Page 79 of Lord of the Dark

"You’ll get it when you say it."

I bit my lip, unable to move. My body screamed for him. Everything in me was fixed on that one point, on the pressure that was driving me half-mad.

But he didn’t budge. Not a millimeter.

"Say it." His tone grew harder. Impatient.

I panted. Torn between pride and greed. And he knew it. He knew exactly how far he had me.

"I belong to you," finally burst from me, loud, almost pleading. "I want to feel you," I added, because I could barely stand the burning need between my legs anymore. "I want to finally feel your damn cock inside me," I spat out in a broken voice. "Give it to me... finally..." It felt like the hunger between my thighs had long since taken control and was speaking for me.

His hands spread my legs, I felt the mattress yield under his weight, how he positioned himself before me. And then... finally... a sharp gasp escaped me as he filled me in one deepthrust. The sudden pressure stole my breath, and everything around me vanished. I clawed my fingers into the leather of the belt, felt my hands go numb as I absorbed every sound, every touch from him. I sensed sweat gathering on my skin while my body adjusted to his movements, matched his force, as if he had awakened me in a way I'd never known.

He thrust deeper, more demanding, and his lips found my neck, placing kisses that seared like brands while the bed slammed loudly against the wall. A tingling raced down my spine, an uncontrolled trembling that rooted itself in my limbs. Every thrust drove me higher, and I felt the tension in my body stretch to the brink of endurance.

My hands twitched, instinctively trying to move, but the belt around my wrists kept me firmly bound to the bed. The leather rubbed against my skin, a constant, underlying stimulus that only intensified every sensation.

"Alessandro," I gasped, a name that was both confession and plea.

"Not yet," he hissed, his voice dark and rough. His hands slid over my body, found my hips, and pulled me tighter against him.

I let myself fall into him, allowed him to tear me apart only to reassemble me in his untamed hunger and strength. My head sank back into the pillow, and I wasn’t sure if the tears welling in my eyes came from the intensity or sheer overwhelm.

He held me fast, didn’t let me escape—not even in this moment. His hands remained on my skin, demanding yet soothing, as I shattered beneath him into a thousand pieces. Every thrust, every movement was a quake that rattled my world to its foundations until I was nothing but pure sensation. My breath came in bursts, every muscle in my body trembled, until finally, shaking and gasping, I was hurled over the edge—and dragged him with me.

Alessandro stilled for a moment, his forehead touching mine,his breath grazing my lips. The tension in the air slowly gave way to a quiet, fierce closeness. His hands slid down my arms until they reached the belt, which he loosened with a slow pull. The pressure eased, and my hands were free. I felt the tingling in my wrists where the leather had touched my skin, but his fingers followed instantly, gentle, as if to erase every mark he’d left behind.

He pushed the blindfold from my eyes, looked at me. "Fiona," he said softly, his voice a rough whisper. In that moment, he wasn’t the man in control—just Alessandro, unguarded, honest.

I couldn’t speak. My hands sought to reclaim what had been denied them. I touched his face, the hard lines of his jaw, feeling the warmth of his skin.

He pulled me against him, his body heavy but warm, protective. My breath was shallow, yet I felt my heart steady as I listened to the calm beat of his. In the silence that now enveloped us, nothing else mattered—just us, together, in a moment no one could take away.

Twenty

Fiona Robertson

The next day, I waited just before 2 PM at the imposing estate in Dade County that we were set to tour, to clarify final details and questions before closing the deal. Two black SUVs belonging to the buyer stood neatly side by side, and an elegant Bentley—undoubtedly Mrs. Pierce’s—gleamed in the sunlight. The fresh ocean breeze carried the scent of salt and blooming plants.

The estate was a masterpiece of modern architecture—a perfect fusion of exhilarating elegance and purist simplicity. The façade, clad in white limestone and expansive glass panels, offered unobstructed views of the ocean and the meticulously landscaped gardens. This was a house that radiated not just luxury, but refinement and restraint.

A broad, palm-lined driveway led to an opulent garage on the left, while the entrance was accentuated by a massive mahogany door and subtly lit overhang. Flanking the door were sleek, frameless windows stretching floor-to-ceiling, bathing the interior in natural light.

The sprawling terrace, running nearly the full length of the house, was paved in pale stone tiles and furnished with modern, cream-colored lounge pieces. A discreet glass balustrade traced the edge, granting an unimpeded vista of the ocean. To the right, polished concrete steps descended to an infinity pool, its water merging seamlessly with the horizon. Every detail of the estate hinted at its staggering value—a deliberate statement. Framed by tropical foliage strategically placed to craft the illusion of a private paradise, the entire setting seemed ripped from thepages of a lifestyle magazine.

The gardens were a work of art unto themselves—symmetrical beds of exotic blooms in saturated hues, shaded alcoves with olive trees, and manicured lawns rolling gently toward the cliffs. Narrow gravel paths wound between flowerbeds, leading to the pool and a secluded lounge area draped in billowing white pavilion curtains.

The rooftop was a green oasis, a terrace garden curated with precision. A lounge zone piled with cushions and low tables invited sunset viewing as the distant ocean glittered. An outdoor grill station with an adjoining bar completed the space—ideal for private soirées or languid summer evenings.

This estate was a flawless interplay of natural beauty and modern indulgence—a sanctuary offering both seclusion and expanse, every detail mirroring the tastes of the elite.

I drew a sharp breath, willing down the prickle of nerves. Today wasn’t just pivotal for the deal—it was also the day I’d face Alessandro again after last night’s intensity. And that would be anything but simple.

But he wasn’t here.

The tour began precisely on time. Beside me stood Mrs. Pierce, poised as ever, and the buyer’s two representatives—Mr. Thompson, a distinguished man in his fifties, and his younger colleague, whose cutting-edge suit reeked of obscene expense. They seemed both eager and professional, firing off questions, which I answered with the confidence of a woman who knew every inch of this house down to its bones.

I guided the group through the open living area with its floor-to-ceiling windows, elaborating on the tasteful furnishings, the sprawling terrace, the flawlessly integrated fireplace, and the state-of-the-art kitchen. My voice was steady, my demeanor unshaken—everything was going perfectly.

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