Page 95 of Lord of the Dark

Her hands clutched the edge of the table, fingers clawing at the smooth metal as if she could fight the waves crashing through her. The table beneath us groaned and shuddered under the force of our collision, her legs straining against the restraints holding her down—like she wanted to take me deeper, break every boundary, close every gap.

"You're a depraved, sinful masterpiece, Fiona," I rasped hotly against her skin. "And you belong to no one but me."

The dim light cast shadows over her arched silhouette as I drove her forward against the cool surface again and again, unrestrained in my thrusts. We were a tangle of passion, hunger, and defiance.

I slid my hand lower until my fingers found her clit. She jerked at the contact, a muffled cry escaping through the gag. The heat surrounding me was overwhelming, every tiny movementof hers stoking the fire inside me. My fingers worked in ruthless circles, perfectly timed with the deep, punishing thrusts that pinned her to the metal. The combination of her reactions and the slick, clenching heat swallowing me whole was intoxicating—all-consuming.

"You will surrender to me, Fiona," I demanded, my voice rough as I tightened my control over her body. My hand slid possessively along her skin, feeling every tremor, every involuntary twitch of her muscles, playing her like an instrument tuned to my darkest desires. Each thrust was a claim—raw, unrestrained passion spiraling into something deeper, darker. I bent over her, marking her neck with a biting kiss that drew a sharp gasp. "This is what you need. Pain and pleasure—bound together."

She fought beneath me, writhing against the punishing rhythm, her body tensing in delicious resistance. Her breath came in ragged bursts, her muscles trembling as she teetered on the edge of control. I could feel her wetness against me, slick and desperate, and I wanted to ruin her—to drive her so deep into madness she’d never think of anything but me.

The tension in her back coiled tighter, her hips bucking against me, seeking more—more friction, more of this consuming, destructive hunger that had us both in its grip. I felt her nearing the edge, her body tightening—then I pulled back abruptly.

A choked whimper escaped her, her hips jerking uselessly into empty air, begging. "You don’t come until I allow it," I growled, merciless. My grip on her hips was iron, forcing her still as my hand slid up to her breast, fingers closing around the soft curve with deliberate pressure. My thumb found her nipple, teasing at first—just enough to make her arch—then pinching hard.

Her body jerked under the sudden intensity, a muffled moan tearing from her throat as she twisted against my touch.

"Look down. None of them have any idea what’s happeninghere. You’re alone with me, Fiona. No one’s coming to save you," I murmured against her ear, tilting her head to force her gaze toward the dance floor below. My fingers twisted her nipple just shy of cruel, dragging a broken sound from her. Her head dropped forward, breath hitching against the gag—but still, her right middle finger stayed down.

Tougher than I expected. And goddamn, that made her perfect.

With one sharp tug, I undid the knot of the cloth in her mouth, letting it fall.

"You fucking sadist—" she gasped, voice shaking with breathless fury and want. "...driving me... insane." Her words were fractured, as if coherent thought was beyond her now.

I leaned in closer, my grip on her hip turning punishing. "Tell me how much you want me," I ordered, my breath scorching her neck. "Say it, Fiona," I pressed, my hips moving in slow, deliberate strokes, dragging the pleasure out.

She closed her eyes as if trying to escape, but I gave her no reprieve. "I want to hear it," I whispered, "be a good girl." But she stayed silent.

Her head dropped forward, hitting the table like she could ignore me. I released her and slowly circled the table. When I stood before her, I gripped her chin, forcing her eyes to meet mine. "Say it."

She glared. "No."

"No?" A dark smile flickered across my lips. My grip in her hair tightened—a reminder of who held control. I dragged her face to the edge of the table, seized her jaw, and thrust myself into her mouth. Her fingers dug into the wood, her throat working desperately around me, every choked gasp only fueling the hunger coiling tighter in my gut. My movements were relentless. Her breaths came in ragged bursts, a rhythmic struggle between defiance and surrender. She hated me in this moment—and wanted me just as fiercely.

I pulled back slightly, letting my hand slide through her hair. Her lips stayed parted, her breathing rough. Gripping her chin, I forced her to look at me again—her eyes met mine, a clash of pride and submission. "I decide when your fire burns—and when it smolders." I pushed back in, deeper this time, until I could feel the heat of her throat. Her body tensed under the intrusion, a faint gag escaping her, fingers clawing harder into the table. This was raw, uncompromising—a game she already knew she’d lose. Yet she still fought. And that was the thrill.

"Breathe," I growled, tightening my hold on her hair, dragging her head back as I set a punishing rhythm. Her nails scraped against the table, every twitch of her body betraying the edge she balanced on. I withdrew just enough to let her gasp before surging forward again. Her throat convulsed around me, and this time, the sound she made could’ve been protest—or surrender. That fragile moment meant everything—the second she had to realize she was mine.

Her lips trembled like she wanted to speak, but I pressed a finger against them. Not yet. "I see what you feel," I murmured, my breath scorching her skin. My lips brushed her ear as I spoke, low and deliberate: "Say it."

Her mouth opened. Hesitation. A visible war with herself. Her body was taut, fighting instinct. But I gave her no choice. My grip tightened.

"I… hate you," she finally breathed, voice fractured, the hesitation making it even more potent. "But god damn it, I want you to fuck me." She held my gaze, then added hoarsely: "I want you to fuck me senseless."

A dark grin spread across my lips, my breathing turning heavy. My fingers lingered on her cheek before dragging her closer. "Fuck, Fiona," my voice was a rough growl, thick with want. "You’ll get it. Every. Last. Inch."

Her eyes locked onto mine, and I saw the hunger burning backat me.

I moved behind her, fingers trailing over her ass before spreading her legs wider, my body pressing flush against hers. Her skin was warm, damp, the slight roll of her hips against my cock betraying her need. I pulled her back, arching her deeper over the table. When I drove into her, a sharp gasp tore from her lips. She was molten around me, tight and welcoming, her muscles clenching like she couldn’t decide whether to pull me deeper or push me away. I hauled her harder against my thrusts. The sound of skin on skin filled the room—a filthy, rhythmic beat of pure hunger.

I felt her teetering, that edge so close. "Come for me, Fiona," I rasped against her neck. *"I want to watch every fucking second of it."

With a loud, unrestrained cry, she surrendered, her entire body tensing as every muscle fiber trembled under the force of the climax that crashed through her. Her hands clawed into the edge of the table, knuckles whitening, while her head fell back. Her breaths came in short, ragged gasps.

It was as if she’d forgotten the world around us—as if nothing existed but the two of us. I could feel it, every twitch, every aftershock of her body pulsing against mine, pulling me deeper. My movements grew more controlled, the intensity unwavering, every tremor, every last quake inside her echoing through me as if it were my own. I closed my eyes, let her pleasure drag me under, surrendering to the raw, uncontrollable force that yanked me over the edge with her. A low curse escaped my lips as the wave broke over me—a fierce, all-consuming sensation that drowned my senses. I held her tighter, fingers digging into her hips like anchors. Her heat, her closeness, her complete loss of control—it was everything I wanted, and more than I’d expected.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, I finally sank forward, my breath heavy, my body collapsing onto hers as a wild rush of hormonesstill roared through my veins. Fiona’s forehead rested against the table, her back rising and falling with deep, exhausted breaths. I knew she was spent, but I couldn’t bring myself to pull away just yet. The thought of severing this connection was almost unbearable.

---