Page 77 of No Darker Temptation

I sit back in my seat, startled. “Excuse me?”

“You’re upset about something else and it isn’t about me fighting with Sandro. I suspect it took you all of twenty-four hours to get over it. There’s something else you’re not telling me and I want to know what it is.”

“There isn’t⁠—”

“I highly recommend you don’t finish that sentence because if you lie to me, we’re going to have a problem.”

Anger fizzles through my bloodstream, setting my temper aflame. I abandon my work on the table between us and bolt to my feet. “You are such a fucking asshole sometimes.”

He takes a long sip of his drink, unperturbed by my sudden outburst. When he’s done, he sets the glass down and rises from his seat, towering over me with his impressive height.

“The silent treatment wasn’t working so you’re going to throw a tantrum now? Is that what this is? Because you can’t throw chairs through windows here like you do in the villa. The plane will fall out of the sky.”

“That was one. Time. While you were holding me captive.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “Semantics.”

“I’m going to go lie down.”

There’s a bedroom at the back of the cabin and I’m eager to go lock myself inside. Before I can get more than a few feet away, he catches me by the wrist and spins me around.

“Let go!” I yank my arm away. “I don’t need to be manhandled.”

“I’m not letting you walk away from me in the middle of a conversation.”

He’s so calm. So poised. I want to smack the composure right out of him.

“Are you this much of a tyrant with your henchman? Are you going to tie me up and throw me in the lounge cellar if I misbehave?”

He flinches but barely. When he speaks next, it sends a shiver down my spine. “You sound curious. Any fantasies of yours I should be aware of?”

“You sick, fucking deranged human being, no one fantasizes about being tied up in the cellar where their boyfriend murders people!”

“There’s a first for everything.”

I scoff. “Don’t be vulgar.”

“Vulgar would be me saying you’re about five seconds away from having the attitude fucked out of you⁠—”

My right hand strikes the side of his face with enough force to make the bones in my fingers hurt. The first burst of shock fizzles away quickly and his eyes settle on me with a menace that sends lightning down my spine. He takes a single predatory step forward and it eats away at whatever slither of distance there was between us. He grabs me by the neck, fingers cupping my jaw, and when I bring up my hand to strike him again, he catches my wrist and pins my arm behind my back.

“Alex.” My breaths come in short, labored pants. “Let me go.”

“Say it like you mean it.”

I stumble backward and he follows me several steps. Without warning, he shoves me into the wall and the bar cart behind me gets knocked over, all within the same breath his mouth crashes into mine.

It’s vicious the way he kisses me. All tongue and teeth, a selfish claiming he refuses to let me have control over. In retaliation, I bite down on his bottom lip until I draw blood and when I drag my tongue along the seam of his mouth, tasting the metallic sting, it unleashes something inside him. He has me by the neck as he drags us to the bedroom at the back of the cabin but I fight him every step of the way, unwilling to give up complete control.

I dig my nails into the split knuckles that still haven’t healed. When he tries spinning us around so he can get me onto the bed, I shove the heels of my palms into his bruised chest and he crashes into the wall by the door. We’re inches from the bed but we can’t even manage that. One leg thrown around his waist, he shoves his hand under my dress and grips the lace edge of my underwear, removing it with a single rip. My hip stings where the fabric snapped but the pain is short lived.

I unbuckle his belt and before I’ve taken my next breath he rams into me with enough force to split me in half.

It’s painful, uncomfortable, and I don’t tell him to stop. Sick as it sounds I want it to hurt. I need to punish myself for wanting a man like this, someone who kills without discrimination or remorse, someone capable of inciting fear in everyone—including the woman who loves him. Every harsh thrust is met with mingled pleasure and my stomach rolls with nausea because maybe, he isn’t the problem. Maybe I am because no woman in her right mind could be made to feel this good by such explicit torture.

His hand tightens around my neck and a hint of fear sends the alarms ringing in the back of my head. Distant, almost quiet, but it’s still there. For the first time ever, I’m reminded of the fact he’s significantly bigger, stronger, and more a danger to me than anything else. A dark, twisted part of me is ignited by the idea. Pleasure zips through me and excitement makes my heart skip and stammer inside my chest. But there’s the other part of me, the part of me that’s still a woman, who can’t shake off how disturbing this is.

In theory, he could do whatever he wanted to me. If I told him no, he could decide not to listen and I would not be able to physically fight him off. Every day I live at his mercy and have no choice but to trust him when he says he’ll never turn against me. When his freehand roams the length of my body, I can’t shake the image of Rico Salcedo out of my mind. As Alejandro’s grip tightens around my neck and restricts my breathing, I wonder if this is how he’s killed someone before. The thought alone is enough for my fight or flight instincts to kick in. I need to take control here. Need to somehow get the better of him if only to fool myself into thinking I could win.