Page 10 of Lord of the Dark (Drawn into Darkness #1)

"Don't be shy—come on, you'll be impressed."

She hesitated for a moment, shot me one last piercing glare, then let herself be led away.

Before I could even savor my small victory, Russo's voice cut through the air—low and thoroughly amused.

"Nicely pl—"

"Shut your damn mouth," I hissed, whirling on him so sharply he actually fell silent, stunned.

"What the hell was that?"

My index finger jabbed at him like the barrel of a gun.

He studied me with infuriating calm, as if my words were meant for someone else.

"What was what?"

"You didn't mention you were taken."

"Maybe because I'm not," he replied, deliberately casual, popping a chip into his mouth.

"Oh? So what are you, then? A stray that lets anyone pet it?" I jutted my chin defiantly.

His gaze dragged over my face.

"What do you want from me, Fiona?"

Seriously? "What I...

what I want from you?" I want you to fuck me, you idiot! "I won't say it." I slid the bowl of chips just out of his reach—pure petty provocation.

His dark eyes smoldered as he flashed me a triumphant grin.

And retrieved the chips.

"Then you won't get it."

"Cut the bullshit." The words tore from between my clenched teeth.

"I want to know what to expect from you."

"What do you think you should expect from me?"

"I want an answer, not another question."

"Then ask the right one."

My pulse roared.

He was savoring this—making me wait until I either gave myself away or surrendered.

"Do you want me or not?"

His gaze traced my face, lingering on my mouth, my throat.

He took his goddamn time before leaning in, slow and deliberate, until his face was mere inches from mine.

His scent—woodsy, rich, edged with something dark—drove me utterly mad.

"I'll tell you what I want." His voice was rough, layered with raw dominance.

He closed the distance until his lips brushed my ear.

His breath was hot, even, as my body tensed, every fiber of me coiled to snap.

"I want you on your knees.

Looking up at me while you take every fucking inch with your mouth.

Because you're addicted to what only I can give you.

I want you on all fours.

Panting. Shaking. Because I fuck you so hard you forget how to breathe. And you still beg for more. Because you know no one takes you like I do." A deliberate pause. "But you won't get it until you beg. Not scream, not whine. Beg."

I felt his smirk against my skin—that arrogant, taunting grin that proved he knew exactly how close I was to forgetting every vow I'd ever made.

Coherent thought was impossible.

And that was exactly why he pulled back, left me standing there dumbly with the fire he'd so effortlessly stoked.

He reached for his glass, took a sip, utterly unruffled.

"But if you don't want it, Fiona...

we'll just leave it."

I gritted my teeth.

The heat his words had ignited burned viciously, but I'd be damned if I admitted it.

He waited.

Motionless.

But his mind was already steps ahead—his dark eyes seared into mine like live coals.

I saw the hunger there, just as wild in him, even if he was restraining it with admirable control.

He was playing me, forcing me to surrender, to lay bare my own greed for him.

My pride revolted.

I straightened, drew a slow breath, squared my shoulders.

"Fine.

We'll leave it, then." A careless shrug, as if it suddenly meant nothing.

Then I turned and walked away.

His gaze burned into my back like a threat, the tension thickening with every step I took.

Three steps. Four.

The sharp clink of a glass being slammed down followed.

Five steps—and with a rough grip on the nape of my neck, I was yanked back violently.

A startled sound escaped me as I collided with the unyielding wall of his body.

My breath hitched, every muscle tensing under the unexpected intensity of his touch.

A triumphant smirk flickered across my lips.

I had him. I’d forced him to make the first move, beaten him at his own game.

"You think you're clever, but you're not.

Clever would be not provoking me."

My lips pressed together, my entire body trembling under the merciless strength of his hold.

I’d challenged him, provoked him—and now I was trapped in the claws of the predator I’d awakened.I shoved against him, clawed at his grip, tried to wrench free—but he held me effortlessly.

"Damn you," I gasped, digging my nails into the muscles of his forearm, feeling them tense under my touch.

The pressure around my neck tightened further as his hot breath traced my skin like liquid fire.

"What the hell is this?" I spat.

"You rubbed yourself against Delany like a whore on that dance floor," he snarled.

"I danced with the host," I hissed, still fighting his grip.

But he moved with me, driving me forward relentlessly.

