Page 97 of Only for Him
Rage claws up my throat. I want to spit in his face. I want to kiss him hard enough to swallow his soul.
He thinks he knows me, that this game is his.Prove him wrong, Giselle. Prove that you can’t be owned by hands soaked in blood.
I look into those blue eyes, ready to scorch them back into the void they came from.
“No, I’m not,” I say, but the words sound hollow, because they are. So weak I need to repeat them, and they come out even smaller. “I’m not.”
But I feel it: the mercurial shade of my lust in his arms, the way he’s right about me, the depths that weave darkness into desire.
The humiliating thrill when his grip tightens and I don’t claw away.
“You’re hiding again, little viper,” he murmurs into my ear. I shake and lean, my clit swelling between my drenched pussy lips.
My next words slide out on a rasp of air I can’t seem to swallow. He’s right, again. He’s always fucking right.
The truth peels out of me, a last gasp of defiance. Right now, honesty feels like rebellion.
“I’m jealous,” I breathe. “I’m obsessed. I want to know you as much as you want to know me. But I’m stronger than any of that. I’m stronger than what you do to me.”
For a blink his eyes widen, their blue lightning caught off guard. I’ve touched something raw.
Then his body crowds mine, heat rolling off him in waves that slap my skin. - The need surges as he grips my waist, lifting me closer, his breath fanning my skin.
Lamps throw gold over his hair and the surveillance monitors blink behind him like a jury condemning me to hell.
You don’t mind though, do you? You plead guilty.
“You have no idea how much I want you,” he says, voice low and fervent, sending shivers down my spine. I feel worshipped. “Not just for your beauty, your perfect fucking body, but for that righteous rot inside you. For the darkness that makes you fierce and alive.”
“No,” I manage to say, barely breaking past my own thoughts. “You’re lying. You just want?—”
“It’s as real as the breath in your lungs.” He fists the hem of my dress, dragging the silk up my thighs. “I know you feel it. Right…”
A knuckle presses my soaked panties and I jerk.
“… here.”
His voice licks my entire body, slow and torturous.
“I’ll get out,” I spit, desperate to resurrect logic. “I’ll go back to the NYPD and do it right.”
Roman’s expression shifts, becomes almost playful.
“Then let’s gamble, little viper. Try to get out. Run from me, from this. If you make it past the gates, you’re free to phone your captain, your priest, yourTeddy.” He spits the name like a tooth.
“And if I don’t?” I’m trembling now, not just from fear but from the weight of possibility.
“If you don’t,” he leans in, his voice a velvet whisper, “you will stay here, with me, until Pavel is dead. And you will be obedient”
Obedient. The syllable tastes like iron. Like sublime satisfaction.
The stakes hang heavy, a single moment poised on the edge of chaos. The room contracts around me, heartbeat in my ears. His scent—spices and campfire smoke—floods my lungs.
I look into his eyes, the challenge bright. The pressure between us cracks like thunder, the storm set to break.
This world no longer belongs to me, or him. It belongs tous.There is nothing else.
He smiles. A real smile. Dark and vicious, but so beautiful my ribs crack open, serving my defenseless heart up on a platter.
