Page 7 of Beautiful Torment (Empire of Kings #1)

“There’s not an ounce of pride left in you, is there?” he goads me. “What would your fiancé say if he could see you right now?”

I blow out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know. Want to see if he’s available? Maybe he could give you some pointers?—"

A humorless laugh cuts through the air. There’s something so eerily calm about his demeanor as he slips the blade beneath the band of my thong and slices through one side, then the other. But beneath the surface, I can sense the shift in him. It’s like a shadow stepping into its own darkness.

“I’m glad you like games, cara .” He tugs the scraps of fabric and tosses them aside, leaving me bare and exposed. “I want to play one now.”

The cool air hits the most vulnerable part of me, setting every nerve on fire. I hate that he was right. I don’t have an ounce of pride left beneath the anticipation thrumming through my veins.

He circles around to my front and lowers to his haunches. I nearly jump out of my skin when he clamps a large hand around my thigh and slides it down to my calf. He wields the blade with shocking efficiency as he slices through the restraints on each of my ankles.

Uncertainty paralyzes me as he rises and returns the blade to its sheath. Regardless, it doesn’t matter if I can move because he does it for me. He pulls me from the chair and forces me to walk, steering me from behind using my bound wrists.

I comply until I realize he’s pushing me toward the guard railing on the edge of the rooftop.

“Wait.” I stop and jerk back, trying to dig my feet into the floor beneath me.

“Oh, Abella.” Amusement darkens his voice as he yanks me against his body and clamps an arm around my waist. He picks me up with the same effort he’d use to lift a pillow. “I could launch you off this rooftop without even trying if I felt like it. I guess I’ll have to be careful with you.”

A wave of adrenaline sweeps through me as he hauls me toward the only barrier between solid ground and a 60-story freefall.

I resume my fight, but he proves his point by hindering every attempt I make to free myself from his grasp.

I’ve never considered myself weak, but when it comes to his size and strength, I’m no match.

Cold dread settles in my gut as we reach the perimeter and he sets me upon my feet, only to grab my bound wrists and bend me over the railing.

A scream rips from my lungs as gravity pulls me forward, my feet losing purchase as I dangle precariously over the metal biting into my hips. I stare down the open grave of the city streets below, his grip around my wrists my only lifeline.

In that moment, everything comes into focus. The distance from the rooftop to the sidewalk below. The breeze rustling strands of my hair. The blood rushing to my head. Every sense is heightened as my mind races and my heart gallops.

“Please,” I beg.

“What’s the matter, bella ? Don’t you trust me?”

“I don’t know you!”

“No?”

His response sends a shiver of awareness through me.

From the moment I heard his voice tonight, it stirred a whisper of a memory.

But it wasn’t just that. It’s the way the air shifted around him, charged like a storm was on the horizon.

I couldn’t see him, but I felt him. Every cell in my body recognized his presence and the craving I never could let go.

Except, it can’t be him.

So who is he?

He slips his free hand beneath my dress, skimming the fabric up my thighs and draping it around my waist. My brain registers how exposed I am when a low sound vibrates from his chest, like he’s been thinking about this moment for a long time.

His palm glides over my hips and down to the curve of my ass, grabbing a handful and giving it a smack. It lights up every pleasure receptor I have and sends a confusing mixture of fear and desire through me.

My mind is at war, torn between surrendering to the thrill or fighting for survival.

In this scenario, I’m completely vulnerable to him, and if I’m being honest, there’s something intoxicating about that.

It’s a primal desire—the idea of being chased, captured, and dominated by the strongest predator—only for him to become the protector.

He feeds into that power when he slides his hand between my legs and uses his fingers to spread me apart. It’s indecent and humiliating, but that’s the point.

“I guess you do like it.” His thumb barely grazes me, and a rush of pleasure licks down my spine. “You’re dripping wet.”

“You have a filthy mouth.” I squeeze my eyes shut and try to focus on my breathing.

“That was me being polite,” he murmurs. “Have you let him touch you here?”

