Page 29 of Lord of the Dark

"Stay still," he ordered, withdrawing his fingers, leaving a wettrail down my chin as his other hand went to his belt. The soft rasp of leather as he pulled it free was the only sound in the room. Slowly, deliberately, he let it glide through his fingers, savoring the moment. Then he looped it around my neck, tightening just enough for me to feel its weight. Every movement was executed with such confidence, it was clear this role was second nature to him.

"I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you—you’re a goddamn demon." He pulled the leather a fraction tighter, letting me feel the pressure, letting me feel his control wrapping around me. "But you’d be stupid to damage what you want most."

I tracked his every motion, watched as his other hand went to his waistband, heard the quiet click of the buckle. He dragged the zipper down slowly, letting tension build with every passing second, relishing the way I watched, forbidden from touching.

My breath hitched as he finally freed himself. I couldn’t look away—not from the hardness straining his length, not from the thick veins running along it, not from the sheer size of him that both terrified and flooded me with feverish heat. I only wanted him more.

He saw it in my dilated pupils, in the way my lips parted unconsciously.

"Greedy," he murmured, amused. He stroked himself with rough determination, the movements of his hand, the tightness of his grip, making wetness soak through my panties. Every taut tendon in his arm spoke of pure, unrestrained need. Tentatively, I leaned forward, desperate to taste him.

A sharp jerk of the belt—the pressure around my throat tightened uncomfortably, holding me back. "You wait," he reminded me in a deep voice, asserting his dominance. He kept me exactly where he wanted—balanced between anticipation and total surrender. Finally, he lowered his hand, letting the slick head of his cock brush my cheek. I could smell the salt of hisarousal, feel him growing harder against me, grinding along my skin, ratcheting the tension higher.

"Now you’re behaving, hm?" His voice was dark, a mocking growl as he pressed the tip against my lips again, parting them, testing how far I’d go. "Prove it."

My body reacted as if it had already surrendered to him.

I hated him for it. I slowly parted my lips, letting them envelop him, taking him in, teasing him with my tongue. But just as I began to grow accustomed to his taste, just as I started to savor him—he seized control. His fingers dug painfully into my hair, holding me immobile. Then he thrust forward. No gentle advance. No gradual surrender. Just pure, merciless possession.

He took me with a ferocity that stole my breath, challenging me to yield completely, leaving me no choice but to submit to this overwhelming force. My throat strained under the intensity, tears pricking at my eyes, yet his grip only tightened. Every movement stoked a deeper fire inside me, an insatiable hunger. I could feel him stripping away every last shred of my control.

His deep, rough groan tangled with my choked gasps—a raw symphony of our dark, unrestrained passion.

What we shared was a dance on the razor's edge between dominance and surrender. I reveled in how alive his unbridled strength made me feel, the arousal carving itself into my very core. Yet at the same time, I despised him for how he treated me—not as an equal, but as an object of his desire.

He was overwhelming and possessive. His dominance made me expand and shrink simultaneously. With every touch, every command, he redrew my boundaries until I was lost in a whirlwind of pleasure and defiance. It was a constant battle between self-respect and submission.

And yet, he offered me a paradoxical kind of safety—instinctive, profound, unsettling. He knew exactly what I needed and gave it to me in a way that left me both craving more and fearing it.

This duality was what made everything between us so intense. I was torn between the longing to surrender completely and the urge to cling to my independence. Every moment with him was a raw confrontation with my deepest desires—and my darkest depths.

Nine

Alexander Russo

The tremors wracking her body, the slick heat of her lips, the choked little sounds as I pushed deeper—all of it was a drug, dragging me further into an abyss I'd long since stopped fearing. I drank in the fear widening her eyes, fed on her resistance, her pain, the involuntary trembling of fingers digging into my thighs. She didn't want to be weak. Hated how her own body betrayed her, how raw desire carved through her defenses anyway. The fiercer she fought, the closer I came to losing control right there. I fucked her mouth with a dark hunger that demanded more—that needed to test how far I could push her, how deep she'd fall before stopping the fight.

Her eyes burned with feral defiance—the gaze of a woman who'd never let herself be broken. Not by me. Not by anyone. And that was exactly why I wanted her. From the moment I'd first seen her, I'd known she wasn't like the others. That I had to claim her. And yet would never truly own her.

"Hate me all you want," I murmured, dragging my thumb slowly across her swollen, wet lips—marked from how I'd used them. "It changes nothing."

She wanted to tear me apart. Destroy me. I could feel it—the way her muscles coiled, trembling with the urge to lunge, to make me pay for every rough thrust, every stolen breath.

"Asshole," she snarled.

Then came the blow.

Her fist cracked against my jaw with brutal force. My head snapped sideways, pain blooming sharp and bright. Fuck.

Every muscle in my body locked, heat exploding through me. This reaction—this fury at how I'd taken her mouth—was the fucking confirmation I'd been waiting for. Proof that she was as raw, as untamed as I was. We burned with the same dark fire, one that consumed us both and chained us together inescapably.

She seized my moment of surprise, twisting free to drop low, her fingers already clawing for the knife lying temptingly close. My humiliation had finally unleashed her true self—her darkness. She'd fight to win now, by any means.

And I wanted her more than ever.

I was faster, kicking the knife out of reach with a careless swipe of my foot. Cursing, she lunged forward, fury burning in her gaze, but I seized her with a firm grip and yanked her sharply back against me.

Her eyes spat fire into mine.

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