Page 79 of Corrupted By You

She stammered a bit under my scrutiny but continued to display avidity while conversing with my family.

Throughout the evening, I noticed how she’d stare at my bowtie and frown. I purposely omitted wearing a tie with her barrette just to get a rise out of her.

For all her act of not liking me, little angel was possessive of her devil.

She loved seeing her mark on me.

Darla cast another glance my way and, decision made, I left the bar, beelining for her like a man on a mission.

It was time for our first dance.

CHAPTER 18

Hades and Persephone

Darla

The wedding festivities came to an end and the battle of chess began.

All night, Zeno was roiling with untamed energy that was dying to sprout like a volcano the minute Shaun came near me.

While I wasn’t one for playing games, knowing that I had an advantage on Zeno delighted and nourished my bruised ego.

The rest of the family went to bed and the staff made themselves scarce. Now it was just him and me, standing at an impasse in the dark foyer with our turbulent emotions oscillating like a heavy pendulum.

“Show me to my room,” I said, as if I were a scion entering new quarters and demanding a servant to do my bidding. “Husband.”

Those stormy eyes assessed me like they couldn’t believe my audacity. “Watch your mouth,wife.”

“You like it. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have married me,chérie.” I retreated a step when he advanced, like a chess piece moving back a square. “Now, please, show me to my room.”

The inferno sizzling between us was a testament to the nature of our relationship: Zeno and I were cursed with a fatal attraction that wouldn’t diminish until he was fucking me raw, and my throat was hoarse from crying out his name.

Zeno prowled forward and lifted me off my feet in a princess carry. He started for the opposite wing and I wrapped my arms around his neck.

He was unyielding as he ferried us to our fate. I stared at his profile, wrath and yearning coalesced together like a crepuscular shade on a blank canvas. The shadows playing across his face, courtesy of the candle lights hanging from the ceiling like a velarium, emphasized the chiseled cut of his jaw, the plumpness of his lips, and the length of his lashes as his gaze lowered to me in his arms, compliant, soft, and utterly his for the taking.

An unconditional ache to run my fingers through his black hair ignited. Followed by the inexorable need to yank his bowtie because he hadn’t worn a tie with my barrette. Every action of his was meticulously calculated, and it was glaringly obvious he omitted my accessory to get a rise out of me.

Refusing to show how much that bothered me, I asked instead, “Are you really taking me to my room?”

“No, I’m taking you to my dungeon, where I’m going to tie and flog you so good, you’ll never forget who you belong to.”

Oh, Lord.“You have a dungeon—for what?”

“For pretty little whores who test their masters.” Zeno climbed the grand staircase two steps at a time.

We reached a room in a deserted wing and Zeno lowered me to my feet. The black doors derided me with the unknown—with the thoughts of what lay on the other side.

“I do not belong to you,” I said ardently, adjusting the skirt of my dress.

But some part of me wished to belong somewhere, to someone.

Zeno, not liking my retort, grabbed my throat and backed me against the doors. My diamond necklace dug into my skin and I loved that he didn’t treat me like glass.

“You do,” he warned. “You just haven’t realized it.”

“We have an expiry date,” I reminded him, even as a voice inside of me chivied that our fairy tale might not have one. That there may be golden sunsets and rainbowed paths and a picturesque ending for us.