Born, Darkly (Darkly, Madly 1)

“Blended. Have you mastered your passions or are you just delusional?”

I slap the folder closed. “This session has officially gotten off track, and so it’s over.” I rise from my seat.

“But we only have one left after this.”

The hurt in his voice sounds so genuine it stops me. I turn toward him. “I have your evaluation completed already. You don’t require another session.” I yank the paperwork from the folder and flinch. “Damn. Paper cut.”

Red beads at the tip of my finger.

In the second it takes me to assess the wound, Grayson moves. He captures my hand and hauls me forward. His vise grip serves two purposes: preventing me from fleeing, and forcing blood to my hand.

He takes my finger into his mouth. A roar fills my ears, my heart thundering at the feel of him sucking the blood away. I feel it in the back of my knees, an electric current racing through my body and knocking my legs weak.

“Stop.” The word is barely audible, but it’s enough.

Grayson pulls back and releases my hand. He draws the chain off the floor, sliding it over his palm, then rubs a pattern over the lock. “I’m afraid that when it comes to you, London, I’ll never master that kind of control.”

I step backward, separating us. “It doesn’t matter. This is over, anyway.”

Anger ignites his pale eyes. “Your lies don’t work on me. You feel everything I do.”

I shake my head and take another step away. “I don’t. And you can’t feel. You’re not capable.” Beneath the adrenaline spiking my bloodstream, I sense a distinct mock of hypocrisy.

My writing desk with the panic button is just feet behind me. The moment he stands, I sprint for it. I hear the clatter of chains and know I’m safe—that he can’t reach me—only to be thrown against the edge of the desk as he grabs me from behind.

My back crushed to his chest, he seals a hand over my mouth. I reach for the button, but his other hand is there first. His grip wrenches my wrist back and then plants my palm on the wood, pinning me to the desk. My breaths sear my chest.

“We’re not leaving here until you admit the truth one fucking time.” His warm breath touches my neck. His mouth rests against my ear.

I blink hard as he lays a thin piece of metal on the desk. I recognize it as a silver catch from a belt buckle. I mentally curse myself. I was so enraptured in that moment he held me captive. His hand sliding up my thigh…his other hand anchored to my waist. He fucking used me. I was blind. Naive.

“You’d have never been so careless unless you wanted these chains off.” He tightens his hold, letting me feel the chain still cuffed to his wrists. The cool metal of the links rub along my back. “Now tell the truth.”

Then his hand is gone. I gasp in a breath, my nails claw at the desk. “I’ll scream,” I threaten.

He hauls the chain over my head and secures it around my neck, forcing my back harder against his chest. “And I’ll crush your windpipe.”

The links pinch my skin as he makes his point. But then just as suddenly, he loosens the chain, allowing me to take in an unobstructed breath. Only as the fear of being strangled vanishes, a new one grips me. Grayson shoves my skirt up my legs.

“All your talk of control and morality…” He kicks my feet apart as his fingers splay along my thigh. “You’re a deviant, London. I know where you live—that dark corner where you hide.”

I whimper and shake my head against him. “You’re wrong, Grayson. You’ve built this up in your mind—”

“Stop.” He digs his hand into my hair and yanks. My hair comes loose, and he presses closer to inhale me. “I want you to prove how well you’ve mastered your passions.” His other hand inches higher. My belly trembles at

the feel. “If you’re not turned on, I’ll cuff myself to the floor and never touch you again. But if you are…then you’re going to confess all those dirty sins to me.”

He tugs my leg over, spreading me wider, as he roams up my thigh. His body cages me in, the edge of the desk digging into my stomach, but the pain only serves to heighten the sensual sensation of every place he’s touching. An ache blooms deep in my core, the throb sending heat between my legs…and I know he can sense it. I clamp my eyes closed.

As he reaches the joint of my leg, I flinch. His finger traces along the seam of my underwear, a tantalizing threat, before he grasps me fully. I buck at the force, then he drags his fingers over me, the pressure erotic, evoking.

A low groan vibrates from deep within him. “I can feel you through the flimsy layer of cloth, London. You’re wet.”

His words ricochet through me, every point of impact detonating like a blast. Every stroke ignites my skin like a strike of a match, and I no longer have the power. Control slips through my fingers as easily as my hands splay over the desk, releasing my will.

“You’re aroused,” he says. “Just like when you watched my videos.” He grips my throat forcefully. “Admit it.”

A shaky breath slips free. “No.”