Twisted Obsession (Underworld Kings)

“Isn’t it?” Her question is filled with hope, as if I could change her life, as if I could make her world brighter. That’s what it’s like when Luna looks at me, as if I were the hero in her story. But I’m not. And I cannot be both—hero and villain.

“Luna,” I coo her name, cupping her cheek with my hand, reveling in her sweet, soft skin. “You’re so much more than just a housemaid, you’re more than anything you perceive yourself to be,” I tell her earnestly, because fuck, she is a siren. And each time her voice invades my mind, I realize I’m falling deeper into her spell.

“Is that what you really think?” she asks in a tone that belies the anger that usually simmers between us. It’s like she wants me. Could she love a monster?

“Yes, Luna.” My admission says more than I want to admit, but I voice it anyway. She’s drawn me in. Pulled me into the depths of her sweetness, and I have a feeling, I’m never going to get free.

“Thank you,” she says, a small, innocent smile playing on her lips. For a lingering moment, I lean in and press my lips to hers. It’s a strange feeling when you fall, when you leap off an edge you’ve been teetering on for so long.

I break the kiss and step away. “I’ll be in my office.” I leave her staring at my back because I can feel the heat of her focus, and I smile because for a short moment, I feel like a hero.

Each time we talk, I still find myself thinking back to what happened between our parents. I fight it. But between my growing affection for her, and my slowly diminishing hatred, it’s as if I’m being tugged in two different fucking directions.

On one hand, I ache for a connection because Luna is the only woman that I've been with who didn't shy away from my needs. But on the other, she's still the enemy's daughter.

However, I’m not sure if that matters anymore.

Chapter 23

Luna

He walks off with a tortured expression, and I want nothing more than to talk about what happened between us, but I don't follow. Instead, I focus on the cookies I'd been baking. I needed to distract myself from last night, from the fact that Enzo owns me mind, body, and soul.

Denying it is no longer an option. I'm his. Even though we were to be married, I didn't expect to feel this connection to him. Last night should have scared me. Many times, since I first walked into his apartment should have scared me, but deep down, I crave his darkness like it's my own.

When his control slips, I want it. I ache for it. Perhaps my mind has been broken growing up in a mafia family. I flick off the oven and pull out the tray, setting it to cool before I head back into the studio to forget his frustration from earlier.

I pull off the jumper I'd been wearing, and shrug off my sweats. I always have a pair of tights and my leotard on just in case the opportunity to dance comes up. I kick off my sneakers and head for the stereo. I'm not sure what I want to do, but I know I need to clear my mind of Enzo and his whiplash emotions.

He's a storm, raging war on my mind and body, and it feels as if I'm caught right in the eye. A place that could be a safe place, but it could also be fatal.

The song that escapes the speakers has a deep bass, the thump vibrating through me as I move. My eyes close of their own accord, and I allow the rhythm to overtake me and lead me around the room. Deep down, I wish he was watching me right now.

I want him to see me. I want him to take me, slam me against the wall, and make me come. With every twirl, I breathe deeply, my core aching for what he delivered last night.

The thickness of him, spreading me, stretching me. How he toyed with me, lapping at my blood, tasting my very essence. As I move around the studio, my feet gliding as if I'm not even touching the ground, the images in my head play on.

My own dirty memories take hold and I realize just how turned on I am. I spin around, my lungs work overtime as the crescendo hits me and I'm forced to come to a stop and my eyes snap open.

I thought Enzo was in the room. It feels as if his eyes are on me, but I'm alone. Staring at my flushed face in the mirror, I wonder what he thought of me last night. Did I look beautiful? I must have if he fucked me.