Page 43 of Promise of Destruction (Destruction & Vengeance Duet #1)

forty-one

Declan

Maybe I should tell her I did. Maybe I should confess to a crime I didn’t commit so that I can see that hatred again. The way her whole essence transforms with her passionate, violent hatred of me makes every part of my body hard… none so much as my cock.

We’re a fucked up pair. I’m not entirely sure she isn’t looking for a scape goat to cast suspicion off herself since she’s clearly not well. The way she held that knife to my throat is proof of that. What’s even more fucked up is that I want to be that scape goat.

But I’m not.

“Soren,” I say her name as gently as I can manage, afraid that speaking it too loud will hurt.

Everything in me already aches—the spot on my neck where she nicked me, the hot blood roiling inside of my veins, my stiff erection begging for release.

“You are so fucking beautiful. You’ve crawled under my skin and invaded my every damn thought from the moment I saw you. I want to watch you suffer and ease your pain. I want to break you and put you back together. I want to choke you, and I want to fuck you.”

She whimpers at my candor; I’m not sure whether it’s a sound of fear or desire, but I hope it’s both. I’m not done yet. “But I never saw you before that night we met at the bar. I’ve never been in your house before I brought you home from the doctor earlier this week. I never met your husband.”

My words manage to be simultaneously what she wants and also what she doesn’t. Because if I didn’t kill her husband and neither did she, then who did?

Her eyes search mine for a long minute, looking for the tiniest hint of dishonesty in my words.

I’m not sure what she finds. I don’t get the chance to ask because she lunges forward and presses her lips against mine, dragging my lower one between her teeth and coaxing out a low growl from somewhere deep inside me.

The fact that I didn’t expect that makes the pleasure that much stronger. Soren is a woman who likes control—she takes possession of me and in this moment, I’m happy to give it up.

Her tongue coaxes mine against hers, drawing a tangled fury of needy sounds from her.

“You said you want to fuck me.”

She’s breathless when she pulls away enough to peel her shirt over her head. Her breasts fall free above the smooth expanse of her stomach. The sweats that hang low on her hips are inexplicably more erotic in this moment than the skimpiest lingerie I’ve ever seen.

I barely even have a chance to appreciate her before she snakes her arm around the back of my neck, dragging me into her.

I lose myself in the kiss. Logic and reason fly right out the window in the face of this beautiful little disaster topless in front of me, urging me to take her, to claim her with my kiss.

There’s nothing gentle about it. She’s desperate, full of need that she can’t manage to ignore, and it shows in the way she takes control of me, guiding my hand to her hip.

That’s the moment that I understand what’s wrong with her.

Soren Palmer doesn’t have an eating disorder…

at least, not in the traditional sense. She doesn’t struggle with food, she doesn’t deprive herself to feel better about what she sees in the mirror.

She hasn’t cleaned her house or thrown out food despite being an obvious neat freak, not because she’s swallowed by her depression.

Everything Soren Palmer does is an effort to get control over something. Her body, her safe place, her future. They were all ripped from her in one way or another, and in her attempt to regain control, she’s become obsessive.

When I stop kissing her, she bites my lip again. This time I taste blood, and it almost makes me reconsider. I want her wild and angry, full of hate and confusion and need.

I’ll probably regret it the moment the words leave my mouth, but I can’t do it.

“No.”

It’s a single word, but it stops her in her tracks.

When I pull away to look at her, her cheeks are red in the pale glow of the moon. Light will start to break through the darkness any minute now, so I soak in this vision of her with her swollen lips parted in disbelief, her head tipped in confusion.

“What?”

It hurts, but I manage to say it again. “No.”

As if to illustrate my point, I move my hand away from her hips like she’s scalded me. But she looks like the one who’s been scalded. Betrayal is fresh on her face as her lips press together.

“You said—”

I nod, effectively cutting off the rest of her argument.

“I know what I said. And I meant it.” I drink her in—she’s a goddess scorned, and I don’t think I’ll like the punishment for offending her.

“But I won’t fuck you in the bed you shared with your husband.

” Just saying the words fills me with the same disappointment I see in her.

I press my mouth to hers. It’s a simple kiss, chaste. That’s all I can manage, so I stand and head for the door. I stop when my hand falls on the doorknob, fighting the part of me that’s dying to dive back onto that bed and cover her body with mine.

Soren Palmer hasn’t healed because she’s too busy chasing control.

I thought I wanted to destroy her, but now I want to do the exact opposite.

She wants control. I must keep it from her.

“I want all of you, Soren. Every fucking inch. And when I take you, it won’t be with the ghost of him hovering around us. I will fuck him so far out of your mind that you’ll forget what it was like before I found you.”

She laughs in disbelief, wrapping her arms across her chest. I’ve lost the privilege to see her bare tits, but I’ll earn it again.

“You’re making a mistake.”

I don’t doubt that I am, honestly. She’s half naked and throwing herself at me and I don’t know how long it will take before this opportunity presents itself again. Too long, I’m sure.

“Soren,” I tell her seriously. “I won’t make you come until I’m sure that the only name you’ll scream is mine.”