Chapter 46 Jasmine
Oh shit.
My eyes dart around the room, which is much darker and quieter. Colder.
Kane’s put us in the Dark Realm.
My gaze snaps to him. He’s… I swallow hard.
I remember when I saw him in the daylight of this district for the first time, how it revealed him so clearly, every hard line and deep shadow. I thought he was beautiful then.
But now…
Now the darkness moulds to him, sharpening every angle, drawing out something more. Something dangerous. Something I want.
This is where he belongs.
And Goddesses help me, I don’t want to be anywhere else.
There’s a wicked glint in his eyes, almost reflective even with little light. A deeper, hungrier flicker that sends a cutting chill along my spine.
And the way he’s looking at me, like I’m a threat wrapped in temptation.
I swallow again, shifting back on the bed to give myself more time to think and—
He smiles.
Oh. Fuck.
Everything inside me tightens at the sight of Kane smiling at me.
“Scared, immaru?” His voice is a smooth, dark, deep tease.
Oh. Fuck. Off.
Fuck me.
I can’t think. That one little question has rocked me. And he keeps looking at me, standing there in all his toned, muscular glory. Wisps of shadow caress his caramel skin as he towers there, the epitome of a dark god.
He tilts his head slowly, studying me in silence, and that smile of his is wicked, evil, knowing.
Then he steps closer.
“Scared of what I’ll do,” he murmurs, in that rich, heavy voice. “How I’ll taint you.” His shadows curl around my legs. “Ruin you.” They part my thighs. “Claim you.” He steps between them.
Then, eyes never leaving mine—
He lowers to his knees.
My heart pounds so hard I swear he can hear it.
“Shh,” he murmurs, that smile still lingering as he settles on his knees. “Don’t be scared.” His fingers caress my ankle, gentle, the barest touch. “You wanted this.”
He’s right. I did. I do. I teased him, pushed him, dressed like this.
It should scare me, and maybe part of me is. But it’s the kind of fear that sets my pulse racing and my skin burning. The kind that coils low in my stomach and makes me forget how to breathe.
Because I like him like this.
The teasing threat in his voice, the dark promise in his stare, the wicked curve of his mouth.
I’m not scared of him. I’m scared of how much I want him.
Dark. Dangerous. Mine.
His hand brushes over my shin, my knee, my thigh—reaching the hem of my dress before he rubs the soft fabric between his fingers.
“Was this for me?” he asks, peering up, dark lashes casting shadows over eyes that promise very dark intentions.
I nod. It’s the first bit of movement I’ve managed.
A breath of a sound escapes him, low and rough. A hum of approval. It hits me deep.
My expression crumples under the sound, my lips parting. It’s like my body’s been hard-wired to that tiny, devastating sound of praise.
Of course I’ve worn this dress on purpose. I thought it’d be funny. White, soft, angelic, every inch of it calculated. A callback to another time. A little innocent. A little not.
I thought it’d throw him off. But all I’ve done is set him loose. And I don’t regret it.
“Take it off.”
What? He’s still holding the dress, still staring up at me with those gleaming eyes of obsidian as his order rolls over me.
I should just do it. Part of me is desperate to, but another part… maybe my darkness, doesn’t want to be so easy.
He said he liked the fight.
I stare at him, on his knees before me, and slowly shake my head.
He closes his eyes, and those lips curve into another dangerous smile.
It’s not anger in his expression, that’s not what he’s feeling at all from my little denial. No, it’s the very opposite.
When he opens them again, the glimmer has darkened.
“Take it off,” he repeats, voice lower—deeper. His fingers slip under the hem, spreading out over my thigh. “Or I’ll rip it off.”
Holy Goddess of the Dark.
I want him to. With his hands, his teeth, his shadows, I don’t really care.
But I know how to get it.
“Maybe…” I make my voice quiet, soft. I even struggle to take my next breath. “Maybe this is a bad idea,” I murmur, all breathy and nervous, like I really am a scared little angel. “We’re enemies after all—”
Rip.
His shadows clutch either side of the bodice, now torn in half, fluttering to the bed beside my waist.
My hands instinctively move to cover myself out of habit, and it fits the game we’re playing so well.
Cold shadows wrap around my wrists, pulling them away from my chest and guiding them upward. I’m pushed down by another, spine flat against the mattress, arms drawn above my head—stretched until they’re fully extended.
Another shadow curls around my waist, yanking me so I’m at the very edge of the bed, legs parted, hanging off. My toes barely graze the floor.
Kane doesn’t say or do anything. Doesn’t even touch me. He just stays on his knees as his shadows lay me out on the bed beneath him, staring down at me on his knees.
