Page 12 of Lord of the Dark (Drawn into Darkness #1)

Fiona Robertson

He straightened up while I still lay on the floor, my chest rising and falling heavily from the aftermath of his last touches.

Without giving me a second to recover, he grabbed my hips and yanked me up in one sharp motion until I was crouched on my knees.

The belt left me almost no room to move—I was the perfect toy for him.

With a firm grip on my upper arms, he forced them behind my back as he pulled me deeper onto him.

Though only minutes had passed since he’d been inside me, his cock still felt too big, like it would split me open. Feeling him this deep, that sweet stretch—it filled me with an insatiable hunger for him. I never wanted to go without it again.

Now I sat astride him in reverse, feeling the heat of his muscular chest against my back, his thick cock buried deep inside me.

He twisted my head to the right with a hand around my throat, forcing my gaze toward the large mirror on the dresser.

What I saw there sent a shudder down my spine.

My heart threatened to burst from my ribcage, pounding violently.

The sight of us was the most arousing thing I’d ever witnessed.

In the mirror, I watched as his sculpted arms locked around me—one wrapped behind my back, binding my upper arms, pinning my hands helplessly, while the other gripped my throat.

I saw how utterly at his mercy I was, and the forced helplessness burned even hotter because of it.

My body sat trapped on his lap, and I could see the tension in my own muscles as I arched against him, his face hovering just above my shoulder, his lips poised at my neck.

His expression was half-shadowed, his eyes nearly unreadable.

Moonlight cast a grim cone over us, illuminating only half his face while bathing the rest of our bodies in a silver glow. His chiseled frame looked even more defined in the light, every straining muscle along his torso standing out in stark relief. My hair was wild, strands sticking to my face, disheveled and damp. But it was something else that caught me.

My gaze locked onto my own reflection—onto my eyes.

And there it was.

A shift, deep inside.

As if darkness had taken hold of me, spreading slow and irrevocable.

The woman staring back at me wasn’t the same anymore. No resistance. No fight. Just hunger. Need. A deep, dangerous craving I’d never felt before. I sucked in a sharp breath as my fingers unconsciously clawed into his arm.

His grip on my throat tightened, as if he’d noticed it too.

"Do you see it?"

"Yes..." I saw it.

I felt it.

And goddamn, I needed more.

Russo leaned forward slightly, his chest pressing harder against my back as our reflection unfolded completely before me.

Now I could see him in his full, unvarnished wildness.

His dark hair—usually perfectly combed back—was disheveled, stray strands sticking out, long surrendered to the chaos of our touch.

Nothing remained of his usual immaculate styling.

In the dim light, stripped of his elegant clothes and polished facade, he looked like a predator finally freed from its chains—untamed, raw, even more dangerous, and all the more intoxicating for it.

His gaze burned into mine, and I knew in that moment he saw exactly what I recognized in my own reflection.

The change in me.

The darkness that had long since seeped into my bones.

A faint smirk played at his lips as he traced a single fingertip down my throat—a touch that sent goosebumps skittering across my skin.

"This is where you belong… you, right here, on my cock." His voice was deep and possessive, letting the moment sink in as if he wanted to brand every syllable beneath my flesh.

I felt his eyes on me, on every breath I took, every involuntary tremble.

Then, with a hint of amusement but also a dark promise that stole my senses, he whispered, "Do you still think you could escape me?"

What I experienced that night felt like crossing a threshold—into a world that had always existed inside me but had never been allowed to awaken.

It was exactly what I had longed for, without ever being able to name it.

Something that had never existed in my relationship with Carter.

I had never felt so alive as I did in that moment.

Never so desired.

Even though Russo took what he claimed without hesitation—ruthlessly, uncompromisingly—that was precisely what set me ablaze.

His raw strength, his absolute control over my body, my reactions—it all brought me to life.

Every movement made me shudder, every touch was an electric fire searing through my nerves.

For the first time, I felt free.

Free of expectations, of conventions, of the image the world had of me. I no longer had to be the good girl, no longer had to restrain or deny myself. With Russo, I could simply be.

And yet, he was the one holding the reins, leading me to my limits—and beyond.

He was superior not because he dominated me, but because he understood me.

Because he knew what I needed before I even realized it myself.

And that was what bound me to him completely.

This feeling of not just being taken, but being remolded by his touch.

He kept my face turned toward the mirror so I not only felt him moving inside me but watched it too.

I saw him brace on his powerful thighs, tilt me forward slightly, and drive his thick cock into me in a relentless rhythm.

Feeling it was one thing—but seeing it, watching my tits bounce with each brutal thrust, being so utterly at his mercy—sent me spiraling into ecstasy.

The sharp slap of skin on skin filled the air, and I watched, mesmerized, as his length disappeared into me again and again.

