Page 70 of Santiago's Conquest (Four Dark Horsemen 1)

Based on all the scars, it must have gone on for years, or maybe that’s the result of some dangerous sport the dark four participate in?

Santiago puts his hand above mine, squeezes it lightly, and leans forward, his voice washing over me like a silky web ready to trap me at any moment while his question barely registers in my ears. “Why? Do my scars change anything?” He raises his other hand and flicks up the lock dangling on my forehead, winking at me. “Makes me more appealing despite my despicable deeds?” I pull at my palm, but he doesn’t let me, only pressing himself closer to me as he dishes out another question. “If I hurt too, it makes hurting other people justified?”

“Don’t put words into my mouth!” I shout at him, hating the truth coating his words and how he smeared my concern in the dirt by twisting it into something hideous.

“Then don’t feel sorry for me, querida.” He pushes me away, and I stumble a little, before gripping the counter, dumfounded at the stone-cold expression flashing on his face and barely controlled anger. “Never let your emotions lead you. It will be your downfall.” He goes outside onto the terrace and completely ignores me.

Oddly though, my anger doesn’t come, and instead I wonder if I touched a nerve by poking into things that are none of my business.

I’m a fake wife who has no right to ask her husband questions about his past, let alone be disappointed he just left me here instead of doing the usual stuff he does.

Like annoy me to no end and not respect my personal boundaries.

But he’s right—my compassion has no place here, because a monster might have bled in the past… but it doesn’t mean he’s automatically a saint in the present.

In fact, I know he isn’t.

Finding the knife near the kitchen sink, I tug on my dress and slip it between my back and the buttons, ready to rip it open. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Getting out of this dress.” I push the blade closer to the fabric, only to wince when I touch my skin instead, and it leaves a sting behind. “Ouch.”

A strong hand captures my wrist, taking the knife from me and throwing it back on the counter. “What are you doing?” I grit through my teeth, ignoring the relief rushing through me that he’s back—invading my space—and hating myself for it.

I feel his hot breath on the back of my neck, the air hitching in my throat when his cool fingers brush against my skin, slowly undoing several buttons. “What every groom does on his wedding night,” he says, his voice gliding over me like the finest silk, leaving goose bumps in its wake and creating a frenzy around me that shouldn't be there.

“Just rip it open,” I say, hating how strained I sound. He chuckles, and the rumble of his chest sends vibrations through me.

His fingers shift to another one, the corset slightly loosening around me, and I gulp for breath, although it does nothing to calm my accelerated heartbeat. “Dónde estaría la diversión en eso?” He utters the same words he spoke to me in the library.

Where would be the fun in that?

Closing my eyes, I let our library encounter play in my head, reminding me how this man ravished me on the table: his touches, his long fingers stretching me before he soothed me with his tongue, and fucked me hard.

God, was it just hours ago?

Feels like an eternity, and I hate it.

I hate every molecule in my body that craves this monster, because he’s the only one who showed me what true pleasure feels like.

Only to rip it away from me when his monstrous nature came to light.

My heavy breathing fills the room, my palms sweating as I press them to my chest. “Your smooth skin that remains a flawless canvas is awfully flushed, querida,” he whispers and leans closer to my ear, his hips bumping into my ass. “Is there something you want?” His lips graze my ear, and his fingers go to another button. “Did you remember how it felt with these fingers inside your tight pussy?”

“No.” I won’t let him use my betraying body to his advantage; we might not control our physical reaction to certain people, but it doesn't mean I should succumb to the temptation.

Or give him an even bigger ego boost.

“Liar.” He quickly unbuttons the rest of the buttons then finally settles on the last one. I gasp when I feel his hot presence on my exposed back, my hands clenching the fabric in front, ready to bolt at any minute. “If you weren't so stubborn, I’d strip you naked.” Agonizingly slowly, he unbuttons the last one. “Place you on my bed and run my tongue over this delicious body I haven’t had the chance to admire.” He grabs the sides of my dress, squeezing them hard and pulling me closer to him. His rigid muscles dig into me, and a groan slips past my lips at the images he creates in my head. “I’d fuck you with my mouth for hours until you’d beg, and even then I wouldn't give you the relief you wanted.” He puts his hands on my hips, gripping me so hard a hot flash travels through my system, alerting me to the danger lurking in his voice. But I stay frozen in place, wanting to hear what he has to say next. “Would you have wanted it, querida? Having my mouth all to yourself to get off on as you please?”

My core spasms, reminding me of the talents he possesses and how he tortures me relentlessly.

Biting on my lower lip, I trap the moan ready to erupt in my throat and shake my head, not letting the desire flashing through my system and boiling my blood show itself to him.

Even if he seduces me right now, he will know I resisted, and he won’t dictate to me.

Santiago chuckles in my ear, his breath fanning my neck, and I half expect him to kiss me, but instead my eyes snap open when he pushes me away, and coldness slips into my bones when his body heat is gone. “Too bad. We both would have enjoyed it.” Spinning around so my naked back isn’t facing him, I look at him as he heads back to the terrace, and he must sense my shock as he clacks his tongue, amusement lacing his tone. “You want your husband to fuck you, querida, then you ask him for it.”

“I’ll never do it,” I tell him, hating him in this moment so much, because the need zipping through my veins and dampening my flesh relentlessly pushes over me, begging me to ask him to soothe it, and maybe then I’ll forget the reality.

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