Page 78 of Lord of the Dark

He gripped my chin from behind, pulled my head closer to his mouth. "I'll hurt you, Fiona," he said softly. "Not to humiliate you, but to heighten your pleasure." He paused, left me hanging in that overwhelming tension before adding, unmistakable hunger in his voice: "Unless you want it."

At his last words, my throat tightened. The darkness in his voice reached a new, even more dangerous depth.

"You'd enjoy humiliating me," I murmured. The answer was already there, hanging between us.

He didn’t smile, remained stern, almost ruthless. "I won’t lie to you, Fiona. How can you know what you like if you’ve never tried it?" he said calmly. "It’s about testing limits together. Feeling you. Feeling me." He lowered his voice further, until it was nothing but a deep rumble. "But you’re not ready yet."

I couldn’t reply, every muscle in my body wound tight to the point of snapping. The unshakable conviction in his voice, the ruthlessness of his words, shot through my veins like an electric current. It was as if he were separating my body from my mind—while my body trembled with arousal, every alarm bell in my head screamed.

He was still behind me. I couldn’t see him. Only feel him. His nearness, his heat—the inevitable tension between us. Suddenly, he pulled me tighter against him. With a deft motion, he drew the tie over my face and bound it firmly over my eyes. Darkness. All at once, everything was gone—light, orientation, control.

"Now you think less," he whispered behind me. "And feel more."

He had barely spoken when I felt his fingers slip beneath my panties, pulling me from my paralysis. Deliberately slow, he pressed his fingers into me, pushed deeper. His other hand held my throat, tilting me back against his warm body. Though the apartment was utterly silent, blood roared in my ears at an unbearable volume.

I felt his hand rise to my chin, wrenching my face to the side as he shoved the fingers—still wet from inside me—into my mouth, forcing me to taste myself. My own salt sharp on my tongue, a mix of faint shame and dizzying arousal.

"Taste that?" he murmured.

I had never tasted myself before, nor would I have thought to want to. But if I’d known how erotic it would feel, I’d have tried it sooner.

"That’s the kick you’ve been chasing," he rasped. Then, in one brutal motion, he shoved me away. My heart skipped—blind, disoriented, no sense of direction or distance. But before panic could take root, the mattress yielded beneath me. He was over me instantly, dragging me toward the headboard. Wordless, he seized my wrists. One fluid, unstoppable motion, and he had them pinned above my head, the belt cinching tight. Cool leather bit into my skin, his fingers working deftly as my breaths turned shallow.

"Alessandro—" I whispered, half protest, half surrender.

He bent over me, lips grazing my ear as he breathed, "Quiet. Let it happen."

A soft click of the belt—and I knew I couldn’t move. Bound. Blindfolded. Helpless. Control was my oxygen; without it, I was adrift. But with him, it was different. In every act, an unshakable certainty. A calm stronger than my fear. I trusted him—more than I’d ever trusted anyone.

Skilled hands slid my panties down. I held my breath. His touch was sure, steady, charged with an intensity that unmoored me before he even made contact. Trapped, blind—every sensation struck twice as hard. When his warm breath hit my sensitive skin, my pulse spiked. Then his mouth found my clit, gentle at first, demanding with every exhale. A broken whimper escaped me. I couldn’t see him, couldn’t guide him—only feel him. Every flick of his tongue, every slow circle dragged me deeper into heat and want. He hitched my leg higher, spread me wider—and I let him, greedy for every second. His tongue delved deeper, his mouth worshiping with a devotion that left me lightheaded. I tasted his impatience, his hunger, his raw reverence, all without a word. When two fingers slid into me, slow and deep, my body arched toward him—a greed I’d never known before.

I wanted more. Of him. Only him.

Then I felt his fingers glide over the delicate lace of my bra, as if he enjoyed the fabric just as much as what lay hidden beneath. My hands were bound above my head, and that turned every movement, every touch from him into a fireworks display of sensation. The air in the room was cool, and I felt it like a gentle whisper on my bare skin. His fingertips traced the curves of my breasts, soft yet demanding, before he gripped harder.

"Fiona..." His voice was nothing but a rough exhale, so quiet it nearly drowned in my rapid breaths. His hands kneaded me, explored me, squeezed and pulled until I felt the heat inmy body rise higher and higher. I felt his lips, a soft kiss on my hardened nipple. But the moment of tenderness was over quickly. His tongue flicked over my nipple before he drew it between his teeth. A surge of pain and pleasure shot through me, so intense that I instinctively tugged at the belt that kept my hands stubbornly restrained. It was a feeling that overwhelmed me completely, blurring the line between torment and ecstasy. His grip tightened, his movements grew more deliberate, and I was trapped in a whirlpool of lust, pain, and the absolute control he held over me.

He lifted my body slightly, pulled me effortlessly toward him until I felt his hard erection press against me. I clenched my lips together, my entire body trembling under this tense anticipation, this moment poised on the brink of explosion.

"Tell me you belong to me." His breath brushed my earlobe, his teeth closed around it lightly before his tongue soothed my skin. A shudder ran through me, I arched my back, instinctively trying to get closer to him, and released a soft, panting sound that he answered with a satisfied hum.

"Why…" I didn’t belong to him.

He didn’t respond with words. Instead, I felt his lips on my stomach. He sucked my skin in, but so suddenly and so firmly that I cried out involuntarily. Pain lanced through me, sharp and hot. I writhed, whimpering softly.

"I won’t tell you…" I gasped. "I don’t belong to you..."

Not a word from him. He shifted upward, his lips finding the sensitive underside of my upper arms. A second kiss that didn’t deserve the name. Because it felt more like a bite, delivered by his devilish lips. I gasped again, felt my entire body jerk. Another kiss—this time on the other side. Again that bite, the vicious burn beneath the skin. His hand pressed against my throat. He pushed me down gently with it, forced me into a position where I felt even more—his body, his tension, his absolute control.

I moaned. Deep, rough, uncontrolled. Pleasure and pain merged inside me into an all-consuming intoxication.

"Say it, Fiona," he whispered. "Say you belong to me."

I pressed my lips together. Not out of defiance. Not because I didn’t feel it. But because I didn’t want to end what I reaped for my resistance. Because every second he demanded more of me, teased me further, pushed past my limits, was like a firestorm in my veins. The pain, the surrender—a singular feeling that robbed me of my senses. I didn’t want it to stop. I wanted more. And so I stayed silent. My entire body burned, trembled, begged.

But he didn’t respond with another command. Instead, he moved. And then the tip of his cock was right where I needed him most. Right at my entrance. Hot. So damn tempting.

I sucked in a sharp breath. My hips jerked forward involuntarily, but he pulled back. Just far enough that I could still feel him but couldn’t have him.

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