Page 21 of Dark Alliance
“Why should I trust you?” I whispered, my voice trembling as my faint resolve wavered, despite my desperate effort to brace myself.
“You shouldn’t.” He shook his head. “But I would appreciate it if you let me prove myself to you. Give me a reason to earn your trust, Daphne. Please?”
His words silenced me, leaving no room for a reply. Did I have anything to lose but, essentially, everything? Yet, when I considered what I stood to gain... I let out a deep, weighty sigh that freed me from my last bits of resistance.
He walked over, placing his hand on my cheek again, and I lowered my face into the palm of his hand. His gaze darkened with desire, a storm of emotions mirroring my own turmoil. The tension between us intensified, stealing my breath.
“Thal,” I whispered, my head shaking in a final feeble protest that my body didn't believe.
“No matter what you decide, Daphne, I’ll always be here for you.”
His words felt like a balm, a cool liquid poured over the raw, open wounds Zeno had left. In that moment, the truth settled into my bones, heavy as a mountain. Maybe this wasn’t a betrayal. Maybe it was an evolution. Perhaps I wasn’t destined to be a ghost in Zeno’s gold-leafed machine forever.
It was time for me to stand on my own, even if I stood in the shadow of another king. I looked at Thal’s lips, my body trembling with a desire so sharp it felt like a blade against my skin. The small flicker of passion I’d been trying to douse for years erupted into an intense, all-consuming wildfire of hunger.
Hunger for freedom. Hunger for Thal. Hunger for the dangerous, unfiltered life he embodied.
It burst forth with a raw, primal urge to be as close to him as humanly possible, to merge our skins until I couldn't tell where my debt ended and his obsession began.
My lips met his, warm and soft at first, a tentative question. But when he didn’t pull away, he met me with a groan that sounded like a prayer, and the passion exploded. I kissed him harder, my mouth an open wound, releasing every ounce of longing I’d held back since Aruba.
The last two times we’d seen each other, our kisses had been fleeting, frustrating, and furious. This was different. This was a reclamation. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, my mouth devouring his moans. I tasted the whiskey and the dark promise on his tongue. His hands found my hips, pulling me flush against him. I gasped as his hardness pressed against my belly, a thick, throbbing reminder of what I’d been missing.
A deep, low growl vibrated through his chest and into mine as he gripped my hips, grinding his length against me. It sent a flash of memory through my mind—a sensory blitz of Thal’s body slamming into mine, the feel of his mouth working between my thighs, the way my world used to shatter under his touch.
I pulled my mouth away just an inch, searching his eyes for a reason to stop, for a sign of the man who had let me walk away years ago. I found nothing but a savage, bottomless need that mirrored my own.
“Daphne—” His voice was a ragged warning.
“No more words, Thal. Please,” I begged, pressing a trembling finger to his lips. His pupils were so blown they swallowed the ice blue of his irises, leaving only the dark storm of his hunger. “Just take me. Now. Before I remember how to be a coward.”
With a pained, guttural groan, he bent and swept me into his arms. He didn't carry me like a bride. He hauled me against his chest with predatory resolve, his stride heavy and certain as he kicked open the bedroom doors.
The moment we hit the mattress, the "gentleman" was executed.
He didn't bother with the zipper. He hooked his fingers into the neckline of my black silk dress and pulled. I heard the fabrictear with a violent, satisfying snap down the middle, a jagged rip that echoed through the quiet room.
I felt the final tether to Zeno’s “perfect ward” snap with each inch of fabric he ruined. The way he undressed me was as if he were stripping away the last three years of my life, leaving me raw and exposed in the amber glow of the firelight.
“Wait,” I gasped, my hands flying to the buttons of his shirt, frantic as I fought the heavy cotton. “I need you bare too. I need to feel all of you.”
He let out a low, dark laugh, a sound like velvet over gravel. He stripped with a fluid, violent impatience, flinging his clothes into the dark corners of the room until he loomed over me.
He was a god of marble and ill intent, his bronze skin mapped with faint white scars I’d never seen before, reminders that he was a man who took what he wanted and bled for what he kept. He was massive, corded with a tension that felt like a loaded weapon, and beautifully, terrifyingly hard.
My pussy spasmed with a sharp, electric anticipation at the sight of him. This was the man who had haunted my dreams in the sterile quiet of Zeno’s penthouse.
He knelt between my legs, his large, calloused hands gliding up the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. He didn't ask, but commanded, forcing my legs apart until I was completely open to him, the cool air of the room a stark contrast to the burning heat radiating from his palms.
“You’re fucking mine, Daphne. Do you understand?” He leaned down, his voice a territorial vibration against my skin. “Here? In this bed? In this city? You belong to me.”
He didn't wait for my surrender. Instead, he took it.
He dropped his head, his tongue darting out to lick a slow, wet stripe from my knee all the way up to the pulsing, aching heat of my center.
I sobbed, my back arching off the furs of the bedspread, my fingers burying in the silver-gray pile. He was relentless. He used his teeth to graze the soft flesh of my thigh, leaving small, stinging marks—a map of his claim that I would see in the mirror tomorrow and remember exactly to whom I belonged.
He found my clit with the precision of a predator, sucking the swollen, sensitive bud into his mouth while he slipped two fingers deep inside me. He mimicked the brutal, rhythmic thrust I was begging for, his thumb working me into a frenzy.