I didn’t even know where to focus anymore. Overwhelmed, I closed my eyes and surrendered completely to the sensations pulsing between my thighs. I arched into him, desperate for release.

He must have sensed I was nearing my limit.

His thrusts turned faster, harder, driving us both toward the edge of madness.

My orgasm built with an intensity I’d never known—my entire body trembled, my screams ripped free unchecked before I collapsed, boneless, in a haze of pleasure and fire.

He followed moments later, spilling inside me with a rough groan before carefully lowering himself beside me.

My chest rose and fell heavily as I lay on the soft carpet, utterly drained by the raw intensity of what had just happened.

My body felt leaden, my legs devoid of strength, a faint tremble coursing through my muscles.

Each breath was deep, slowing only gradually, while my heart still hammered wildly in my ribcage.

I had never experienced anything close to this kind of unrestrained ferocity.

Carter would never have touched me like this—even when I challenged or provoked him, he was always careful not to hurt me.

But it wasn’t about whether he hurt me.

It was about how he saw me: someone to protect, something fragile he felt compelled to shelter.

Deep down, I knew I was far from the delicate thing Carter believed me to be.

I wanted to be pushed, to feel what it was like to hit my limits—and then go beyond them.

Russo had driven me to the edge of pain, and that was exactly what I’d needed. Now I knew, with absolute certainty.

I tilted my head slightly and watched as he dragged a hand through his disheveled hair.

His chest rose and fell just as heavily as mine, his gaze fixed somewhere on the ceiling as if he were trying to steady himself.

"You’re already wrecking me," he rasped.

I huffed a quiet laugh, my lips curling into a tired smirk.

"I doubt your dick hurts as much as my pussy."

His laughter was low and rough.

I felt him shift toward me, his warmth closing the distance again, then he slung a leg and an arm over me—like he was making sure I wouldn’t try to leave.

Amused, I cracked my eyes open and studied him from the corner of my vision.

Possessive.

Even now, when we were both spent and limp beside each other.

"I want you to remember me tomorrow.

And the day after," he murmured, his breath skimming my shoulder.

I had no doubt I would.

Exhausted, I rolled onto my back again.

My strength had melted into a warm, heavy haze of satisfaction.

Russo propped himself up on an elbow, watching me with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

His gaze trailed over me slowly, as if he were really seeing me for the first time—as if he’d just discovered me.

I saw his lips twitch into a smirk.

"What?" I mumbled lazily.

He chuckled under his breath.

"The control freak incarnate...

and yet...

so fucking depraved and wild."

I arched a brow, turning my head slightly toward him.

"I’m still me."

"Mhm." His smile deepened, like he didn’t believe me.

"So, Alexander—"

"Alessandro." He rolled the name off his tongue, smooth and full-bodied.

I blinked, a soft laugh escaping me.

"Alessandro?"

"Sì.

I’m Italian."

I shifted to face him more fully.

"So you are...

but then why do you go by Alexander?"

He grimaced slightly, as if the answer were obvious.

"Because you Americans butcher my real name so badly I can’t stand it."

Shaking my head, I studied him for a moment before sinking back into the carpet.

"So, Alessandro..." I deliberately savored his name, mimicking his pronunciation.

"What do you actually do when you’re not sabotaging meetings or stalking women?"

Before he could answer, I froze.

A thought struck me out of nowhere.

"Wait—" I bolted upright, narrowing my eyes at him.

"Did you sleep with that Valeria woman?"

He only smirked, as if my question didn’t surprise him in the slightest.

His fingertips traced idle patterns over my arm while he watched me, visibly entertained by my reaction.

"What’s it to you?" he finally said, amused by my jealousy.

"You got my pussy," I continued.

"You didn’t think that would come free."

His gaze was pure mockery as he tilted his head slightly, studying me.

"Is that so?" he asked, entertained.

"Absolutely."

He dragged his tongue thoughtfully over his lower lip, as if only now bothering to formulate a response.

Then he leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head.

"Valeria, then…" he said slowly, as if just remembering her.

"Gorgeous woman.

Long legs. Impeccable taste, in every way. A socialite through and through. Unbelievably elegant, clever, refined. She would’ve very much enjoyed ending up in my bed..."

A dark shiver ran over my skin as I watched him bask in my jealousy.

He was savoring it.

"I’m not jealous—let’s not misunderstand—"

"Of course you’re not."

"No." I straightened, meeting his gaze calmly.

I surprised myself with my composure, even though earlier, in the garden, I’d have gladly skinned Valentina—Malaria, whatever her name was—alive.

He leaned closer, his voice a low, seductive whisper.

"You know, your bad luck is that I’ve had a great many people of vastly different characters sitting across from me.

Often in situations that push them to their limits.

And every single one of them tries to play some role they think fits the moment.

That’s why I can tell performance from authenticity so well."

I hated when he could read me like this.

