Page 152 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

“Almost done,” she murmured, though we both knew she was in no hurry. Her hands slid higher on my thighs. The pressure of her thumbs teased closer to truly dangerous territory. Every brush of her mouth teased my magic, daring it to surge. I wasn’t entirely sure I could keep the lid on it, but damn if I wasn’t hungry to find out how far she’d push.

My cock was already rock-hard. She let her gaze flick there, a smug smile ghosting her lips when she noted just how undone I was.

“Hmm,” she mused, lips hovering indecently low. “Still composed? Maybe I should keep going.”

I wanted to let her. I wanted her lips on me, wanted to bury my hands in her hair and fuck that pretty mouth of hers until it was thoroughly defiled.

The ley lines quivered—only a hair, but enough to prickle alarm.

“Enough,” I ordered, voice frayed.

She sat back on her heels, not a hair out of place. “So much for your impeccable control, Dark Lord.” With a smirk, she stood and smoothed her gown. “I need to feed Nyx. If you’ll excuse me.”

My jaw ached from restraint. “By all means.”

At the door, she glanced over her shoulder, eyes aflame. “Thank you for dinner. Consider us even.”

“I really fucking hate you,” I called after her.

61

WAKE YOUR SPOUSE WITH A BLADE (TRUE ROMANCE, DARK LORD STYLE)

ARABELLA

Something cold and razor-sharp pressed against my throat, dragging me from dreamless sleep into heart-pounding awareness.

“You’re dead,” Kazimir’s voice whispered in the darkness, his breath warm against my ear.

I stayed perfectly still, eyes adjusting to the gloom. A faint silvery glow emanated from the blade at my neck—not steel but a sliver of shadow essence. Kazimir loomed over me, half-hidden in darkness, the other half illuminated by moonlight spilling through the window.

“Most people,” I said evenly, “just shake someone awake.”

The shadow blade dissolved. “Most people aren’t married to the Dark Lord.”

“Lucky them.”

Kazimir straightened, and I realized he was fully dressed in fitted training leathers, his hair slicked back. The smug bastard looked infuriatingly composed.

I pushed upright, blinking away sleep. “It’s the middle of the night.”

He moved toward the door. “Enemies rarely attack at convenient hours.”

“And which enemies might those be?”

“The breathing kind.” He paused, hand on the door. “You have four minutes.”

The door closed behind him, leaving me alone in the moonlit chamber. I sucked in a frustrated breath, tempted to burrow back under the covers, but something in his tone had roused my curiosity. Within three minutes, I was out in the corridor, wearing my training leathers and hair hastily braided. Kazimir stood waiting, arms crossed. His mouth twitched upward in approval.

“I expected to drag you out by your ankles,” he said mildly.

“I was tempted to make you work for it.” I stifled a yawn. “But curiosity won.”

We set off, his stride swift and deliberate, forcing me to hurry.

“Is this some bizarre ploy to push me past the Heirloom’s limits?” I asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

He stopped so abruptly I almost collided with him, and in a blink, he had me caged against the tapestry-lined wall, hands braced on either side of my head. My pulse kicked hard.

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