365 nights of shadow

Chapter 4: Dinner and Devotion

ELARA

The dress Sebastian left for me was a weapon. It was deep crimson silk, held up by thin spaghetti straps that felt like they'd snap if I breathed too hard. It was cut so low in the back it ended just above the curve of my ass, and the slit on the side went all the way to my hip.

I looked in the mirror and didn't recognize the woman staring back. I looked like a queen, or a high-end mistress. I looked like a piece of property.

"Fuck him," I whispered to my reflection, grabbing a heavy glass perfume bottle from the vanity. For a second, I considered smashing it and using a shard to open Sebastian's throat at dinner. But Cassius was outside the door. I could hear his rhythmic breathing.

I walked out, the silk whispering against my legs. Cassius turned, his eyes sweeping over me. He didn't look at me with lust like the other men in this hellhole. He looked at me with something that felt like... regret.

"He's waiting," Cassius said, his voice low.

"He can keep waiting," I snapped, though my legs were shaking as he led me toward the terrace.

The dining table was set outside, overlooking the dark, crashing waves of the Mediterranean. Sebastian was already there, looking like a god in a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms that looked like they were carved from iron. Morrigan was seated to his left, her eyes tracing the lines of his body like she wanted to eat him alive.

When I stepped onto the terrace, the conversation died.

Sebastian's glass stopped halfway to his mouth. His eyes darkened, turning from a cold slate to a charcoal black. His gaze traveled slowly-painfully slowly-from my ankles, up the slit of the dress, over the curve of my breasts, and finally to my eyes.

"Sit," he said. It wasn't an invitation. It was a command that vibrated in my lower belly.

I sat across from him. Morrigan cleared her throat, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "I must say, Sebastian, she cleans up well. Though the dress is perhaps a bit... much for a girl of her standing. It looks like she's trying too hard to belong."

"She doesn't have to try, Morrigan," Sebastian said, his eyes still locked on mine. "She belongs because I said so. Now shut the fuck up and eat."

Morrigan flinched, her face turning a blotchy red. I felt a surge of triumph, but it was short-lived. Sebastian reached across the table, his hand wrapping around my wrist. His skin was scorching.

"You didn't eat on the plane," he said, his thumb pressing into the pulse point of my wrist. He could feel how fast my heart was going. He knew I was terrified. "Eat. I don't want you weak when I take you to bed tonight."

I ripped my hand away. "I'm not going to bed with you. Not tonight, not in 365 days, not ever. You can keep your fucking food and your fucking dress."

"Elara," he warned, his voice dropping to that lethal, quiet register. "Don't make a scene in front of the help. It's embarrassing for you."

"I don't give a shit about being embarrassed!" I stood up, the chair screeching against the stone. "You think because you have money and guns you can just own people? You're a pathetic, lonely man, Sebastian. You're so desperate for someone to love you that you have to kidnap them."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Even the wind seemed to stop.

Sebastian stood up slowly. He was so much bigger than me, so much more imposing. He walked around the table, and for a second, I thought he was going to hit me. Instead, he grabbed the back of my neck and hauled me against him.

"Morrigan, leave," he growled.

"But Sebastian-"

"LEAVE! Before I have Cassius throw you off the cliff!"

Morrigan scrambled away, her heels clicking frantically on the marble.

Sebastian turned his attention back to me. His face was inches from mine, his breath smelling of expensive bourbon. "You think you know me? You think you know what I'm desperate for?"

"I know you're a monster," I spat, trying to push against his chest. It was like pushing against a brick wall.

"You want to see the monster?" He moved his hand from my neck, sliding it down the open back of my dress, his palm rough against my skin. He gripped my waist, pulling me so tight I could feel the hard line of his desire pressing against my stomach. "I've been trying to be a gentleman, Elara. I've been trying to give you space. But you keep pushing. You keep biting. And I'm starting to think you like the taste of the leash."

"I hate you," I whispered, though my body was betraying me. The friction, the heat, the sheer raw masculinity of him was overwhelming my senses.

"Good," he rasped, his lips brushing against my ear. "Hate is a powerful emotion. It's almost as good as lust."

He suddenly hoisted me up, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist to keep from falling. He slammed me back against the stone pillar of the terrace. The silk of my dress bunched up, leaving nothing but my thin lace underwear between my heat and his suit pants.

"Do you feel that?" he groaned, burying his face in the crook of my neck, his teeth grazing my skin. "That's what you do to me. You make me want to burn this whole fucking estate to the ground just to hear you scream my name."

His hand moved, sliding under the hem of the crimson silk, his fingers finding the edge of my panties. I let out a low, shaky breath, my head falling back against the stone.

"Sebastian," I choked out. I didn't know if I was telling him to stop or to keep going.

"Say it again," he commanded, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. "Say my fucking name, Elara."