"Meanwhile, you let that...

bitch...

paw at you." My stilettos sank slightly into the soft ground, each step a struggle for stability, for control I didn’t have. His grip on my waist held me firm, forcing me where he wanted—away from the guests, away from prying eyes, into the shadows. My pulse raced, a mix of rebellion and anticipation.

"One damn hot bitch," he taunted.

"Asshole," I seethed.

His hand seized my arm and threw me back with a rough jerk, slamming me against the cool stone wall at the rear of the pool house.

A sharp pain shot through my back as I hit hard.

My breath left me for a second as I tried to reorient, but he was already right in front of me.

His hands planted on either side of my head against the cold rock, forming an impenetrable barrier that left no escape.

"You provoked me on purpose, you witch.

Are you really stupid enough to think I’d let that slide?"

The first flicker of doubt gnawed at me.

Had it been smart to challenge him like this? His eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them—a bottomless abyss swallowing me whole, devoid of any warmth or mercy.

They gleamed like liquid pitch, not a trace of humanity left.

He leaned in just a fraction closer—

Then a sound shattered the tense silence between us.

Footsteps, hurried and uncertain, approaching.

Delany appeared around the corner of the pool house.

"Oh—sorry...

didn’t mean to interrupt." He didn’t recognize us at first, amusement in his tone.

But when he saw me, his smile froze.

"Fiona? I’ve been looking everywhere for you..."

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

My gaze was locked on Russo’s dark eyes, on the shadow lurking in them.

He hadn’t moved an inch, hadn’t acknowledged Delany.

Delany stepped closer, his voice noticeably skeptical now.

"Everything alright here?"

Russo barely reacted, just arched a brow—a silent cue for me to confirm the situation was normal.

But I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

A quick, calculated smile flashed across my face before I slipped effortlessly into a role, every feature of mine controlled with dramatic precision.

My breathing quickened, turned ragged and audible as I let my voice crack as if on the verge of tears.

"N-not at all...

Christian, please—" I whimpered, feigning terror. My eyes widened in false fear, my body flinching back as if desperate to escape Russo’s mere presence. "—help me. This psycho is threatening me..."

A cold, spiteful smile curled in my gaze, fueled by the cruel satisfaction of exposing him.

For a moment, he looked stunned.

He straightened slightly, his eyes opening just enough for me to see the surprise in them.

But also something else—a flicker of admiration.

His gaze glittered as he recognized the cunning in my play, the devious performance.

It was as if he’d discovered a new side of me—one that not only shocked him but thrilled him even more.

Delany took another step forward, chin raised boldly.

"Hey, Alex...

I think that’s enough, yeah? She said she wants you to back off."

Russo remained motionless at first, like a statue, utterly unfazed by Delany's threats as if they were nothing more than a casual suggestion.

But Delany didn't back down, his patience wearing thin.

"Let her go.

Now." Though Russo towered over him, Delany was well-built, his stance radiating the resolve of a man who saw no reason to be intimidated.

"Russo, still don't get it?" His tone turned openly aggressive.

"She wants you gone. Or do I need to rearrange your face?"

At that, Russo slowly straightened with deliberate, icy menace, rolling his eyes as if bored.

He rose to his full, imposing height, his gaze flickering between Delany and me before finally locking onto Delany with a piercing, glacial stare.

"Fuck off, Delany," he warned, his voice like the crackle of thin ice in winter air—a command that brooked no argument.

Delany squared his shoulders, holding his ground.

"You fuck off, Russo."

Russo didn’t react to him.

Not really.

His head tilted slightly, his eyes finding mine instead.

I recognized the unspoken warning: Don’t you dare move.

Delany lunged forward with sudden determination, his fist flashing toward Russo's face—but he was too slow.

Far too slow.

Russo snatched his wrist mid-air with lightning reflexes, clamping a hand around his head.

Without visible effort, he slammed Delany sideways into the wall with brutal force—the sickening crack of skull meeting stone echoing through the night.

Delany's body crumpled, unconscious, to the ground.

Dead silence.

My throat clenched shut, heart hammering wildly.

I'd watched it all with naked horror, paralyzed, unable to breathe.

"Bitch," Russo muttered, amused, as if he'd just been treated to a particularly entertaining show, straightening his cuffs.

