Page 45 of Lord of the Dark

Alessandro, on the other hand, studied me with a ravenous gaze—as if recounting this aroused him. "I didn't kill him." His voice sent chills down my spine. He said it almost magnanimously, as if he held every right to decide between life and death. "He just needs to understand that his pain only ends when he tells me everything. It will work—even on him, though he's been a damn tough nut to crack so far. But it always works. You can't imagine how much blood a person can lose before they truly panic. And panic... is the key, Fiona. Panic breaks people." His hand pressed harder against my hip.

My mind was a whirlwind of fear, disbelief, and charged fascination. "You're so sick."

He grinned, letting his hand roam over my hip—a gesture that simultaneously conveyed possession and threat. "Oh, absolutely," he murmured, his voice dripping with ironic amusement. "Why play the moral high ground when it's not who you are?" He watched me with relish. "You're shocked, but not in the way you should be," he whispered so close to my ear that his words brushed against my skin like a breath. "I see it in your eyes, Fiona. You want to run—but you also want to... stay."

"Shut up!"

"Why?" He dug his fingers deeper into my hips, pulling me closer. "Because I'm right? Because part of you is fascinated by what I am?" His gaze bore into mine as if trying to penetrate the darkest corners of my soul. "Admit it, Fiona. You want to know how far I'd go. You're seeking out the darkness that defines me."

I shook my head, trying to twist free from his grip, but he was like an unyielding wall, holding me captive in this moment. "You're a monster," I whispered.

"You've said that already," he murmured, his voice intimate and close. "And yet I can feel your body betraying you, tensingwhen I tell you these things. You're trembling—but not enough to blame it on fear or... panic." His hand traveled upward, fingers skimming my waist, my ribs, while his eyes captured every reaction. "You're trembling with arousal. It turns you on. Because you're just like me."

"I am nothing like you!" I hissed, my anger and pride cutting through the fear. "I would never—"

"Never what?" he interrupted sharply. "Never hurt someone to survive? Never twist the truth to save yourself? Never make someone pay for betraying you?" He laughed—a cold, deep sound that raised the hairs on my neck. "Save the lies, Fiona." His hands on my hips pressed me harder against the door at my back. "Today, you pulled the trigger without even having a real reason. You're even more fucked up than I am."

His words spread through me like a dark stain, smothering everything and stealing my breath.

"No reason?" I raged. "I was panicking! Why did you even put on this show if you knew damn well the gun wasn't loaded?"

He considered for a moment. "Because I wanted to see how far you'd go."

Ouch.

"Let me go," I whispered, but it wasn't a real demand. It was my mind's last attempt to regain control over a body I knew I'd already lost.

"Shut up." He crashed into me like he'd tired of waiting. His mouth collided with mine in a savage kiss. I staggered backward, slamming into the door, but he followed. His fingers gripped my jaw—rough, possessive—as if making sure I couldn't escape. I pressed my hands against his chest, trying to shove him away, but it was like pushing against a wall. And in that moment, I felt something else: his heart hammered wildly against my palm, as if his body was confessing what his lips couldn't. His hand slid to my neck, gripping me so tight it felt like he wanted to tear mydefiance straight from my flesh.

"Stop," I meant to say, but the words lodged in my throat, drowned in the storm of his touch. I knew I should push him away. Knew I should break free. It would be the right thing. The sensible thing.

The last thing I wanted.

His tongue invaded with the same ruthless determination, and my legs grew weaker by the second. My breathing turned ragged, uneven. My mind screamed protests, replaying his threats, those ice-cold, cruel words—but my body betrayed me, going limp against him rather than pushing away. The energy radiating from him flooded through me like a current, and what remained of my resistance began to crumble. My fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt, and I felt every shred of defiance turn to dust.

I reached for the hard length pressing against my thigh, gripping him through his pants in rough strokes from tip to base. My hand circled his tip tightly, again and again, until Alessandro groaned with raw need. My grip tightened—not to push him away, but to pull him closer. The heat surging through my body burned away every last warning, every rational thought.

Fourteen

Alessandro Russo

We were prisoners of this madness, locked in a darkness that devoured us more and more. This kiss was no romantic token of love in the conventional sense. It was a symbol of everything the two of us stood for. Here, two people had met who should have never crossed paths. Each of us would destroy the other—inevitably. The mere attraction between us was enough to trigger an uncontrollable explosion.

Her hands fumbled with desperate haste at my belt, while mine had long since found their way beneath her blouse. I couldn’t get enough of the sensation her full breasts left in my hands—and I gripped so hard she gasped.

All my tension, my frustration over the fact that she had simply vanished after our first night together, as if I were nothing more than a brief interlude, and the rage over the madness she had unleashed here today—it all seemed to discharge in this moment. The adrenaline surged through my veins, washing away every last shred of restraint and reason from my brain.

I didn’t ask. I didn’t wait. I pulled at her blouse like it owed me something—I wanted her naked in front of me, now. With one sharp tug, I ripped the blouse off her. Some buttons yielded to the violence, clattering to the floor, while others held on so stubbornly that the fabric around them tore instead.

Her eyes widened in fury as she jerked away, snapping at me with raw aggression. "Are you insane? That's my most expensive blouse!" she hissed, already swinging. Her hand cracked against my cheek—sharp, unhesitating. This woman was addicted topushing limits.

But I was the limit.

My hand shot up, seizing her by the throat—so tight her jugular veins bulged. "No one hits me. Not even you anymore," I spat through clenched teeth.

"You’ll buy me a new one. That’s non-negotiable," she hissed.

"You’re in no position to give orders. I am. Take. It. Off." She saw in my eyes that today, the line had been crossed—and straightened up to obey.

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