and wants me to keep fucking it.

“Look—”

“Was it something I said?”

My brows knit into a scowl. “It’s not you,” I mutter. “It’s?—“

“Oh mygod,” she groans. “It’s not you, it’s me? Seriously?”

I rest my fists on either side of her head, my arms tense as I hover above her.

Her legs are still wrapped tight around me. Her needy pussy is stillclinging to me and squeezing my dick like itreallyhasn’t gotten the message that, technically speaking, we’re not fucking right now.

My eyes lock on hers.

“You like to play in the dark, princess.”

She frowns. “Yes, but you’re avoiding the question. Why?—”

“I fuckinglive there,” I growl. “You’re?—”

“What?” she snaps testily. “Atourist?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Your words.”

A blue the color of storm clouds blooms in her eyes as they darken. “So—what, you left because you decided I wasn’t kinky enough for you? You can’t seriously believe that after what happened prior to you walking the fuck out.”

I.e., me chasing her through a haunted mansion, slamming her down on the stairs, and fucking her like I was trying to rape her.

She’s right: if we can agree that she wasveryinto that—and shewas—then it’s hard to imagine me thinking she wasn’t up to a certain level of kink.

Except I’m not talking about kinks. I’m not talking about what weird, fucked-up shit gets me hard and her wet.

I’m talking about the scars that were carved into my psyche fifteen years ago.

Part of me wants to explain that, even in the vaguest terms. But that part of me is buried so deep in the mud, and the walls around that mud are so thick, that evenIcan’t get through to dig it all up.

I’m still hard when I slowly pull out and sit back on my haunches. A shadow ripples over Milena’s face as she scoots away from me, drawing her knees up to her chin and tugging the comforter over her again.

“You don’t want my brand of dark,” I growl. “Trust me.”

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