Page 35 of Tangled In Vengeance

My voice cracks towards the end. He's still so close that I can feel the heat coming off him. An unwanted wave of desire courses through me, a conflicting feeling in the midst of our clash. It's disconcerting, as though my body is betraying my mind's firm resolve. I can't ignore the pull, the strange magnetism that seems to draw me closer to him. The heat of his closeness, the intensity of his gaze, it's all so overwhelming. An unmistakable tension hangs between us, a heady mix of resentment, regret, and an attraction I wish I didn't feel.

"Yes, I know you hate me," he replies. "I also know something else. You feel this attraction between us. You can't deny it, so why are you fighting it?"

"Get off me, Damien, or I'm going to scream," I tell him, pushing him away from me, but he doesn't move.

"Go ahead and scream. No one will hear you," he says as he leans closer. "Why are you fighting this?"

"I have to!" I scream. "I can't give in to you. I can't allow myself to act upon the attraction to the very man who had me tortured. Who tortured me himself. Who thought I was a murderer."

My words have no effect on him because he simply smiles and pulls me closer. Our chests press against each other, and he threads his fingers in my hair, arching my head back. His lips graze my lips, and I gasp at the electricity that flows through me from the touch.

"Just give in," he says against my lips before slamming his mouth on mine, connecting us in a kiss.

The kiss is everything and shifts the balance of this hate-filled relationship we have. The moment his mouth touches mine, I freeze, too stunned to do anything but kiss him back. Goosebumps break out over my skin, and tingles zip down my spine.

As his lips move over mine, a moan escapes, unbidden and uncontrolled. It's a raw, primal sound that seems to vibrate through the air between us. The kiss is rough yet ironically gentle, stirring a torrent of forgotten sensations. Heat flushes through me, causing my breath to hitch and my heart to pound in a rhythm that matches his. The intimate contact sparks a moistness, an arousal that I haven't experienced in a long time. It's as though my body has awakened from a deep slumber, responding fervently to his touch.

Every inch of me is hyper-aware of him. The taste of his mouth, the press of his body against mine, and the subtle masculine scent that clings to him. The intensity of the sensations coursing through me is unnerving, but the unfamiliarity only adds to the raw, all-consuming desire that threatens to consume me from within. He angles my head and deepens the kiss like he's trying to reach my soul. Our tongues duel each other, and when he moans, it snaps me back to reality.

I push him away hard. My hand whips out faster than I can think, and I slap him on the cheek. The sound echoes around the room. My hand bounces back from the force of the hit, leaving an angry red handprint on his cheek. His head whips to the side, and he looks at me in shock. My chest rises and falls, and our heavy breathing fills the air as we both stare at each other. His eyes narrow as they travel along my body, burning with lust despite the slap.

His expression isn't what scares me. It’s the burning desire I still feel coursing through my veins, buzzing with anticipation as his touch reminds me of what it feels like to be caressed by a man. And he's all man. His allure calls to a primary, basic need, and apparently, my body doesn't care who fulfills that need. I want to run away from the lust forming between us.

The weird, indescribable pull I feel toward him tugs me in his direction, whispering promises of pleasure my body has been deprived of for so long. I feel as though I’ve lost my mind. I don’t understand how I can react to this man or even think about doing naughty things with him.

All the self-loathing in my mind can’t stop me, though, when he steps toward me. In a second, I’m in his arms again, with his hands gripping my hips painfully. He twists around and lays me down on the bed before laying between my legs, fusing our mouths together again, and a sigh of relief escapes me.

15

CHAPTER 15

Isabella

There’s no going back. From the moment we kiss, I can only focus on the sensations flowing through me. Hatred and desire battle against each other, screaming at me to choose one or the other. I hate Damien Blackhart with everything in me, and I will never stop, but if he’s the one who gives me a break from all the turmoil in my life and gives me a moment of feeling precious and cared for, then I’ll welcome it and won’t judge myself about it later. I want this moment. I just want to forget about everything and experience something other than pain. I miss the touch of strong hands on me, reminding me that I am a woman.

I can’t shame myself for succumbing to an act of indiscretion if it promises to soothe the ache within me, regardless of how fleeting its effects may be. So, instead of resisting Damien, I open myself to him, choosing to mute the voice in my head that warns me to desist, to flee from this insanity that is likely to consume me eventually.

In this shared moment, there's nothing but his body and the sensual sensations it induces within me. The second our tongues intertwine, our shared moan reverberates through the air, and my skin prickles into a landscape of goosebumps. He escalates the intensity of the kiss, tilting me back until I adjust my head to reciprocate every stroke of his tongue.

The fiery passion of our kiss overshadows any lingering guilt and replaces it with an overpowering need that compels my thighs to tighten around him. My nails rake the back of his head as I part my lips further to amplify the depth of our kiss, if that's even possible.

His palms slide up and down my sides, gripping me harshly beneath my shirt, and I gasp into his mouth as his hands move lower to unbutton my jeans. He tugs them down, and when I feel the cool sheets against my bare thighs, I snatch my mouth away, gulping for air. Our eyes meet in a silent, electrifying duel, and a breathy murmur of objection escapes my lips as he retreats a step. He roughly unbuttons his crisp dress shirt and flings it aside.

He closes the distance once more, his body heat radiating into me like an inferno, setting my senses ablaze. My gaze dips, drinking in the sight of his flawlessly sculpted abs and pristine skin. Leaning in, I run my tongue over his collarbone, nipping lightly at the skin, relishing the heady taste of him that's amplified by his uniquely masculine aroma. It's intoxicating to be in proximity to such a raw, masculine man. His hand finds itself in my hair, halting my actions as he tugs me back.

"Isabella," he whispers with so much heat in his tone.

I place a finger on his lips, silencing him before any more words can shatter the all-encompassing bubble I've built around us. His eyes turn stormy, a passionate blend of lust and fury, yet he remains silent, seemingly unwilling to relinquish this precarious chance at desire that teeters on the edge. One moment, I'm like a captive held in his iron grip. The next, a surprised gasp is torn from my throat as he pushes me further up the bed. His lips descend upon mine once more, but the nature of the kiss has shifted.

Gone is the earlier gentleness. It’s replaced now with a fervor so raw it is overwhelming. The kiss engulfs me whole while his hardened arousal presses into me, sliding with a teasing friction that offers me a provocative preview of what it might bring to my body. As our mouths melt together, I silently plea for him to alleviate our shared agony and satiate this mutual, insatiable craving we both have.

He nips my lower lip, causing me to jerk from the sensory overload as his teeth tug on the sensitive flesh before kissing me again in a soothing gesture. The dual sensation is a heady mix of pain and pleasure, and I can't help the whimper that escapes me. He leaves my lips, moving down to my chin, and the subtle scrape of his stubble against my skin sends shivers down my spine. His mouth travels further, over the curve of my throat, his teeth nipping at the sensitive flesh of my neck. I know he’s leaving marks that will be hard to conceal.

His stubble grazes my skin, surely leaving red, irritated imprints as evidence of our wild passion, but I find myself not caring. The biting and the scraping. The pain and the pleasure. It all blends together into a storm of sensations that makes me crave for more. As long as there's the promise of pleasure at the end of this journey, I don't care. I don't care about anything but the feel of him against me, inside me. The world outside our bubble ceases to exist, and all that matters is the here and now.

“Your lips feel as good as I imagined,” he says against my neck, and I moan from the sex exuding from his tone.

“This body was made for my hands,” he says, biting my skin and causing a gasp to erupt from my throat.

---