"This is entirely your fault." His head tilted slightly, that dark amusement still glinting in his eyes.

I stayed silent.

While his attention lingered on Delany's motionless form, I seized my chance.

Slowly, near-invisibly, I slipped free of my heels.

My pulse roared in my ears.

Barefoot now. Ready.

Then—I moved.

With every fiber of my being, I whirled and sprinted in the opposite direction.

As I wove through the shadows, I knew Russo would follow.

Part of me shuddered at the thought; another thrived on it.

That same dark thrill I'd felt watching him disable Delany with terrifying precision.

So ruthless.

So cold. So fucking hot.

In these fleeting moments since Russo had crashed into my life, every shred of morality I'd once possessed seemed to fray.

With every stride putting distance between us, adrenaline scorched through my veins.

The very air vibrated, mirroring my turmoil.

Was it truly fear of what Russo might do—or the arousal of seeing how far this dangerous game would push us both?

My lungs burned, breath ragged in the cold night.

Behind me, the echo of his footsteps—relentless, rhythmic—assured me he wasn't far.

The garden sprawled ahead like a gothic labyrinth, overgrown foliage whispering in the pallid moonlight, casting ghostly shadows across my path.

Every sense was razor-wire taut; every rustle sent jolts of dread through me.

Beyond a dense hedge, a pale, stately structure rose against the star-streaked sky.

A guesthouse—imposing white stone.

I darted toward its rear as the party's music and laughter faded to a distant hum.

My fingers skated over the first door's cool surface—locked.

Schei?e! Frustration and fear spiked as I raced to the next, hands trembling while I rattled the knobs in desperation.

Finally—a click.

The sound sliced through the silence, time seeming to freeze.

I slipped through the gap, eased the door shut behind me, and pressed my back to the icy wood.

My heart pounded violently, a deafening drumbeat filling my ears.

I barely dared to breathe, straining against the suffocating quiet. My own rapid breaths sounded obscenely loud.

I waited.

Listened for footsteps, for any sign of him.

The dark desire and terror he ignited in me swirled into a heady, toxic cocktail.

Moonlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the space in an eerie silver glow.

I moved cautiously forward, trailing my fingers along the walls, the cool surface rough beneath my touch.

Every creak of the floorboards echoed loudly.

I stepped into a spacious living room.

The moonlight cast long shadows across minimalist furniture—a large, low coffee table surrounded by an elegant seating arrangement.

Modern artwork adorned the walls, abstract shapes and cool tones amplifying the ghostly atmosphere.

My gaze darted across the room, searching for hiding spots, but aside from the heavy dark curtains framing the windows, there was little cover.

My breathing quickened as I retreated to the foyer, my heart pounding violently. Russo could already be here. The thought nearly froze me in place.

But the entryway stood empty, silent—no sign of him.

Steadying my breath, I crept up the stairs to the first floor.

The hallway above was long and narrow, lined with doors standing like silent sentinels guarding the stillness.

Each step I took felt unbearably loud, every movement an invitation to the darkness.

Gently, with painstaking care, I tested the first door—locked.

The second and third doors refused to yield as well.

Frustration coiled inside me as I realized every potential refuge was barred.

I returned to the gallery where the staircase opened onto the upper floor.

Slowly, I approached the railing and looked down.

And then I saw him.

He stood in the hallway below, bathed in the pallid light, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on me.

His eyes—so dark, so penetrating—held me captive with an intensity that turned my blood to ice.

He remained motionless, yet his entire posture thrummed with coiled energy.

His expression was calm, almost amused, but his eyes told another story—one of predator and prey.

Time seemed to suspend. It was a silent battle of wills, each of us sizing the other up.

Then, as if on some unspoken command, he moved.

A sharp gasp tore from me as he launched up the stairs with terrifying purpose.

In blind panic, I whirled and sprinted down the hall, desperately searching for an open door.

My bare feet slid across the floor, struggling for traction on the slick rugs.

The thunder of his footsteps grew louder with every heartbeat—an unrelenting pursuit that stole my breath.

The hallway stretched endlessly before me, and my heart hammered so wildly I feared it might burst.

I yanked at the next two doorknobs, finding them mercilessly locked.

His footsteps swelled to a menacing crescendo.

