Page 45 of Dark Soul (Tainted #1)

The penthouse is a cathedral of shadows, its glass walls swallowing the city’s neon pulse like a voyeuristic god.

The lights are dim, casting jagged reflections across the polished concrete floor.

She stands in the center of it all, a silhouette carved from defiance, her heels not clicking but staking claim to every inch of this space.

The city sprawls below, a glittering, oblivious audience to the war we’re about to wage.

“Are you gonna growl at me until I’m scared?” she taunts, her voice a blade wrapped in velvet. No fear. Just reckless, molten heat that dares me to break her.

I move.

She doesn’t flinch when I slam her against the wall, the impact reverberating through her body and into mine.

Her breath hitches, and it’s not from pain, but from the sick satisfaction of getting exactly what she came for.

Her curves press into me, her hips rolling just enough to taunt, like she’s been craving this collision since she strutted into that dive bar.

She’s no victim, though. She’s a fucking reckoning.

My hand snakes down her waist, over the sharp curve of her hip, slipping beneath the obscene slit of her dress—a scrap of black fabric that clings to her like a second skin. My fingers meet nothing but bare, warm flesh. No panties. No shame. Just slick, defiant invitation.

“You walked in like this?” I growl, my voice raw, scraped from some primal pit inside me. “No barriers. No fucking restraint. Just begging to be torn apart.”

Her smirk is a razor, slicing through the haze between us. “Isn’t that what you’re dying for?”

I hook her leg over my hip, my thigh shoving between hers, pressing hard enough to make her feel the full weight of what she’s unleashed.

My fingers dig into the soft flesh of her thigh, bruising, marking, claiming.

A reminder that she’s mine to ruin tonight.

Her pulse hammers under my grip, but her eyes—those goddamn eyes—burn with challenge, daring me to push harder, to break deeper.

“I want everything,” I snarl, my lips grazing the shell of her ear, close enough to feel her shiver. “And I always fucking get what I want.”

Her lips part, a soft gasp escaping, but it’s not surrender.

It’s hunger. That same mouth that spat venom now trembles with want, teetering on the edge of something darker.

I spin her away from the wall, dragging her toward the floor-to-ceiling window that frames the city like a guillotine.

Her heel catches on the carpet, a fleeting stumble, but she doesn’t resist. Not when I shove her palms against the cold glass, forcing her to face her own reflection—a distorted goddess staring back at herself, pinned by my shadow.

Below us, the city churns, its lights flickering like a pulse that doesn’t know it’s already dead. Up here, I’m the one pulling strings, unraveling her thread by thread.

“You gonna make me beg?” she asks, her voice a low, throaty challenge, but there’s a crack in it now—a hairline fracture of need.

“No,” I murmur, my lips brushing the nape of her neck, my breath hot against her skin. “I’m going to make you fucking shatter.”

She doesn’t speak after that. Not with words.

Her body does the talking with her hips arching back, her fingers curling against the glass, her breath fogging the window in short, sharp bursts.

I shove her dress up, baring the perfect curve of her ass to the night, the city, the void.

My hands grip her hips, fingers sinking into flesh hard enough to leave marks that’ll linger for days.

A map of where I’ve been. Where I’ll always be.

I don’t give her slow. I don’t give her gentle.

I give her brutal—a punishing rhythm that slams into her spine, echoing through the glass like a war drum.

Each thrust is a claim, a theft, a fucking obliteration of thought.

She gasps, curses, moans, her voice fracturing into something raw and animalistic.

Her cheek presses against the window, smearing her reflection, her body melting into the chaos of it all.

But I’m not done. Not even close.

I pull out, leaving her trembling, gasping, her knees buckling as I drag her away from the glass.

She stumbles, her heels scraping the floor, but I don’t let her fall.

Not yet. I haul her to the leather chair by the fire pit, its flames licking the air like they’re jealous of what I’m about to do.

I toss her down, her body sprawling across the leather, pliant but not broken.

Not yet. Her dress is a ruin, bunched around her waist, her thighs glistening with sweat and need.

I spread her knees wide, my hands rough, unyielding.

Her hair is a tangled mess, and I grab a fistful, yanking her head back to force her eyes to meet mine.

They’re wild, dilated, a storm of defiance and desperation.