I mirrored his predatory stance.

"The point is...

Alessandro...

I have no right to be jealous." I paused, giving weight to what came next: "And you... don’t either."

The way his expression darkened—bullseye.

"But I don’t share," he hissed, voice rough.

"We’re not a couple.

I have a boyfrie—"

Suddenly, his hands were on my hips, and before I could react, he yanked me hard onto him, his hardness pressing deep.

I was still catching my breath, and he was already more than ready.

"Listen carefully," he said, gripping the back of my neck to drag me closer to his face.

"You’re mine.

Whether you want to be or not doesn’t matter."

I couldn’t look away, even as my pulse roared.

Part of me wanted to flee.

The other...

just wanted to belong to him.

My thighs bracketed his hips, one of his hands still fisted in my hair, the other locking me in place—and he was still buried inside me. As if he were already a part of me. A dangerous one. My entire body throbbed. I could barely breathe without feeling him.

"I have a boyfriend," I whispered, softer than intended—and the moment the last word left my lips, he thrust up hard.

Deep.

Unmistakable.

As if he could fuck the lie out of me.

As if he needed to prove how absurd that sentence was in this exact moment.

He dragged his thumb over my lower lip, as if erasing the words.

"Say it again," he murmured, "if you still believe it."

I stayed silent.

And that was answer enough.

He grinned, dark and satisfied.

"You need someone who sees you.

And takes you exactly as you are."

"And you think that’s you?" I hissed, trying to push back, to put distance between us.

But his hands held me firm.

"I'm your worst mistake, Fiona." In one swift motion, he flipped me beneath him, pinning me onto my back, his arms caging my head.

"Or," he whispered against my lips, "I'm exactly what you've been searching for." Subtle, almost imperceptible, he nudged my legs apart with his knee, settling his hips between my thighs before thrusting into me.

I stared up at him.

So much arrogance.

So much truth.

I should have protested.

Instead, I kissed him—greedy, possessive. We were both far past the point of no return.

His hands held me down as his strokes became pure force, every deep drive an unspoken claim on my body, as if he were carving the meaning of his words into me.

"Alessandro...

I...

hate you..." The words fractured into a broken moan under the brutal rhythm of his thrusts.

My fingers dug into his shoulders, feeling the flex of his muscles with every movement, his breath growing heavier as he drove me down onto his cock, taking me deeper, as if I were his goddamn possession.

My head fell back, lips parting in a silent cry as he quickened his pace, kneading my breast with rough fingers.

With a sharp movement, he nearly withdrew—only to slam back into me, deep and punishing.

A ragged sound tore from my throat, my nails sinking into his skin hard enough to make him groan in pain.

I felt my control shatter completely, my muscles clenching around him greedily, as if I could keep him inside me forever.

The moment exploded between us.

A tremor wracked my body, shaking me apart until I no longer knew where I ended and he began.

And when he followed, spilling deep inside me for the second time that night, my name a whisper on his lips, I knew there was no going back.

I was lost, no matter how hard I fought it.

Alessandro held me for a long moment, his fingers lax against my skin, his breath hot on my neck.

Then, with a quiet sigh, he rolled onto his back, pulling me with him until I lay sprawled across his chest.

Silence settled between us—not uncomfortable, almost familiar, as if we'd known each other far longer.

I closed my eyes, feeling his arm around my waist, the possessive grip keeping me from moving.

I blinked into the darkness, then lifted my head slightly.

"Alessandro..."

He only grunted in response.

"Let me go." My voice lacked the conviction I’d intended.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he dragged me closer, his body heavy and warm against mine. "No."

His breath feathered over my neck—slow, warm, far too intimate.

And yet...

being this close to him felt like the only place I wanted to be.

My shoulders relaxed, my breathing syncing with his.

Even my heart no longer fought him—it beat for him. This calm he radiated was an illusion. I knew it. And yet, I wished it were real. It was madness to feel safe with him. Madness... and yet so intoxicating that I could barely remember why I feared him at all.

"Stop thinking." His voice was low, a warm murmur against my ear, as if he could sense my mind still resisting.

His fingers traced lazy circles over my waist, as if trying to soothe away every doubt.

Even as exhaustion weighed me down, even as the oxytocin flooding my veins lulled me into satisfaction, I was terrified of how lost I was in him.

How my body craved him despite my mind’s protests.

It was wrong.

So wrong to feel safe in his devil’s embrace.

Almost as if he could hear my thoughts, his grip tightened, pulling me even closer.

"Goodnight, Fiona..." he murmured against my hair, his breathing slowing.

I knew I shouldn’t.

Knew I couldn’t let myself sink into this feeling.

But his warmth lulled me, his heartbeat steady under my cheek, my body too spent to resist.

So I did the one thing I shouldn’t have.

I let him hold me.

And fell asleep in his arms.