Twisted Obsession (Underworld Kings)

"Thank you." It's only then that the realization hits me. I'm standing before him in my white lace panties and matching strapless bra. I want to cover up, to wrap myself in the golden material at my feet, but I don't. Instead, I stand tall, just like I learned in class since I was six and look directly at the man before me.

It's like going head-to-head with your fate. You're unsure of what's about to happen, but there's nothing you can do to stop it. You can only hope and pray that the aftermath is not fatal.

"When you're around me, there will be no mention of your family, or my family, for that matter. We will talk about nothing more than how your day was, what you'd like to do after your classes are finished for the year, and how you can contribute to this home."

"I'm not a maid. I'm here to stand beside you," I inform him. "I know men in this life aren't particularly fond of women, but I grew up around violence, and I will not run when I face danger."

Enzo's mouth tips into a sinister grin as he reaches behind him, and before he does it, I know what's about to happen. His hand appears, and the familiar steel blade comes into view. "Aren't you scared?" he challenges before taking a step toward me. I don't want to move, but on instinct, I do. I move back slowly as he makes his way forward.

Back.

Forward.

Back.

Forward.

Back.

My heart catapults into my throat when my back hits cool glass. Enzo tips his head to the side, his gaze locking on mine as he lifts the steel blade to my nose. Lightly, ever so fucking lightly, he touches me. Goose bumps flourish as the weapon trails gently over my cheek, down to my neck where he stops, just below my ear, right on my pulse point.

Dark eyes burn with volatile amusement as he watches my erratic pulse. The thrumming in my ears is so loud, I'm certain he can hear it. He doesn't speak, he merely inhales me, as if he's smelling the fear that's emanating from me.

My hands are flat against the window. If we weren't up so high, I'm sure people would be able to see my bare backside pressed against the glass.

"What are you doing?" My whisper is scratchy against my throat, and I wonder if he can hear me. If he can hear just how nervous I am. There's a fine line between fear and nerves. And I'm teetering right on the edge.

"I want to see how not scared you are of me," he informs me. His expression giving nothing away. He could so easily slit my throat right here. He'd have the revenge he wants. And he wouldn't even blink. He'd have a clean-up crew walk in, tidy up the mess, and walk back out.

"I'm not scared of you," I tell him. My confession causes him to press into my flesh, heat courses through me, skittering down my spine, my stomach knots, tightening with every nudge of the sharp tip. But what I don't expect is the rest of my reaction. The way my thighs squeeze together, and just how my core throbs at the sting of pain.

Enzo doesn't miss a beat. His gaze tracks my movements. He knows what this does to me. The realization is shimmering in his amused stare. "Does this make my little dancer wet?" he asks, the words a whisper along my lips.

I don't respond. I can't answer him because if I do, he'll hear it in my voice. He'll pick out the need racing through my veins, heating me from the inside out. He lifts his head once more, snapping those dark eyes to me.

Inches. That's all that separates our mouths now. If he were to lean forward just a fraction, he'd kiss me.

Would he?

Do I want him to?

The answer to the latter is a resounding yes.

I want this man. Even though I would love to see him dead, my core pulses once more when he trails the blade, scraping it along my neck, down between my breasts. It's hard enough to feel the sharpness, but it's not enough to cut through my skin. He's not drawing blood, he's marking me.

He pulls the knife away suddenly, before leaning in and brushing the shell of my ear with his lips. The heat of his breath causes a shiver to wrack through me. "I think you like this. That pretty, little cunt is wet right now because it wants a bad man to make it drip. It craves a bad man to stretch it out. And perhaps if you're a good girl, this bad man right here," he tips the knife to his chest, before delivering his final threat, "will give you exactly what you want." His words send waves of pure need crashing right to my core.