The coppery scent of blood rose in the air, mixing with his intoxicating aroma.
He had me on that bed fast.
I couldn’t even tell you how long it had taken.
Five seconds.
Four.
No.
Three seconds at the most.
His bloody hands—warm and slick—roamed over me.
Possessively.
Roughly.
Leaving traces of crimson against my dark brown skin.
Each touch ignited a storm inside me.
Fear threaded through my veins, but so did an exhilarating thrill.
Was this madness or fate?
They called him the Devil of Shadows, and I believed them, because he explored me, sinfully, as if he couldn't get enough of feeling me beneath his fingers, as if he wanted to tear my flesh apart just to touch my insides—the very core of my body.
And God help me. . .I would let him.
I would let the Devil unravel me.
I would let him cut me up and caress every vein, every organ.
Touch my heart.
Touch my soul.
As if he heard those twisted thoughts, he groaned, “Say my name, Princess.”
“Gianni.”
“Good girl.”
But would he be the death of me?
Groaning, he crashed his lips against mine in a kiss full of hot, carnal promise.
I moaned against his mouth, and he took that as an invitation to deepen the kiss, his tongue exploring the depths of my mouth with wild desire.
I shivered, again not from fear, but from something deeper—something I wasn’t ready to admit yet. Every logical part of me screamed to run, but there was another voice—one that whispered to stay, to surrender to him, to the darkness.
As Gianni’s blood-stained hands roamed over my body some more, a twisted sense of comfort seeped into my bones. Amidst the chaos and fear, there was something about his touch that promised protection—something no one else had ever offered me.
His hands moved lower, reaching the hem of my now blood-stained lingerie and tearing it apart.
I gasped.