At what’s left of the dress, and what it’s revealed.
The dress was a disguise, just like my act, and if that wasn’t clear before, the black, skimpy lace underwear makes it undeniable.
He leans over, one hand beside my head on the bed, body poised above me, our chests almost touching.
“For me?” he asks, fingertips brushing the laced edge of my bra.
His gaze sweeps up to mine as his fingers trail over the curve of my breast, up the line of my throat, along the edge of my jaw, then cupping my cheek.
He leans in, lips grazing mine, just so—tauntingly. But then… nothing.
He holds himself there, above me. Dark gaze on mine, heated, but steady. Waiting.
For what?
I blink at him, heart thudding, mind hazy with the feel of him, the closeness, the heat curling low in my stomach. Why isn’t he—?
His gaze drops down, to my chest. The bra. His question.
I look at him, and immediately nod.
He closes the distance with a low groan.
This is nothing like our first kiss. This is harder, certain, claiming.
Like the thought of me picking out these things for him, taking my time, thinking about him… the dress, the underwear, the style of my hair, even the colour of my shoes—broke whatever hold he had left.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and I twitch my fingers, desperate to be free of his shadow—desperate to touch him.
He must sense it, because in one sharp movement I’m jolted upright. His shadows drag me into a sitting position, arms still stretched high, clenched fists pointed to the ceiling.
My balance is unsteady, until one of his hands slides into the back of my hair, and the other grips my hip. He yanks me forwards, dragging me to the very edge again, but now pressing into his hard body.
“You’re mine,” he growls against my mouth, giving me no air, no time. “Mine to touch. Mine to play with. Mine.”
His lips drag lower, down to my throat. I’m gasping—for air, for him—still tugging at the restraints that do not give. He doesn’t loosen them, dragging his mouth back up to my ear.
“You can wait.” His voice is so low, but there’s a flicker of amusement. Because he enjoys seeing me struggle, and he’s daring me to keep trying.
Oh, I will.
My own darkness coils, rising eagerly at the challenge. I’ll snap these shadows and—
Snap.
One bra strap breaks. Then the other. And when his lips suddenly brush over my nipple, I gasp sharply.
He pauses at the sound, dark gaze flicking up to mine. Then he does it again, dragging his mouth over my nipple in slow, mocking touches.
Heat blooms behind my eyes, and I yank harder, desperate to be free. I feel his smile as his lips brush the underside of my breast.
“You taught me restraint, immaru,” he murmurs, nipping the sensitive skin, kissing it, then groaning when my gasp becomes a small whimper. “Now, you can wait.”
His words are soft, but so smug. Because Kane is an impatient, stubborn, controlling demon.
And I made him wait.
So now, he’s savouring every second of my undoing.
I whimper at the realisation, straining again, pulling so hard I manage to bend one elbow—
The shadows snap tighter, locking me back in place. I groan—partly from frustration, partly desperate want.
Helpless, burning under his cold caresses, he keeps teasing the same nipple with his teeth, then a small lick, a brush of his lips. I cry out a broken, helpless sound.
He slowly moves to the other breast, mirroring the same movements, until he gets another sharp cry.
“You’re trembling,” he murmurs, delighted with himself.
Am I? I’ve stopped pulling, I can’t remember when, I’m too lost in this, these drawn-out, worshipping touches.
He moves lower, kissing the underside of my breast, the top of my rib cage, my sternum.
He keeps descending, devouring every inch of skin along the way, caressing me with careful swipes of his tongue, small nips of teeth, soft lips, gentle fingers, until his hands are finally on my thighs.
There’s another soft rip, my underwear falls away, and his low, quiet growl of approval ripples through me.
I don’t try to fight. I’m too worked up, so desperate, something like a sob falls out.
“Poor immaru,” he teases, lips against my inner thigh.
The vibration from that is insidious.
I bite my lip, try to hold in the needy whimper, but when his finger slowly slides up and down my soaking slit, it bubbles out.
He freezes, and finally looks up at me. I can only imagine the flush of my skin, the tears in my eyes, my mouth parted ready to beg at any second.
When his fingers grip my thighs, pulling, opening them as far as they’ll go, I drop my face into the crook of my arm with a needy whine.
“Watch,” he commands, and he waits until I turn my face back to him.
Then, he begins to lower, but he keeps his eyes on me.
Always.
Even as he delivers one slow lick over my pussy. I whine like the pathetic mess he’s made me, but I never look away, meaning I see the exact moment his darkness takes full control.
With a growl that rumbles the room, he closes his eyes and drops his mouth to my soaking pussy.
And. He. Feasts.