The Devil I Hate (Devil's Knights 1)
He searched my bags, then he strolled toward me, unbuttoning his shirt. My heart slammed into my chest, and I felt like I was having hot flashes as he approached the bed, stalking over to me like a predator.
Holy mother of orgasms.
He dropped his shirt on top of the sheets. “Put this on.”
I did as he instructed, breathing so fucking hard my lungs were about to explode. He could see the effect he had on me and was enjoying every second. His perfect lips curved up into a sexy grin that damn near demolished my heart. Cruel and beautiful, the Salvatore brothers were the most tempting men I’d ever met.
He reached over, and for a second, I thought he was going to touch me. Instead, he flicked off the lamp beside the bed, bathing the room in darkness.
“What the hell?”
My throat just about closed up. I hated the dark, desperate for even a sliver of light. As I reached for the lamp, Marcello smacked my hand away.
“Go to sleep,” he ordered.
“Can you light a candle or something?”
“No,” he shot back. “Close your eyes and be quiet.”
The right side of the mattress dipped beneath his weight. He moved around until he got comfortable and fluffed the pillows behind his head.
“I need music to fall asleep,” I said. “And you took my phone.”
He sighed, then reached for something on the table beside him. Sweet orchestra music floated through the speaker on his cell phone. Swan Lake by Tchaikovsky was my favorite ballet, the story so heartbreaking I sometimes compared myself to Odette, the swan maiden. If only a handsome prince would save me from the spell Luca cast on me.
Marcello set his phone on the bedside table and rolled onto his side, so we were facing, his arm curled around a pillow. “Happy, princess?”
“Yes. Thank you,” I whispered, the soothing music instantly calming me. “I find it a little disturbing that you know what helps me sleep.”
“Alex,” he muttered. “Please, just close your eyes. We’ve both had a long day. You will need your rest for what my brother has planned.”
His words stirred up more nerves, but I did as he requested, and before the Waltz from Swan Lake ended, I was dead to the world.
Alexandrea Wellington turned me into a fucking psychopath. Beneath all of our hatred, there was a burning desire inside both of us. She was the fuel to my fire, the match that struck me every time. The first time I saw her, I wanted to kiss her pouty pink lips. I also wanted to wrap my fingers around her throat and choke the fucking life out of her.
I hated the way she made me feel.
Like I was losing control.
Falling headfirst off a cliff.
Even as a child, I knew I was not normal. But I had one good thing in my life—my mother. She was a famous painter and the most incredible woman to grace this shithole planet.
I lost everything the day my mother died.
My soul. My humanity.
Every. Fucking. Thing.
Until I met Alex.
The beautiful blonde balanced out the darkest parts of my soul while feeding them at the same time. She was an artist, a free spirit who reminded me of everything I had ever loved and lost. That was the problem with Alex. She was on both sides of the coin, the good and the bad.
Phone in hand, I leaned back in my chair and kicked my foot on the desk. My cock was like a steel rod as I watched Alex from the security feed in her bedroom. She slept in my brother’s oxford with her face mashed into the pillow, her curvy ass sticking up in the air. It had been too long since I’d last seen her in that position, gripping the sheets and screaming my name.
I could have killed her for sleeping beside my brother in a fucking thong. Was she trying to poke the dragon? From what I’d watched, it looked like she tried tempting Marcello into fucking her.
My Little Devil.
Every time I tried to pull her closer, I pushed her away. I was incapable of intimacy or any real feelings. Hate, anger, and lust I understood perfectly. Blood and destruction tainted my entire world, but with Alex, I wanted to feel something. Anything to feel alive.
She was the first and only woman I ever kissed. It was too personal, too intimate. I hated when women tried to run their fingers down my skin, press their lips to mine. The idea made me sick to my stomach. And until that night, I’d never even thought about letting a woman kiss me. Sure, they all tried to coax the darkness out of my blackened soul. They wanted to be the woman who turned the sinner into a saint.
Ten years ago, I’d almost dismissed Alex as another pretty face. Our families had introduced us, and I knew she was the woman I would marry. She was beautiful and damaged, and broken things attracted me. But I was planning to let her go, to break off the deal with her family because I thought she deserved better than me.