Born, Darkly (Darkly, Madly 1)

His hand travels eagerly up my back, then he pushes his fingers into my damp hair. Restraint unleashed, he fists my hair and tugs, exposing my neck. I close my eyes against the feel of his mouth touching down, his lips and tongue coaxing me to give in as he kisses a blistering trail over the juncture of my neck and shoulder.

He pauses when he reaches my ear. “You are the bad thing.”

My eyes open. Arousal forgotten, I pull back and stare into his pale gaze. “I’m tired of this game, Grayson.”

“Then stop playing and show me you.” His hold in my hair tightens as he grips my upper thigh with his other, forcing me against him.

The abrasive rub of his jeans between my legs makes me gasp, and I thrust my hands out. I plant my palms on his chest, keeping a span of air between us. “Let me go—” His mouth captures mine in a ruthless kiss, swallowing my plea.

I push at his chest, hating that I notice the strain in his muscles, the way my body responds to the hardness pressing against my inner thigh. His fingers dig into the flesh of my backside, pulling me harder to him, my struggle only fueling the fire.

My nails find purchase in his skin, and I claw for freedom, the same way I clawed the box. He absorbs the attack as if he’s feeding on the pain. I locate the bandage on his shoulder and nail the wound with my fist. His guttural roar fills the cavern of my mouth before he breaks away, breaths heavy.

“I want out,” I demand. “I want out of this sick game.”

He takes my hand and flattens it to his chest, covering the scratches beading with red. “You’re here—right here—because you chose to be. This is where you belong.”

“I didn’t choose to be your captive…your victim.”

“What did you want to be, then? My love slave? My clandestine lover? Fucking like animals between inmate visitations?” His laugh is hollow. “I hardly think that would be good enough for the respectable Dr. Noble. Or maybe it’s the other way around. You thought I’d be your dirty secret. Your pet. Take me out when you want to play, then lock me back up when you’re through.” He moves in closer, thrusting his erection hard against my seam. “Tell me. What did you think this was about?”

I hate him—I hate the way his words fracture my mind. The way his touch sears my flesh. I hate the way my body arches toward him against my will, the ache deep within my core a pulsing heat that demands to be sated.

“I hate you,” I whisper.

“You hate everything but me.”

“Stop fucking with my head—” My hands become fists that beat at his chest. Blind punches land anywhere I can strike.

Grayson groans and pulls me off the counter. His strong arms haul me forward, then I’m against the wall. My back makes contact as his body pins me, his hands trapping mine above my head. My lungs fight for oxygen.

“Is this your attempt at mastering your passions?” he says against my lips. “Let’s see how mastered you are.”

Keeping my wrists locked together, Grayson frees one of his hands. He slides it down my arm until he reaches the towel. With a quick tug, my only barrier from him drops to the floor.

I’m more than naked; I’m bared. Exposed. Vulnerable.

His skin touching mine, the heat of his body, our raw desire…it’s real. And it’s decimating. The air around us is charged with an alarming current that threatens to combust all the molecules in the room.

His knee wedges my legs apart, and my body doesn’t fight. The ache intensifies at the feel of his hand finding me instantly. I quake under his touch and arch off the wall, my breasts seeking contact with his rough skin.

“Deny it,” he whispers as he expertly slips his fingers between my thighs. “Utter one claim that this isn’t what you want, and I’ll stop.”

But he knows the truth of me already. He can feel how wet I am as his fingers slide over my clit, hear my yearning in the breathless moans I try to hold back.

“Tell me you want this—say it. Tell me you want us.”

I bite my lip, refusing to give in completely. “I can want physical satisfaction,” I finally say when my body peaks. “That’s not a shattering revelation. It means nothing.”

The sound of his zipper lowering sends a thrill coursing through my veins. Want is a dangerous emotion. When it’s strong enough, all other emotions fade into the background. I want Grayson, and my loathing isn’t present enough to stop me.

His hand moves against my pelvis as he takes himself out. The silky smooth touch of his cock along my stomach speeds my pulse, my heart knocks painfully against my chest wall.

“You’re so strong, London. So damn strong and stubborn.” I can feel him stroking himself, and my eyes flutter closed. The ache builds into a sharp throb between my legs. “I love everything about you—even your sickness. It turns me on and drives me mad. The bad things you’ve done. I should despise what you are, but you caught me in your web, and I’m begging you to bleed me dry, that’s how twisted you got me.”

I gasp for air, my skin scorched everywhere he touches.

I open my eyes, and there in the vanity mirror I glimpse the tattoo between his shoulder blades. The inked keyhole is dark and fresh, hand drawn. Inside the shading are numbers and formulas—an equation I can’t make out, but I know it’s important. What does it mean?