Page 70 of Lourdes & the Mafia
Fuck.
I am an asshole.
King of Torture, indeed.
I’m no better than the assholes strung up in The Pit.
“We should go.” I jerk my head to the door, frantically rolling my sleeves back down to my wrists and buttoning the cuffs. “Lorenzo and Ramiel could be searching for you.”
I try not to meet her gaze as I reach for my jacket. What the fuck was I thinking? That I could seduce her with my magic? That I had a fucking right to touch her?
I am not Lorenzo. I cannot gift her with smiles and cuddles and soft words. I can’t even fucking touch her without being blasted across the fucking room, and I thought she’d want something from me. That I could torture my name from her lips. That I could convince her to give me her consent?
Delusional.
Fucking delusional.
“Kane—”
“Let’s go,” I interrupt.
“Kane!”
“What?!” I turn, my eyes flaring red as I take her in. She flinches at the sharp tone of my voice, so I try to smooth it over, try to calm myself. “What, Lourdes?”
“Doyou hate me?”
I was not expecting that question, and I know I cannot lie to her. “A part of me does.”
“What about the other part?” she asks.
“The other part of me wants you more than I want to punish souls. More than I want to live.”
She nods, as though what I’ve said is a perfectly acceptable answer. “Good.” She steps forward. “Then I would like you to do that again.”
Lourdes
Heblinks,surprisedatmy boldness. For once, I’ve seen him shocked, at a loss for words. He stammers, unsure of how to reply. Finally, he manages, “What?”
I’m crazy. I fucking must be. I must be loca. None of what he did should have turned me on as much as it did, and yet… The way his magic, like invisible hands, felt wrapped around my body? On my wrists, my hips, around my neck? It was a passion that ignited within moments, doing things to me I never thought I’d want.
Especially not from him.
In that moment, I feared him as much as I wanted him. I was afraid of what he became in front of me. The way he looked at me with malicious intent. The way his eyes flared to life. The slow, seductive way he removed his jacket and lifted his sleeves?
I was afraid.
And fucking turned on.
Is there a word for what it was? A fucked up fantasy I never knew I had? He looked like he was ready to devour me. To ruin me. And I wanted to fall apart in his touch, in whatever way he wanted to give me.
“Tell me you want this, Lourdes.”
I wanted to cry out, to scream yes, but I bit my tongue out of fear and uncertainty. But when he pulled away, looking at me with eyes full of regret, I knew. I knew then that I wanted him.
And the words he said aloud somehow echoed what I was feeling inside too.
I hate you.