His thumb circles my clit, sending sparks shooting through me. Even as my life hangs in the balance, that possessive edge in his voice twists me up in knots. He acts like he owns me—and there’s something so unhinged about that. But even worse is the way my body responds.

“Would you let him watch as I stretch you open with my cock?” His voice dips, the words settling right between my thighs.

I bite back an answer. If I give him what he wants, that means he’ll win this stupid game.

But as he continues to torture me with the slow, rhythmic circles, my resolve wavers.

Maybe it’s the torrent of fear and a desperate need for safety, or maybe I’m just broken.

Either way, I’m chasing the release even as every muscle in my body burns.

The longer he draws it out, the worse it gets.

My arms feel numb from being stretched behind me, and my hips ache from the hard railing beneath them. I’m dizzy, terrified, and conflicted, but more than anything, I’m dying for relief.

“Would you get on your knees for me in front of him?” He punctuates the question with so much delicious pressure, it produces an ungodly sound from my throat. “Would you swallow my cock like a good girl?”

Those feral words send a current of heat straight through my core, and I know he feels the clench between my thighs. He’s taunting me, and he’s enjoying it way too much for my liking. I give him nothing, but he punishes me for it, removing the weight of his fingers and leaving me cold.

A grunt of frustration leaves me. “You’re an asshole.”

“And?” he drawls.

I press my lips together. I shouldn’t say it. I still have some dignity left?—

“Answer the question.” He smacks my pussy, and I gasp, the words falling right out of my mouth.

“Yes, okay.” I swallow. “I’d let you do it. Are you happy now?”

A dark sound of approval reverberates through him. “Very.”

The warmth of his voice floods my body with heat, like I did something good. It feels like I’ve earned a reward when he resumes his sweet torture, the smooth leather of his glove circling me exactly where I need him.

Stupidly, I open my eyes again, and the sight of the long drop below sends another shot of terror through me. I’m either going to pass out, or I’m going to come.

As I’m considering it, he lowers me another inch over the ledge, and a scream rips from my lungs.

“Are you scared yet?” he asks.

Tears leak from my eyes as my entire body trembles beneath him.

He lowers me another inch.

“Please!” I cry out.

“Please what?” he hums.

“Please…make me come.”

I can’t believe those are the words that eject from my mouth, but apparently, I’m willing to die for an orgasm.

“ Brava, ragazza .” His praise seeps into every inch of my skin, spreading through me like wildfire.

The pressure between my legs increases, and a dizzying rush of chemicals floods my brain.

The threat of danger fades into the background as tension climbs, pushing me closer to the breaking point.

My skin tingles, my lungs burn, and every muscle in my body aches.

I’m strung so tightly, I feel like I’ll snap in half any second.

One last plea spills out on a ragged breath before he relieves me of my agony.

Pleasure explodes low in my belly, radiating outward in violent spasms. It’s followed by a feverish rush and a surge of euphoria so intense, my vision narrows to a pinpoint.

I sway dangerously close to the edge of passing out as he pulls me back from the brink of death.

The shift in gravity jars all my senses and tilts the world back into focus.

I’m upright, but I’m not standing on my own.

He supports my weight as he cuts my bindings, and when my arms swing free, I collapse against him.

Every ounce of strength drains from my body as the adrenaline crash hits me hard and fast. Relief swells inside me, then bursts into body-racking sobs.

He lifts me into his arms and brushes his fingers over my face. I don’t even know why I’m crying. It’s the come-down, I think. A cathartic release of so many pent-up emotions I forgot I’d even buried inside me.

He wipes away my tears, and it feels intimate and raw. When I try to bury my face against his chest, he tilts my gaze back to his and shakes his head.

“Don’t hide from me.” His voice softens a fraction, lulling me into a sense of safety I know I shouldn’t feel.

I draw in a shaky breath, fighting the sudden wave of exhaustion pulling me down.

“What happens now?” I croak.

“Now…you’ll go to sleep.”

I blink, struggling to keep my eyes open as I manage one last question.

“Are you going to tell me your name?”

He smooths my dress back down and caresses my face.

“You can call me… Il Diavolo .”