The Darkest Temptation (Made Book 3)

typhlobasia

(n.) kissing with the eyes closed

MILA

Having bolted with panic in my veins and no sense of direction, I slammed my bathroom door behind me, locked it, and stepped back, racing heart swelling in my throat.

Ronan was a rotten cheat. Everyone knew a head start was at least ten Mississippis. I got three seconds by the sound of his heavy steps that had pursued mine as soon as I reached the top of the staircase. He was quicker than humanly possible, his shadow nearly consuming my own before I locked myself in here.

“Open the door,” Ronan demanded, his words too calm for comfort.

Even knowing the contents of this bathroom down to the number of Q-tips, I dug through the vanity drawers in the hope something would magically appear to help me defend myself. No doubt Yulia had a key, and she would happily assist her master.

“You have five seconds to open this door before I break it down.”

I threw a brush over my shoulder. “Good luck with that.” I managed to respond in a cool voice even though the idea sent a wave of uncertainty through me. I’d tried to kick and pound and picklock my bedroom door, which was the same make as this one, and I’d achieved a number of injuries but not a single dent. “Your stupid doors could endure a tornado—”

Bang!

I jumped back when the only divider between us flew open and slammed against the wall with such force the top hinge snapped. The door swayed awkwardly until another kick broke it free from its frame, and then the solid piece of wood hit the floor inches from my bare feet with a loud thwack that rattled my body.

Eyes lifting to meet black ones that didn’t hold a sparkle, a toothbrush slipped from my fingers. Cold fear paralyzed me to the spot. I stared at him, chest heaving with the expectation of his retaliation. Regardless of what he had in store for me, I refused to plead for my life. If pride sent me to hell, so be it. At least I would leave this world with my dignity intact.

Ronan moved toward me, those expensive boots treading on the fallen door. The clank of metal brought my gaze to his hands, and as I watched him pull his belt from its loops, my heart fell through my stomach.

He was going to whip me like Carlo beat his pregnant wife in The Godfather.

Screw dignity.

“I’m sorry!” The words escaped on an uneven breath.

“No, you’re not, malen’kaya lgunishka.”

Legs carrying me backward, he followed my retreat. The coolness of the stone shower floor met my feet. I was trapped, and he was closing in on me with that lax belt in his grip. I should accept the pain to bring me back to reality; to remember his company was nothing but a herald of death. It sounded good in theory, but in reality? It sounded like it would freaking hurt.

Grabbing a bottle of shampoo, I chucked it at him. “You deserved it!”

He evaded it and all of the other objects I hurled his way. Catching me by the waist, his dark voice pressed against my ear.

“Just as you deserve to have your ass whipped.”

I pushed against him, trying to knee him where it hurt, but he grabbed my thigh with a punishing grip before it could make contact.

“Knee me in the nuts again,” he growled, “and you’ll be soothing the ache.”

“Let me go!” I continued to struggle, but he had my wrists in an unyielding grip while he wrapped his belt around them and tied a knot.

When he stepped away, I tried to escape, but he yanked on the other end of the belt, and I collided with his chest. He secured the other end to the modern shower head on the ceiling, raising my arms above my head.

Panting, I looked up warily. “What are you—?” The rest of the words escaped as a yelp when icy water rained down on me.

I was tall enough that both feet rested flat on the floor, but there wasn’t enough slack in the belt to escape the spray. I sputtered and choked on the unexpected downpour that was so cold pins and needles pricked my skin.

“What did I tell you about fighting me?” He gripped my face, lifting it so I would meet his eyes.

A violent shiver racked me as a torrent straight from the Antarctic soaked my hair and matted my dress to my body. I blinked the water from my eyes. I didn’t know if it was the freezing water or the relief he wasn’t going to whip me, but the fight within vanished, leaving me trembling and alone.

“It’s cold,” I complained through chattering teeth.

“Good.” He was half-soaked as well, but he didn’t even flinch, fingers tightening on my cheeks. “You have a temper, kotyonok.” His grip alleviated a touch, dark eyes on mine. “Don’t make me put a leash on you.”

After his threat, I should apologize. I should beg for his forgiveness and a collarless neck, but, instead, the emotionless words that slipped out were, “I hope the tea was still hot.”

The smallest hint of amusement on his lips clashed with the annoyance in his eyes, and his response was thoughtful, maybe even rhetorical. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Let me go.”

Something subtle and conflicted passed through his eyes, and I wondered if he’d already made plans to release me soon; if he would exchange me for my papa’s life in days or even hours. The idea tightened the walls of my chest, making me feel lost and alone, but despair wasn’t the only feeling that bubbled to life.

“Mmm.” The soft noise vibrated against my lips. “Not yet.”

I knew even if I escaped having entertained the devil, his demons would follow me for life. As I imagined him walking away without a backward glance like I was a wad of gum on the bottom of his boot, unwanted and shortly forgotten, something fierce surfaced. It wanted to haunt D’yavol like he would me. Or maybe that was just an excuse for losing my grasp on hatred and letting it go up in smoke and flame.

I expelled a shaky breath at the glide of his thumb across my cheekbone. The contrast between his anger and caress threw me off my axis, lit a lightning bolt of heat in my belly, and arose the mindless desire to invoke his softness and approval.

