Page 3 of Vow of Vengeance (Destruction & Vengeance Duet #2)

three

Soren

I'm certifiably insane for what I've just said.

There's no other way to justify telling my fucking stalker that I'll have a kid with him.

Of course, I didn't promise him that I'd have his child in those exact words, but I may as well have.

I didn't say if we have a baby, I said when it's our baby. ..

Somehow, I'm not horrified by the prospect. It's just more proof that something is wrong with me, evidence to go right along with the slickness between my thighs, which has no fucking business being there. And yet, I want him. I've been wanting him.

The fact that he's already talking about knocking me up and having me pop out his children should feel like a red flag, bringing my attraction to him skidding to a halt.

It's disgustingly misogynistic, and I've never thought too hard about my feelings of feminism, but any that I've had is being drowned out by the way he's looking at me right now, like he's ready to get started on making me fulfill that process.

I wouldn't be surprised if he threw everything on the floor and fucked me over the tabletop right now. I am, however, surprised by what he does instead. He grips the back of my head and brings his lips to mine, and for a moment, everything stills as he pulls me into a kiss.

It's wrong, it's weird, it's a betrayal to my husband and to my better senses and to the girl he's been watching for weeks, but I want it. I want him , so I don't pull away when his lips land gently on mine, coaxing life into them.

At this point, it's magnetic.

Instinctive.

I kiss him slowly, my heart pounding in my chest and my blood in my ears, and I lose track of everything else. Everything beyond him ceases to exist as he pulls me deeper into him, so that my head falls back just enough to give him a better angle.

I expect, after all this tension and him watching me and all of the innuendo, that he's going to devour me.

I expect his kiss to be a short prelude to something raw and feverish, something wild and carnal.

But it's gentle and perfect, and when his other hand cups my chin, holding me exactly where he wants me, I feel myself melting.

He doesn't rush the moment, letting me enjoy the feeling of his soft lips moving against mine, his warm breath ghosting in the little space between us, his tongue as it slides against my lips, testing whether I'll give him an entrance rather than demanding one.

Just as I do, he retreats, returning to kissing me tenderly, sweetly, without any pretense.

It's maddening, stoking something inside of me that I can't even begin to comprehend.

When his tongue dips out again to probe gently at my lower lip, I lose the restraint I didn't realize I was even holding onto.

Now, it's me who deepens our kiss, my tongue that explores his, sharing control, just like he wanted. I taste every bit of the desire in him, desire that's tamped just below the surface, so ready to burst. All it would take is a little shove.

Declan pulls away, and the distance between us suddenly feels too great. I'm cold and empty, breathless with need and confusion and betrayal.

"What's wrong?" I'm not sure if the betrayal is from myself for wanting more or from him for making me want this and then taking it away.

He steps away from me, running a hand through his hair. The act makes him look roguish, devious. But when his eyes flick back to mine, there's no playfulness there. He's dangerous, cold and calculating yet lit on fire by something... me.

His voice is strained when he speaks.

"You don't realize how little control I'm clinging to right now, Soren."

"So let go." I laugh.

Isn't that what he's been demanding I do all day? Isn't that why he tied me to the bed and made me lose control over my bladder, to prove that letting go doesn't have to feel so monumentally terrifying?

"I can't." I watch him swallow, wincing like he's just choked down razor blades. "If I let go, I won't get control back. Not when it comes to you."

It's so absurdly different from everything he's been preaching to me about, so stark in contrast to the buttoned up and polished facade he presents to everyone else.

But I am not everyone else.

"Is that such a bad thing?" I laugh again, because this all feels entirely surreal.

"It is." He nods, running his palm along the back of his neck in an attempt to smooth away the tension. "Because I don't want to hurt you."

I assume he doesn't mean physically, considering that he's had ample opportunity to do so. In fact, he's done more to heal me, physically, than hurt me.

"You won't."

I mean it, though I'm not sure where the conviction comes from. It's an unspoken trust, a complicity that's been generated by whatever alchemy we've created together.

Declan just laughs, clearly not sharing the same belief.

"Silly little bird," he shakes his head, dragging his perfect teeth over his bottom lip. "It's all I've wanted to do since I met you... hurt you."

That admission should make every bit of need inside of me evaporate into the ether. It should make all of the physical longing disappear and send me running to the door, calling the police, anything other than standing in front of him waiting for him to claim me.

"You're doing a good job of it right now." I laugh, trying to sound unaffected despite the truth in my words. This rejection stings.

"I wanted to break you into a hundred tiny pieces."

I almost tell him that he can't, because I'm already broken.

Instead, I ask, "And what do you want to do now?"

He doesn't answer me. He can't, because he runs his hand over his face, debating his restraint one last time before abandoning it completely.

"Fuck it."

And then he's upon me, sending the remnants of our breakfast to the ground with a sweep of his arm as the other cradles the back of my neck, keeping it from slamming against the table he pins me to with his bodyweight.

His mouth covers mine, and the kiss isn't slow and lingering this time. It's brutal, starved and desperate as he nips at my lip and blood blooms between us. I taste it on my tongue before he steals it away with his and my hunger for him grows.

He traipses violent and passionate kisses down the side of my neck, making me gasp each time his teeth graze my skin. I dig my nails into the skin on his back, sharing the pain he's gifting me, relishing the way it sparks between the pleasure.

I don't dare close my eyes, watching him as he moves over my body, lavishing me with his brutal kisses. He pauses just long enough to grip the collars of my blouse and in one impressive move, he sends the buttons skittering across the room. Neither of us look at the mess we're making, though.

He admires my blue lace bra, or maybe the way it presses my breasts together, before brandishing the knife he set out with breakfast. It's small, but with a wicked point that makes my heartbeat skitter, my chest rising and falling heavily, quickly.

I'm laid out beneath him like a sacrifice, and at this moment, I'm completely willing.

I'm his, and he can do with me what he pleases.

I don't care that it's wrong, or that Declan Evers has made me lose my sense of self-preservation, because I want whatever he's willing to give me.

If that's a blade in my chest, I'll take it and deal with the consequences later.

He slices my bra down the middle with one quick flick of his wrist, and it falls open to reveal me to him. The cool air makes my nipples harden, and a nervous breath flits out of my lungs, but still, I don't take my eyes off of him.

"Fuck me, Declan."

It's barely more than a whisper, but it's enough. There's no hesitation in my voice, and there's none in his eyes as he appraises me, pressing the flat end of the blade between my breasts.

"Why should I do that, Ren?" He cocks his head, waiting for an answer, but my eyes flick to the blade, which rises and falls with my rapid breaths.

It feels almost criminal to be turned on even with a blade against my chest, but I don't care.

I'll be wrong. I'll be sick or bad or broken or fucked up.

I'll be whatever Declan needs me to be, because with him I don't feel broken or sick or any of it.

Even when he's stealing my control and forcing pleasure out of me, he makes me feel. .. powerful .

"Because we're going to share control, remember?" I place a hand over the blade, showing him that he can't scare me off. "Cut me open if you want to. Make me bleed."

I don't know where my own words are coming from; they're terrifying not only in their rawness, but in their truth.

I don't know how I became so beholden to him, or if this loyalty only extends to this moment.

I do know, however, that there's a chance for some truth here.

.. an opportunity to bleed out all of the hurt that happened before him, to reshape my scars.

Declan groans, nipping at his lip like he's working hard to restrain himself.

He doesn't hesitate long, moving back to my lips, biting them instead. I hear the knife clatter, first against the table and then again when it hits the ground.

He doesn't need it to make me bleed anyway.