Thrill clawed up my throat as I lurched from door to door, every movement fueled by the adrenaline of being caught.

Finally—one gave way.

With the last of my strength, I shoved it open and stumbled inside.

A rush of cold air hit me as I slammed it shut behind me.

Before me stood a massive bed draped in opulent dark linens, flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows that revealed the moonlit garden beyond.

Silver light spilled across the sheets, making the silk gleam like liquid.

Opposite the bed, a mirrored wardrobe reflected the glow, its surface shimmering.

Outside in the hallway, his footsteps slowed.

He'd seen where I fled and seemed determined to savor every second of his approach.

The devil knew his craft.

But he wasn't the only one with a taste for the macabre.

Instead of panicking, I felt electrified—thrilled to be part of this game. A devilish grin curled my lips as I waited.

His steps halted outside the door.

A beat of silence.

Then—the soft creak of his hand closing around the doorknob.

My body tensed, my mind razor-sharp, but I was ready for whatever came next.

When the door swung open, his imposing silhouette filled the frame.

He paused, as if surprised I hadn’t hidden.

Moonlight carved sharp angles into his face, highlighting every line, every shadow.

His lips twisted into a slow, icy smile.

"Why so stupid? You could’ve hidden.

Instead, you stand here begging me to break you."

"Who says you can?" My pulse raced, but I held his gaze and let myself slump lazily against the wall.

"Come here and find out..."

Russo stilled, as if weighing how severely to punish me for that taunt.

Then he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

Escape was no longer an option.

"You could’ve just gotten in your car and driven home."

With every step he took closer, goosebumps spread from my back up my neck, down my arms.

"And run from you? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?"

His gaze seared into my skin as his broad frame consumed all remaining space.

"I’m not afraid of you," I said with unshakable calm, even as my heart pounded.

"You should be." Now he stood directly before me.

His fingers brushed my cheek—featherlight, just enough to set me ablaze.

The contrast between his touch and the darkness in his eyes drove me mad.

"No fear..." His fingertips trailed down my throat.

My breath hitched instinctively because I couldn’t read him.

I truly wasn’t afraid—but every instinct screamed a warning.

Defiantly, I tilted my chin up, locking onto his gaze.

His presence radiated heat, his dominance like an avalanche poised to bury me.

Unconsciously, my eyes dropped to his lips, making my heart race harder.

The thought of feeling them, nipping at them, biting down until I tasted his blood—

"I can read you..." He cut through my thoughts as if he truly could.

His smile deepened.

"Two words.

Say them, and you’ll get what you want."

"You.

Want.

Me." I reminded him who was stalking whom.

The moonlight and the silence of the room draped over us like a stage set, as if night itself had conspired to give him the perfect entrance.

His hand closed around my throat.

Those same fingers that had just caressed me tenderly now tightened with deliberate pressure, forcing me to swallow hard.

Immediately, his eyes tracked every movement of my throat, hunting for fear or pain.

He squeezed harder until my breath came in shallow, ragged bursts—testing, probing, inching slowly toward my limits.

I didn’t even know where those limits lay, only that I ached to find them.

And that before me stood the one man who could give me what Carter had so painfully denied.

My head fell back against the wall as if it could anchor me, hold me steady while my body teetered between pleasure and madness.

The intensity of this moment—our first real step beyond business partners, as he redrew the lines of dominance and surrender—was so overwhelming I had to shut my eyes to feel him more deeply.

His thigh pressed ruthlessly against my most sensitive spot, the pressure alone nearly enough to undo me.

His lips brushed feather-light over my cheek while his thumb dug harder into the side of my throat, collapsing the world down to nothing but him: his strength, his grip, his absolute control over every breath I took.

"I feel your heart racing," he rasped before dragging his tongue slowly over the frantic pulse in my neck.

"Tastes like fear.

Deep fear..."

In his eyes, I saw dark hunger and that flicker of satisfaction—because my body was burning for him in a twisted cocktail of panic and desire.

He was a sadistic bastard, tightening his grip further until the edges of my vision blurred.

My hand slid downward slowly, pressing the knife precisely where any normal man would have instinctively recoiled.

Yet he didn’t flinch—not a trace of fear.

Even with a blade at his cock, he remained unmoved.

His eyes narrowed, glinting dark as oil in firelight, reflecting only a ravenous hunger.