His thumb ran across my lips like he was testing if I would bite him. I didn’t. I even let him push it slightly into my mouth. The low sound in his throat invaded the chill in the air, warming the water a few degrees, and at that moment, all I wanted was heat.

Even if it came in the form of hellfire.

I closed my mouth around his thumb, so he had to pull it free against the hot glide of my tongue and lips. Flames were started by less than the look in his eyes, and the full weight of his approval settled an ache between my legs.

The warmth inside conflicted the cold torture on my skin in such a way I felt dizzy. High. Drunk on a tumbler of ten-thousand-dollar vodka twenty stories in the air, and I could do nothing but yield to the touch when his thumb pulled my bottom lip down as it left me.

Wrists wrapped in leather, trickles of icy water pouring over my skin and down parted lips, time slowed beneath the thick pull between us that felt like half-lidded eyes and moonless nights. Ivory skin and goose bumps. Soaked Brioni and tattoos. Selflessness and greed.

The visceral need to close the distance stole the air from me, and I couldn’t find enough oxygen that wasn’t tainted by his heat and the intoxicating smell of the forest. My head was above water, but I was drowning; panting for the breath I knew this sin wouldn’t satiate.

“Please, let me out of here.”

We both seemed to know my words held two different desires: to be released from this glacial punishment and my internal cage.

My beating heart and the patter of water filled a moment of dense silence.

“You want your freedom, you have to earn it.” The demeaning, suggestive statement should break the spell between us, though the sound of his voice—cultured but tainted by a thicker accent than usual—slid down the back of my neck like a caress. I wanted to lean into it.

“I’m on my period,” I said dumbly, in the hope he would find it as unpleasant as Carter did, and I’d be saved from the immoral moment. I should have known that wouldn’t be the case.

A smile touched his lips. “A little blood has never scared me off.”

I swallowed. “What do you want me to do?”

“Get creative.”

Throat thick, hesitation stalled me. I wasn’t sure what he wanted from me or what I could even do with my arms tied above my head. This was my chance for some freedom, for a looser rein to figure out a plan of escape, but what good would that be if I drowned first? I guessed I would just have to learn to swim.

I did the only thing I could do.

Rising to my toes, I closed the distance until our lips were a hairsbreadth apart; until mine skimmed his with each shiver that rolled through me. I breathed against his mouth for a second, waiting for his reaction—any reaction that would induce the confidence to proceed—but nothing came. Frustrated, with a shaky wave of self-consciousness, I pressed my lips fully to his.

Gaining a little slack in the belt, my arms were held awkwardly above my head, so I rested them on his shoulders. He tasted like cinnamon, corruption, and something so masculine I inhaled deeply to breathe him in. As my mouth moved against his, all hesitation inside dissolved, replaced by a flood of fire that seared its way to the tips of my toes.

He didn’t reciprocate the kiss. In fact, he’d seemed more engrossed in his little games at breakfast than he was now. I suddenly needed a reaction from him like I needed to breathe.

Kissing him soft and slow, my leg slid up the side of his, curling around his hip to draw him closer, and then I licked the scar on his bottom lip. He exhaled roughly, stepping closer beneath the spray of water, and braced his hands on the shower wall on either side of me. He was warm, exuding so much heat I trembled and pressed against him to soak it in.

My blood vibrated in my veins, boiling below the surface. I slipped my tongue into his mouth, he sucked it with a graze of teeth, and the wet, hot glide pulsated in my core. His lips moved against mine, meeting every dip and lick with a more commanding one. As my leg tightened around his hip to urge him closer, a hand left the wall and grabbed ahold of my thigh, his fingers pressing into the flesh.

When he nipped my bottom lip, I bit him harder. The growl from deep in his chest vibrated against me. Desire inflamed in my stomach and tightened into a ball that demanded to be relieved. I was nothing but touch and feeling, floating on a cloud of lust so hot I was sure I wouldn’t survive if it popped.

Deepening the kiss, I released a suppressed moan. He swallowed it, brushing his tongue against mine. Consumed by fire and ice, I arched against him, desperate for contact, for friction, for absolution.

But hell had brought me here.

And hell would get me out.

I teased his lips with mine, licked, bit, pressed, and breathed, an ache blooming between my legs I would suddenly do anything to fill, period be damned. Exhaling a desperate hum into his mouth, I pressed closer, my body flush with his. His grip tightened on my thigh, and the restraint behind it—the idea he could bruise me, hurt me, but didn’t—only made me desperate for more.

He made an angry noise when I started to grind against the hard length of him in an effort to alleviate the ache, and that was when he pushed my leg off him and abruptly stepped away.

I was doused with cold water outside and in, but it didn’t steal the heat he left behind. Chest heaving with each breath, I watched him turn off the shower and work my wrists free like nothing happened, like he wasn’t affected at all, while I felt turned inside out, one foot in the underworld, and the other unsteady.

Then he walked away, leaving the door of my cage open with the chance of freedom beyond, but I could do nothing except stare after his retreat, shivering, with red wrists and the warmth of his mouth still on mine.