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“Dark? How dark can it get?” I ask, the playfulness in my voice masking the undercurrent of fear.
He chuckles. “Darker than you can imagine, Lila.”
“I don’t doubt that’s true,” I respond, my voice wavering. “Can you give me an idea?”
His gaze burns into mine, the intensity of it causing my breath to hitch. Despite my apprehension, a part of me is inexplicably drawn to the danger that Ash represents. It’s like I’m standing at the edge of an abyss, knowing full well the fall could destroy me, yet unable to resist the pull.
He leans closer, his lips practically touching my ear as he whispers, “Picture this, Lila: a game of Russian roulette.”
His hand slips into his pocket, and he pulls out his gun, sleek and cold under the dim lights.
I stiffen at its sight, my blood chilling. “Don’t worry,” Ash says, noticing my reaction, “it’s not loaded. But the threat —the idea of it being loaded — that’s the thrilling part, isn’t it? Especially when I slip it inside you.”
Considering what he’s suggesting, I can’t believe the ache that ignites. Why the hell would I want a man convicted of murder to fuck me with a gun?
My face flushes crimson, and my heart races. I look at Ash, eyes wide and lips parted, unsure if I should be horrified or turned on. There’s a moment of silence, and then he smiles.
“Tell me,” he coaxes, gently tracing the gun barrel across my cheek, “do you still want to know how dark this can get?”
I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t desire the danger he’s offering. Yet, somehow, I find myself nodding.
My mind screams at me to tell him to stop and run away, but my body wants something else entirely. Something dark, something forbidden. Desperate to prove I’m not afraid, I stare into his eyes daringly.
He rips open my night dress, the fabric discarded on the floor. He watches me, his gaze predatory, a wolf watching its prey. The silence in the room is deafening.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, the gun still in his hand. He slowly lowers it, tracing a chilling path down my bare skin.
I shiver, biting my lip to contain a whimper. The gun is cold, its touch even colder.
“Are you afraid?”
I swallow hard, forcing a shrug. “No.”
The smirk that tugs at his lips doesn’t reassure me. He leans in close, the gun gliding lower. His fingers trace intricate patterns on my skin with the cold metal, each touch laced with a promise of something more.
I can’t help the gasp that escapes when he lightly presses the barrel against my chest, right over my rapidly beating heart.
“There’s that fear,” he murmurs, his lips hovering over mine. “Isn’t it exhilarating?”
I don’t answer, too caught up in the overwhelming sensations flooding me. I’m aware of every inch of Ash’s body against mine, every rough caress of his hand, every cold press of the gun against my skin.
“You’re mine, Lila,” he growls, “and I promise you, you’ve got no idea how far down the rabbit hole goes.”
“Show me, then,” I respond, surprising both of us with my daring.
“Bend over the bed,” he demands.
I do as he commands, struggling with my wrists bound as I practically fall face-first onto the mattress. My body is exposed and vulnerable. I feel the cool metal of the gun tracing my skin, moving lower until it’s teasing the sensitive area between my legs. I shudder at the touch, biting my lip to muffle a whimper.
“You’ve got the most delicious little pussy,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire, “and your clit is so damn sensitive.”
The gun glides higher, tracing a path upward until it’s hovering over my ass. I catch my breath, anticipation making my heart pound.
“And this,” he continues, “Your asshole is so tight, so perfect. Perfect for fucking.”
I can’t help but imagine the sensation of the gun inside me, the cold harshness of its touch against my most intimate area. The thought alone is enough to make me squirm in anticipation.
His fingers take over, replacing the cold metal of the gun.