I looked at him, seeing the raw, unhinged obsession in his eyes. He wasn't just a boss or a criminal. He was a man who had lost his mind over me. And as much as I hated him, as much as I wanted to run, a dark, primal part of me was starting to wake up.

"Sebastian," I whispered, my voice breaking.

He didn't wait. He crashed his lips onto mine, not in a kiss, but in a claim. It tasted like fire and salt and five years of waiting.

Chapter 4: The Breaking Point (Continued)

SEBASTIAN

The taste of her was a goddamn drug.

For five years, she'd been a ghost in my mind, a soft memory of rain and regret. But this-the heat of her skin, the way her fingers dug into my shoulders, the soft, desperate sounds she was making into my mouth-this was real. It was visceral. It was everything I'd told myself I didn't need.

I pulled back just an inch, my forehead resting against hers. Her lips were swollen, stained red from my kiss and her own biting. She looked wrecked. She looked like she belonged to me.

"You're shaking, Elara," I growled, my hand tightening on her thigh, pulling her even closer into the hard line of my cock. I wanted her to feel every bit of the havoc she was wreaking on my self-control. "Tell me to stop. Tell me you want me to let go and walk away."

She didn't say a word. Her eyes were wide, dark with a mixture of terror and a hunger she was too proud to admit. Her breath came in short, jagged hitches.

"Say it," I commanded, my thumb grazing the damp silk of her panties. "Say 'Stop, Sebastian.' Say you don't want this."

"I... I hate you," she whispered, her voice trembling.

"That's not what I asked," I rasped. I shifted my grip, my palm cupping her through the thin fabric. She gasped, her back arching off the stone pillar, her head falling back. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No," she breathed, the word so quiet I almost missed it.

That was all the permission the monster needed.

I hooked my arm under her knees and carried her toward the master bedroom, my strides long and predatory. I didn't give a fuck if Cassius was in the hall or if Morrigan was watching from the shadows. I kicked the heavy oak doors shut and locked them with a click that sounded like a final judgment.

I dropped her onto the center of the massive, silk-sheeted bed. She looked tiny against the dark fabric, her red dress hiked up, her hair fanned out like a halo of chaos. I didn't waste time. I ripped my shirt open, buttons flying across the marble floor like hailstones.

I wanted her to see me. All of me. The scars on my chest from the life I led, the ink that marked my skin, and the sheer, unadulterated need that was turning me into someone I didn't recognize.

I climbed onto the bed, looming over her. "You think you're a prisoner here? You're wrong. We're both prisoners now."

ELARA

My heart was beating so fast I thought it might actually burst through my ribs. Everything was moving too quickly, but at the same time, every second felt like it was stretched thin.

Sebastian was a god in the shadows of the room. Without his shirt, he looked even more lethal-his muscles were hard, defined, and mapped with scars that told stories of a world I couldn't imagine. But it was his eyes that truly terrified me. They weren't cold anymore. They were burning.

He reached out, his hands trembling slightly-the first sign of weakness I'd ever seen in him-and gripped the straps of my dress. With one slow, deliberate tug, he pulled them down. The silk fell away, baring me to him in the dim amber light.

I expected him to pounce. I expected the raw, brutal force he used to run his empire. Instead, he stopped. He just looked at me, his gaze so intense it felt like a physical touch.

"You're breathtaking," he whispered, his voice thick with a raw emotion that sounded like pain. "I dreamed of this. Every night for two thousand days, I dreamed of having you right here."

He leaned down, his lips trailing a path of fire from my collarbone to the swell of my breast. I let out a low moan, my fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling him closer. I knew I should be fighting. I knew I should be looking for a way out. But the way he was touching me-like I was the most precious and most forbidden thing in the world-was erasing every bit of my logic.

"Sebastian, please," I choked out.

"Please what, piccola?" he murmured against my skin, his hand sliding between my legs, finding the core of my heat. "Tell me what you want. Be honest for once in your life."

"I want... I want you to make me forget," I whispered, my eyes fluttering shut. "Make me forget everything."

He moved then, his body blanketing mine, heavy and hot. "I'll make you forget your own fucking name," he promised.

He shifted, his fingers hooking into the waistband of my lace underwear. He didn't tear them; he slid them down with agonizing slowness, his eyes never leaving mine. When he finally entered me, it wasn't a gentle start. It was a deep, soul-shattering thrust that made me cry out, my nails raking down his back.

It was too much. It was everything.

He moved with a desperate, frantic energy, his breath hot against my ear, whispering things in Italian I didn't understand but felt in the very marrow of my bones. He was dominant, he was possessive, and he was absolutely, terrifyingly in love-even if he was too broken to say the word.

And as I clung to him, lost in the rhythm of the man I was supposed to hate, I realized the 365 days didn't matter.

He already had me.