I sink to my knees between her thighs, my breath hot against her skin, and I don’t say a word as I worship her with my mouth.

My tongue is relentless, tasting her, unraveling her, dragging her to the edge of oblivion.

She’s not proud anymore. Not controlled.

She’s a fucking mess, her hands clawing at the leather, her hips bucking against my face, her moans splintering into pleas.

“Fuck…please…” she chokes out, her voice raw, stripped of everything but need.

But I’m not here to grant mercy. I’m here to ruin her.

I rise, my hand finding her throat, fingers wrapping around the delicate column of her neck.

Not tight enough to hurt yet, but enough to make her feel the weight of my control.

Her pulse races under my thumb, a frantic rhythm that matches the fire in her eyes.

She doesn’t pull away. She leans into it, her lips parting as she gasps, her body trembling on the edge of surrender.

“You think you can handle this?” I rasp, tightening my grip just enough to make her breath stutter. “You think you can play with me and walk away whole?”

Her eyes lock onto mine, and even now, pinned beneath my hand, she’s defiant. “Try me,” she whispers, her voice a broken challenge.

I release her throat, only to slide my hand down to her chest, pinning her against the chair as I thrust into her again.

Harder this time, and deeper. Each movement is a punishment, a promise, a fucking vow.

Her nails rake down my arms, leaving trails of fire, but I don’t stop.

I can’t. She’s a drug, a blade, a fucking inferno, and I’m burning alive.

The fire pit crackles behind us, its heat licking at my back as I drive her toward the edge.

Her moans turn to screams, raw and unfiltered, her body arching off the leather as she unravels.

I don’t let up. I want her wrecked, ruined, branded by me in a way that no one else will ever touch.

I want her to feel me in her bones, in her blood, in the shattered pieces of her soul.

When she comes, it’s not gentle. It’s violent, a full-body convulsion that rips through her like a storm.

Her eyes roll back, her lips trembling around a string of curses and my fucking name, like a prayer and a curse all at once.

I follow her over the edge, my own release a brutal, blinding thing that leaves me hollowed out, spent, but still fucking starving for her.

I collapse over her, our breaths ragged, our bodies slick with sweat and sin. The city hums below, indifferent to the war we’ve just fought. Her hand finds my jaw, her touch softer now, but no less dangerous. She’s not broken completely. But she’s mine.

And I’m not done with her yet. Her body offers zero resistance as I gently guide her to the floor.

I take her again, slower now, but still brutal. Her fingers claw at my shoulders. Her teeth sink into her own lip until it bleeds. Each thrust is deliberate, a blade sinking deeper, carving my name into the softest parts of her soul.

Her fingers claw at my shoulders, nails breaking skin, drawing blood that mingles with the sweat dripping between us.

She tries to close her thighs around me, to control the pace, to take something back.

I slap her thigh hard, the crack of skin on skin echoing in the penthouse like a gunshot.

She whimpers, but it’s not pain in her voice.

It’s hunger. The kind of sound that says she’s as fucked up as I am, reveling in the sting, in the brutality of it all.

“You’re filthy,” I rasp against the delicate column of her throat, my lips grazing the pulse that hammers there, wild and unyielding. “You think this makes you strong? Walking in here, baring yourself like a fucking offering?”

Her laugh is a jagged, breathless thing, teetering on the edge of insanity. “No,” she gasps, her voice shaking with the weight of her own defiance. “But I know it makes you weak.”

The words hit like a match to gasoline. My hand shoots to her jaw, fingers digging into the soft flesh, forcing her to meet my gaze. Her eyes are fire and ruin, daring me to break her, to try.

I crush our mouths together, the kiss a collision of violence and want, teeth clashing, lips bruising.

I bite her lower lip hard until she cries out, the sound a raw, fractured thing that vibrates through me like a drug.

Blood lingers on my tongue, metallic and warm, and I don’t pull back.

I drink it in, her pain, her defiance, her everything.

This isn’t love. This isn’t tenderness. This is punishment. Obsession with claws and teeth, a beast that’s been caged too long and now wants to devour.

I flip her onto her stomach, her body hitting the marble with a thud that reverberates through the room.

The cold floor presses against her cheek, her breath fogging the surface in short, desperate bursts.

Her back arches instinctively, hips tilting up, offering herself to me like she was born for this.