Prince of Hate: A Dark Mafia Captive Romance by Cole Jagger

Author:Cole, Jagger
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-02-02T00:00:00+00:00

22

My legs are still shaking as I run back to my chambers.

It may be a prison cell. But somehow, it’s also become my refuge here. And I have every intention of slamming the door shut and then pushing as many pieces of furniture as I can in front of it to lock myself in.

And to keep him out.

It’s not that I feel used, or taken advantage of, or pushed past my comfort zone. The reason I need to lock myself in my room isn’t to keep Oliver out at all.

It’s to keep me from him.

Because I have officially tumbled over the deep end into madness. This is full-blown Stockholm Syndrome.

Fantasies were bad enough, and a sure enough sign of my own spiraling depravity. The kiss in the piano room, mind-blowing as it was, pushed me deeper into the abyss.

But what just happened now…

I shiver heatedly as I bolt down a hallway and up one of the sprawling staircases that leads up to my wing of the manor. With every step, my mind replays the scene, the possessive way he pinned me to the wall.

Are you scared of me?

I should be. Fear would be a much saner reaction to this man than desire.

Than lust.

Eager, wanton, desperate lust.

My body remembers the way he touched me, as if every inch of skin his fingers played over was already his, not mine. His to touch. To claim, and bite, and suck, and stroke.

I shiver.

God, I’m still wet.

My core floods with heat as the image of Oliver dropping to his knees, yanking my panties down, and roughly pushing my thighs apart to bury his tongue in my most intimate place plays on a repeating loop. Again and again, I see his eyes stabbing possessively into mine as his mouth pressed hungrily to my pussy, giving me sensations I’ve never even dreamed of.

Making me ride a wave of pleasure I’ve never come close to with my own fingers. A wave that’s still crashing over me to the point that I can barely breathe.

Imprisoning me wasn’t enough. Filling my dreams with dark, depraved fantasies wasn’t enough, either.

His next trick is to unravel me completely.

I get to the top of the staircase, pausing on the landing where the staircase branches into opposite directions. To the right, my own quarters in the east wing. To the left, the forbidden west wing.

I start to head east. Suddenly, I freeze. Then I shudder, slowly turning and dragging my gaze up the staircase into the shadows of the west wing. Curiosity sinks its claws into me. A shiver teases down my spine.

If Oliver’s dead set on unraveling me, I can damn well unravel some of him.

The man is a swirling dark mist of secrets, anger, tragedy, and a life I know almost nothing about. And maybe—just maybe—if I uncover at least some of those secrets, I’ll begin to understand this poisonously dark attraction I have to the monster holding me hostage.

My eyes drag up the stairs again. Slowly, my feet begin to follow one after the other, until I reach the top landing.

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