Page 23 of Take Me Darkly

Or perhaps I just needed distance from him. But the idea of not being near him hurt more than the physical ache in my shoulder.

“What do you need?” Anton pressed, his voice softer now.

Everything. Nothing. You.

The words sat on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t force them out.

Anton studied my face for a long, agonizing moment, reading the chaotic war playing out behind my eyes. With a heavy exhale, he released my hips and turned toward the bar cart in the corner. The crystal decanter clinked softly against glass as he poured two fingers of dark amber bourbon into a heavy tumbler.

“It’s barely two in the afternoon,” I murmured.

“I’m well aware.” He threw the drink back in a single, fluid swallow, the muscles of his throat working before he poured a second glass. “Do you want one?”

I should have said no. I should have told him that drinking alcohol in the middle of the day was a terrible coping mechanism. But the emotional toll of the morning had shattered my discipline. I needed something to burn away the sharp edges of my grief and fear.

“Yes,” I said softly. “Pour me one.”

Anton brought the glass to me. As I reached out, our fingers brushed, and a violent jolt of electricity raced up my arm. I looked up, catching the exact second his dark pupils dilated, his chest expanding on a sharp intake of air.

I took a slow sip. The bourbon burned like liquid fire down my throat, but it was a good burn—grounding, real, and intense. It gave me something to focus on besides the dangerous realization blossoming in my heart. It seemed insane that I was falling for a man I barely understood, yet it felt as natural as breathing. It was as if he were the missing piece of my soul I hadn’t known I was searching for.

I remembered reading about this phenomenon in my psychology courses—the intense, rapid bonding that occurs in the wake of shared trauma. It was sudden, intoxicating, and scientifically documented. The mind, flooded with adrenaline and fear, glues itself to its protector. It wasn’t irrational. It was raw human biology intertwining with vulnerability.

Or maybe it’s just him.

It was too much to process with Anton standing so close, his body radiating unbearable heat. I drained the rest of the tumbler, letting the alcohol dull my overthinking mind. I would dissect my feelings later, when I wasn’t under his intoxicating spell.

“I’m sorry I can’t give you the answers you want,” Anton said, his voice a rough velvet scrape in the quiet room. He took the empty glass from my hand and set it aside with his own. Then, his large hands came up to frame my face, his thumbs tracing my cheekbones with devastating, reverent tenderness. There was a raw, unguarded desperation in his dark eyes that undid me. “I need you, Serena. Right now. I need to hold you. I need to feel you beneath me.”

His words stole my breath. This wasn’t about distraction or escape like the bourbon was. This was about two shattered souls clawing through the darkness to find solid ground. My heartbeat wildly as I realized his desperate need mirrored my own.

I wanted the oblivion he was offering.

Like the alcohol, I should have said no. I should have told him that until I had answers, sex would only complicate things and a time when everything else was spinning out of control. But at that moment, I didn’t care about the answers to his past, nor did I want to question my sanity for falling for a man I barely knew. I only knew I needed him.

“Take me to bed, Anton.”

He claimed my mouth with a devastating collision of hunger and need. His lips didn’t just meet mine—they consumed me, his tongue sliding deep with a fierce, frantic intensity that turned my legs to water. I met his ferocity with my own, my hands fisting in his shirt, opening to him completely. In that kiss, I poured out all my grief, my aching confusion, and the terrifying, beautiful love taking root inside me.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing heavily, our foreheads resting together in the quiet room.

“Come with me,” he rasped, taking my hand in his solid grip.

He led me down the quiet hallway into the bedroom. Anton guided me to sit on the edge of the mattress, then dropped to his knees before me to unlace my shoes. The gesture was unexpectedly, breathtakingly tender—this lethal, dominant man kneeling at my feet, handling me as if I were made of priceless glass.

“Anton,” I whispered softly.

He looked up, his dark eyes locking onto mine. The visual should have felt strange, but it felt overwhelmingly right. He wasn’t just taking off my shoes—he was yielding a piece of his iron soul to me, offering me the softest parts of himself that he kept locked away from the rest of the world.

“Yes, princess?”

“Forget my shoulder,” I rasped, my hands tangling in his dark hair. “Don’t be gentle with me.”

A dark, primal fire flared in his eyes.

He stood up slowly, his hands sliding up my calves and thighs as he rose to his full height. By the time he towered over me, my whole body was trembling with breathless anticipation. His fingers hooked under the hem of my shirt, pausing as his eyes searched mine, giving me one final moment to change my mind.

I didn’t.