As if I were giving him something he’d been missing for far too long. The way he’d effortlessly disabled Delany, the icy calm with which he met my threat—it was my first real glimpse of what I was dealing with.

"You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this." His grip on my throat loosened—just enough to let me speak again.

"Waited for what?" I gasped.

"For me to hold a knife to your dick?"

"For you to stop pretending." He leaned closer, as if the blade were mere decoration.

"I want the part of you that even you fear."

"And then what?" I tilted my head.

"Will you love that part? Tame it? Or destroy it so you can feel superior?"

"I’ll unleash it.

Mold it until you don’t recognize yourself—and never want to be anything else again."

Smirking, I leaned in until our faces were mere inches apart.

"Be careful what you wish for.

That part might enjoy slipping by accident." I dragged the tip just enough to tease, letting him absorb every word.

"Because if you choke me unconscious again, you’ll lose more than just your illusion of control."

He glanced at the blade between us, then back at me.

"A woman holding a knife to my cock while telling me how to behave...

feel how hard I am?"

"So that’s it?" I studied his face lazily.

"You get off on being told what to do?"

"No, Fiona." His grin was dark.

"I get off on the thought of you stopping the orders and begging instead—"

The grin vanished as I pressed the blade harder against him.

"The only one begging here will be you—to keep your cock intact." Maybe I should do it.

Let him bleed.

Prove he wasn’t untouchable.

The thought of controlling him sent a thrilling pulse deep inside me.

"Go on," he dared, voice rough.

"Do it," he added, eyes burning, pressing himself harder against the steel.

Our gazes locked.

A reckless hunger ignited in me, desire so fierce it pulsed greedily in my core.

"You can’t." His body heat enveloped me like a lethal embrace.

"You want me too badly—"

"Watch me," I snarled.

I shifted the blade higher, pressing it against his flank until I felt it bite into skin.

He tensed at the pain, a curse hissing through his teeth.

Mesmerized by the raw thrill his pain sparked in me, I held my breath.

It was as if something dark inside me had opened its eyes.

I wanted more.

More of that flinch when the steel met flesh.

To feel the control, to strike exactly where it hurt—this wasn’t revenge or impulse. It was pure fulfillment. I lost myself in it, in the power in my hand.

It made me careless.

The sweetness of satisfaction danced on my tongue—until he moved.

Brutally.

Like a vise, his hand clamped around my wrist and smashed it—knife and all—into the wall.

Again.

Again.

Each impact sent searing fire through my bones.

A pained sound tore from my throat as I jerked, fighting viciously against the instinct to let go. But when the pain became an all-consuming inferno, my muscles gave out—the knife slipped from my grip.

It clattered to the floor. Lost.

My fingers twitched in empty air, refusing to acknowledge the absence of my weapon.

The pain in my wrist throbbed, a searing burn radiating up to my elbow—but it was nothing compared to his gaze.

There was an unbearable intensity in it, as if he could destroy me with nothing but his eyes.

A shiver raced down my spine, my legs suddenly too weak to withstand the force of his presence.

My body rebelled against my mind, craving him—craving everything I shouldn’t want.

I gasped for air, but it wasn’t enough.

Nothing was enough.

Not until he took me. Not until he drove into me so hard and deep that every last shred of my control was fucked out of me. My gaze dropped lower, my hips instinctively pressing closer. Desire tore through me. I needed to feel him, completely.

His lips hovered just above mine, but he didn’t close the distance.

He stayed right there—close enough that I felt every one of his breaths, felt the restraint coiled in him.

And that was the most unsettling thing: his calm.

That dangerous, absolute control.

"You’ve played enough, Fiona." His voice was low and rough.

"Now it’s my turn."

I wanted to speak, but he went deeper, harsher.

"Say it." His eyes bored into me and his voice like a blade against my skin.

"Tell me how much you want me."

I clenched my teeth.

Pride hissed at me to stay silent.

But my body had already decided.

The heat between my thighs was undeniable, my pulse wild, my knees trembling.

"Please…" It came out softer than I intended.

"I want you."

The corner of his mouth twitched into a dark, satisfied smirk.

Cold anticipation.

Then his hand tangled in my hair.

Not gentle, not careful.

