3Lords of the Underworld 03 by The Darkest Pleasure

Author:The Darkest Pleasure
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

DANIKA DIDN’T KNOW HOW to assimilate what she’d just witnessed. That was what Reyes needed to experience pleasure? Before, part of her had thought she could maybe give him what he craved. But he hadn’t just cut skin. He’d cut veins, muscle and even bone. There was so much blood, a seemingly never-ending river pooling and congealing around him.

Now he was looking at her through hooded eyes, lips grim, a crimson splatter on his chin. “What are you doing here?” Cold, no emotion.

“I fo-followed you,” she managed to get out. “I—I—” She was shaking so badly, and her throat kept trying to close around a surge of bile.

Had other women hurt him like this? Pleasured him like that? The thought disturbed her, but not as it should have. She didn’t like the thought of other women meeting his needs. She didn’t like the thought of other women doing something to him that she had not done—or perhaps could not do.

Reyes lumbered to his feet, swayed. His thigh gushed. She thought she saw the severed bone underneath the muscle and couldn’t glance away. Her gaze was held captive and tracked every drop that spilled. His penis rose proudly, still thick and full, smeared with desire and blood, the heavy weight of his testicles drawn tight underneath.

Even possessed as he was by the demon of Pain, she didn’t understand how he could find release in so brutal a deed.

“Look at me,” he barked.

“I am.” A broken whisper.

“At my face.” He jerked up his pants and fastened them.

The action released her from the trancelike state. Gradually she dragged her gaze up his body. His navel was surrounded by the faintest dusting of hair—how had she missed it before?—and his stomach was roped with hard lines of muscle, a testament to his inhuman strength.

Her tremors increased the closer she got to his face. A shadow beard dusted his jaw, hardening the angles of his face, making him appear all the more dangerous.

He was scowling at her, his lips peeled back from his teeth. His nostrils flared as he inhaled. “I told you to stay in my room.”

His eyes, normally polished onyx, were tinted red. Glowing. Pulsing. She gulped. “I couldn’t, I didn’t—”

“Go!”

“Don’t talk to me like that. Got it?”

“Leave. Please.” A whisper.

As he stood there, panting, angry, bloody as if he’d just returned from a war, she lost her…whatever it was she’d been feeling.

Disgust? Confusion? Shock? I want to paint him like this, she thought. He was a thing of beauty. Dark, a combination of cinnamon and honey, with eyes like an eclipsed sun—a person didn’t know whether to stare, blind to all else, or look quickly away.

What intrigued her most, however, was his tattoo. That butterfly, with its wings spread in midflight, half consuming his chest and neck, seemed to be watching her, beckoning her closer. It had always been ominous and harsh, almost evil, and yet it now appeared…gentle. The colored skin was glittering, a mix of ruby, onyx and sapphire. The usually sharp-tipped, forged-of-steel wings were somehow softened.

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