Destroyed

I frowned.

“Do it,” Fox demanded.

Slowly, I brought my arms behind my back and linked my fingers. The moment I’d locked them against the small of my back, he hooked his finger into the dip in my dress and dragged me forward. My chest collided with his—my br**sts against his hard muscle. My stomach rose and fell, brushing against his chiselled one.

“Don’t unlock your fingers.” His voice acted like fuel to the fire already licking my core. I shivered as his fingers trailed from my h*ps up to my waist. The pads of his thumbs tickled the sides of my br**sts as he worked his way upward.

Slowly. So, slowly. Softly. So, softly.

My vision darkened; I went lightheaded all thanks to the heat he invoked inside me—turning my craving into a lunatic obsession.

I needed his touch. I needed to be petted and pampered and adored. I’d never been a sexual creature, but now I understood why people hungered for it. Why the thought of being taken and worshiped had such maddening appeal.

Shamelessly, I felt wetness building between my legs.

Fox bowed his head, his eyes never leaving mine. Green to grey, vivid to colourless. My lips parted on their own accord; my breath grew shallow as my legs shook.

Inch by inch he came closer, bringing with him the scent of smoke and metal.

I tensed for a fast kiss. A hard kiss. But Fox held himself still, hovering over my mouth only a fraction away from touching. My lips tingled and ached; my tongue wanted to dart out and lick him.

If he was using my body against me, it was working.

A small noise sounded in his chest, and I looked harder into his eyes. Instead of raw passion there, I saw utter confusion. My heart stuttered and once again my protective instincts rose. He shouldn’t be confused. I would kiss him in that moment even if I had to do it for free.

I’d never know who crossed the last millimetre of distance, but I moaned the instant his lips touched mine. Our eyes snapped shut, and nothing else existed but taste.

I kept expecting him to break. To drag me closer and plunge his tongue into my mouth, but he did the opposite. With perfect pressure, he coaxed my lips apart and the very tip of his tongue entered my mouth. His taste intoxicated me, and I strained forward, rubbing my br**sts against him.

He stiffened, but didn’t stop kissing me, keeping up the maddening softness, exploring deeper with a gentle tongue. My head swam as I forgot to breathe; my fingers loosened until my hands fell to my sides. All I could think about was touching him, dragging him closer, forcing him to be rough, to end his infuriatingly slow assault.

Something switched in him and his lips pressed harder. Confidence filled his touch and he dragged me closer, h*ps thrusting just enough for me to feel the hard heat in his slacks. I tipped my head, allowing him better access, wanting him to kiss me deeper.

But he didn’t take advantage.

Slow and soft and coaxing.

It was the best kiss I’d ever received, but also the worst. It sparked lust and need in every inch of me. My lips wanted more, my tongue wanted savagery. My skin wanted to bruise because he needed to touch me so badly.

All my thoughts disappeared as I nipped at his bottom lip. He flinched, but a second later he copied, his sharp canines piercing my oversensitive flesh.

I moaned.

I couldn’t take it.

My hands flew up and gripped his shirt. Yanking him toward me, fireworks whizzed in my fingertips; my heart galloped toward exploding with lust. I’d never been so drunk on someone before.

Then I landed flat on my back.

The crack of my skull jangled my teeth. The thick carpet did little to cushion me. My eyes flared wide and I grunted in pain. Fear, hot and terrible, swamped my lust in a dampening wave.

“Top rule. Unbreakable rule. Don’t. Ever. Touch. Me.” Fox kneeled on one knee beside my head, breathing hard. His hand noosed my throat, pressing my spine into the carpet. His eyes were cold and lifeless, looking like a hunter intent on blood.

I gasped, struggling to breathe. I couldn’t unfog my brain.

“Never touch me.” His hands tightened, crushing my windpipe.

He’s going to kill me.

Hot terror erupted and I scratched at his grip. Scratching, prying, trying to unlock his incredibly strong fingers. Clara flashed in my mind, bringing hot tears to my eyes.

He bent further, squeezing harder. “What did I just say?”

I thrashed, needing air. My eyes felt too big for my sockets; my ears roared with blood. I need to breathe!

My thoughts were scrambled, but one thought trumpeted: Don’t touch him.

Stop touching him!

It took all my strength to obey. Every instinct boycotted when I forced myself to let go—to allow him to willingly strangle me.

Dropping my hands to my sides, I locked my elbows, keeping them dead straight. I shuddered uncontrollably, battling the instinct to fight back.

Only once I’d gone completely still, with no threat of touching him, did he unlock his fingers and stand. The instant he let me go, I rolled onto my side and hacked and choked, dragging oxygen into greedy lungs.

He stood staring, his face black and terrifying.

I thought I knew what I agreed to, but I hadn’t. I hadn’t factored in his volatile mental state. He was more than just an ass**le. He was unhinged—deranged—and every agreement we’d made seemed incredibly idiotic.

He groaned under his breath, sounding like a wounded animal before dragging hands over his face. He paced away, stalking from one end of the room to the other.

By the fifth or six lungful of air, I sat up. But I was too afraid to stand. I liked being down here, away from his murdering fingers.

Fox prowled, muttering under his breath. His eyes flashed from deadly to contrite to weary. Stopping behind his desk, he snarled, “I didn’t mean to do that.” His fists opened and closed with unspent energy. “You provoked me. At least now you know what happens. Don’t disobey me. Next time, I might not have the strength to stop.”

His mouth tightened into a grimace. Anger rolled off him, buffeting me across the small distance between us. My heart raced, and I couldn’t look away. He entrapped me with his stare, wreaking havoc on my emotions.

I flushed, dropping my gaze. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. Nervously I climbed to my feet, kicking off the stupid heels to stand barefoot on the silky strands of the carpet. Better to run. Better to flee. “I didn’t mean to disobey.”

I wanted to curse him for hurting me rather than apologise, but his remorse was real. It echoed in the room, vibrating in his muscles. He watched me warily as if I’d run at any moment. It was his fault for kissing me so sweetly, so gently. For a man who wore violence as his true identity, my mind couldn’t come to terms with how softly he’d kissed me.