It took me years to find the courage to speak to Luka. He seemed exactly like me. Intelligent. Focused. Serious. But he’s not the man I imagined. His reality is cruel and dark. He traps me in his web, his power twisting tighter the more I struggle, until it’s hopeless. I can’t break free. As he drags me unwillingly into his filthy world, I can’t ignore the terrifying idea circling my mind. What if I belong here with him?
*WARNING. This book is meant for mature audiences and is a very dark erotic romance.
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“So, Addison, we’re both stuck here for other people.” Luka took a step toward me, and even though there was still quite a bit of space left between us, his one small step felt enormous. Like he was now twice the size he’d been a second ago. My chest was beginning to feel warm, no doubt from the tequila. “How is it you remember my name?” “Probably for the same reason you remember mine.” That was incredibly doubtful, but I kept my face plain. “Calculus was that memorable for you?” “Yeah, it was. You were there every class, staring at me.” I inhaled sharply, mortified, and tore my gaze away. “I did not.” “Look at me.” His firm tone made it so there was no other option but to obey. When I did, his black eyes were focused and intense. “You stared when you didn’t think I could tell, but you weren’t very good at hiding it.” I opened my mouth to deny further, but he cut me off. “I was better than you. I made sure you never noticed I was looking.” My brain disconnected and thought ceased. “Why?” Luka’s hands rested casually on his hips. “Because a girl like you . . .” He scrubbed a hand over his mouth. He seemed to search for the right word, but not find it, and every drawn-out second that passed made it worse. Because a girl like you . . . Isn’t good enough. Rich enough. Smart enough. A girl like you isn’t experienced enough. “You shouldn’t be interested in a guy like me.” “What?” I was intelligent and well spoken, and yet I couldn’t choke out more than one word at a time. “I’m not a nice guy.” I swallowed hard. “Well . . .” How was I supposed to respond to that? “I’m sure that’s not true.” Luka remained like a statue. He didn’t argue or defend himself, and tension wound around us like ruthless vines. My question was breathy. “Why did you stare at me if you weren’t interested?” “Did I say I wasn’t interested?” He took another step, growing larger still, reaching a point where I couldn’t see anything else. Just him. “Nobody looked at me the way you did, and I liked it. It’s exactly how you’re looking at me now.” All the air vanished from the room. “And how’s that?” It was dizzying when he took the final step and brought us chest to chest, his mouth inches from mine. Was any of this effect from the tequila, or was it all him? His gaze traced over each inch of my face, and I could feel it etching into my skin. “Like you want me to do bad things to you.” Oh my God. As he’d done, I stood motionless, neither confirming nor denying. I held my breath, waiting for him to make his move. I expected him to kiss me. Or maybe laugh in my face, although Luka didn’t seem like the type to laugh easily. He was deadly serious. “Do you?” His question was soft and indifferent, even as it carried the weight of an enormous challenge. Did I want him to do bad things to me? “I don’t know,” I blurted out. “Maybe.” Luka looked just as I felt—surprised by my admission. What had I just sort of agreed to? A tremble began in the backs of my knees and moved upward when his head tipped down. His mouth lowered until his warm lips sealed over mine. Everything was madness. My actions, the situation, and most importantly, his kiss. I spun out of control under his mouth, surrendering to it completely, even as the kiss was tame. Luka pressed his lips to mine tentatively, but when I parted my lips to gasp, he took advantage. His tongue dipped into my mouth and was an electric jolt straight between my legs. Did I taste like tequila as he did to me, or could he also taste my lust? I had two years’ worth, and this kiss broke the dam holding it back. It poured from me, and as I spun, I latched my hands onto his shoulders to keep myself steady. What the hell was I doing?
About the Author
Nikki Sloane landed in graphic design after her careers as a waitress, a screenwriter, and a ballroom dance instructor fell through. For eight years she worked for a design firm in that extremely tall, black, and tiered building in Chicago that went through an unfortunate name change during her time there. Now she lives in Kentucky and manages a team of graphic artists. She is a member of the Romance Writers of America, is married with two sons, writes dirty books, and couldn't be any happier.