Page 89 of The Darkest Hour

“It tells me that I could push you down into the urine-soaked mud even. . .tear your panties away. . .and fuck you hard, dirtying you, yet making you moan too.” He leaned into me and his voice lowered to a chilling whisper, “And you would like it. Wouldn’t you?”

I stayed silent, because I wanted to deny it, but those words wouldn't come.

The knife pressed harder against my skin.

“No answer? Your silence tells me all I need to know.” He brushed his lips against my ear. His hot breath made me tremble more than the cold steel against my back. “Maybe I should give you a taste of what will come.”

He moved the knife from my back, put it on my right shoulder, and then traced the tip of the blade down my arm, sending delicious chills along my spine.

Why did this turn me on?

Why couldn’t I hate this?

Had I already submitted to him and not have any idea that it happened?

No. That couldn’t be right. I will never. . .submit.

Chuckling, his hand—the one not holding the blade—clutched at my waist tighter, pulling my body flush against his. The menacing chill of the knife was replaced by his overpowering warmth.

His lips grazed over my neck, just a breath away from my skin.

I could feel every word that tumbled from his lips like whispered sins. “Even if you deny it, your body doesn’t lie. Your scent wraps around me like a torturous tease.”

Then, fast, so fucking fast I almost passed out, he brought the knife up to my throat.

I gasped.

“I want to taste you in every way.” His voice was barely above a whisper and it danced down my spine like the devil’s echo in an empty cathedral.

Sinfully reverberating.

Profound and terrifying.

“Maybe. . .just maybe. . .” His hot mouth closed over the junction between my neck and shoulder, and then he bit down just hard enough to make me gasp but not draw blood.

My chest rose and fell with my quickened breaths.

When his teeth let go of my skin, he lapped at the bite marks. “Even in the moonlight, I can see your nipples poking through that bra.”

I could not comprehend anything else.

Too much had happened today.

A boat explosion and hungry sharks.

The dark endless ocean under our lonely raft to an island with children’s handcuffed bones.

I was no longer sane.

No longer able to comprehend anything.

And I was starting to forget what I had been trying to fight Havoc for in the first place.

Why I had been against him.

Little by little, sanity was becoming a far-off dream.

And more and more, reality was becoming Havoc and his utter control.