He gripped hard and forced me to my knees. And I let him. Because I knew what came next—and I couldn’t wait.

He took his time.

Dragged his thumb over my lower lip, tugged lightly, as if reminding me I’d only get what I wanted when he decided.

His fingers traced the curve of my mouth, following the delicate seam before pressing two fingers against it, parting me.

I let him in, wrapped my tongue around them, sucked greedily.

It was almost laughable how much pleasure two fingers in my mouth could ignite. That he still denied me, still gave only in slow, measured doses, drove my need to new heights. I teased with my teeth, bit down harder—until a faint twitch in his jaw betrayed his pain. Instead of releasing me, he shoved his fingers deeper, rough, forcing my head back against the wall. He triggered my gag reflex, forcing my jaw to slacken. I choked, my body tensing, but he held me there, watching with a cold smile.

"Stay still," he ordered, withdrawing his fingers, leaving a wet trail down my chin as his other hand went to his belt.

The soft rasp of leather as he pulled it free was the only sound in the room.

Slowly, deliberately, he let it glide through his fingers, savoring the moment.

Then he looped it around my neck, tightening just enough for me to feel its weight.

Every movement was executed with such confidence, it was clear this role was second nature to him.

"I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you—you’re a goddamn demon." He pulled the leather a fraction tighter, letting me feel the pressure, letting me feel his control wrapping around me.

"But you’d be stupid to damage what you want most."

I tracked his every motion, watched as his other hand went to his waistband, heard the quiet click of the buckle.

He dragged the zipper down slowly, letting tension build with every passing second, relishing the way I watched, forbidden from touching.

My breath hitched as he finally freed himself.

I couldn’t look away—not from the hardness straining his length, not from the thick veins running along it, not from the sheer size of him that both terrified and flooded me with feverish heat.

I only wanted him more.

He saw it in my dilated pupils, in the way my lips parted unconsciously.

"Greedy," he murmured, amused.

He stroked himself with rough determination, the movements of his hand, the tightness of his grip, making wetness soak through my panties.

Every taut tendon in his arm spoke of pure, unrestrained need.

Tentatively, I leaned forward, desperate to taste him.

A sharp jerk of the belt—the pressure around my throat tightened uncomfortably, holding me back.

"You wait," he reminded me in a deep voice, asserting his dominance.

He kept me exactly where he wanted—balanced between anticipation and total surrender.

Finally, he lowered his hand, letting the slick head of his cock brush my cheek.

I could smell the salt of his arousal, feel him growing harder against me, grinding along my skin, ratcheting the tension higher.

"Now you’re behaving, hm?" His voice was dark, a mocking growl as he pressed the tip against my lips again, parting them, testing how far I’d go.

"Prove it."

My body reacted as if it had already surrendered to him.

I hated him for it.

I slowly parted my lips, letting them envelop him, taking him in, teasing him with my tongue.

But just as I began to grow accustomed to his taste, just as I started to savor him—he seized control.

His fingers dug painfully into my hair, holding me immobile.

Then he thrust forward. No gentle advance. No gradual surrender. Just pure, merciless possession.

He took me with a ferocity that stole my breath, challenging me to yield completely, leaving me no choice but to submit to this overwhelming force.

My throat strained under the intensity, tears pricking at my eyes, yet his grip only tightened.

Every movement stoked a deeper fire inside me, an insatiable hunger.

I could feel him stripping away every last shred of my control.

His deep, rough groan tangled with my choked gasps—a raw symphony of our dark, unrestrained passion.

What we shared was a dance on the razor's edge between dominance and surrender.

I reveled in how alive his unbridled strength made me feel, the arousal carving itself into my very core.

Yet at the same time, I despised him for how he treated me—not as an equal, but as an object of his desire.

He was overwhelming and possessive.

His dominance made me expand and shrink simultaneously.

With every touch, every command, he redrew my boundaries until I was lost in a whirlwind of pleasure and defiance.

It was a constant battle between self-respect and submission.

And yet, he offered me a paradoxical kind of safety—instinctive, profound, unsettling.

He knew exactly what I needed and gave it to me in a way that left me both craving more and fearing it.

This duality was what made everything between us so intense.

I was torn between the longing to surrender completely and the urge to cling to my independence.

Every moment with him was a raw confrontation with my deepest desires—and my darkest depths.