The Monster I Crave

The Dinner of Wolves 2

She pulled her hand away, standing abruptly. Her chair toppled backward, crashing to the floor. She turned to face him, her chest heaving, her eyes blazing.

"I hate you," she said, her voice shaking. "I hate everything about you. Your arrogance. Your cruelty. Your twisted need to control everything and everyone around you. And I will never, ever want you."

The words echoed in the silent room, the candles flickering in the draft. Silas stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face-a cold, predatory smile that made her stomach drop.

"Liar," he said softly.

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. His hand came up, his fingers threading through her hair, gripping the back of her head. He pulled her toward him, his other arm wrapping around her waist, lifting her against his chest.

She struggled, her hands pushing against his shoulders, but it was like fighting a wall of marble. He was too strong, too determined. His mouth found her neck, his teeth scraping against the skin below her ear. She gasped, her body betraying her as a shiver ran through her.

"Your body says otherwise," he murmured against her skin, his breath hot. "Every shiver. Every gasp. Every moan you try to suppress. You want me, Aria. You hate that you want me, but you do."

His hand slid down her back, his fingers gripping the fabric of her dress. He lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. He carried her to the table, sweeping the plates and glasses aside with a crash of china and crystal. The roses toppled, petals scattering across the white cloth.

He laid her on the table, his body covering hers. The silk of her dress was pulled taut across her breasts, the neckline straining. His hands slid up her thighs, pushing the slit of the dress higher, exposing her completely.

"Tell me to stop," he said, his voice rough. "Tell me you don't want this, and I'll stop."

She looked up at him, at the grey eyes burning with intensity, at the hard set of his jaw, at the hands that held her like she was something precious and breakable at the same time. She opened her mouth to say the words, to tell him to stop, to tell him she hated him.

But nothing came out.

He smiled, a slow, triumphant expression. "That's what I thought."

He lowered his head, his mouth finding the hollow of her throat. His tongue traced the gold chain of the dragon pendant, his teeth scraping gently against her skin. She arched into him, a moan escaping her lips despite her best efforts.

His hands found the zipper of her dress, pulling it down slowly. The silk parted, revealing her breasts, the cool air hitting her heated skin. His mouth followed the path of the zipper, kissing, licking, biting gently. His tongue circled her n****e, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. She cried out, her back arching off the table.

He pulled back, his eyes meeting hers. "Beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough. "Absolutely beautiful."

His hands slid down her body, pushing the dress up around her waist. His fingers found the lace of her underwear, the fabric already damp. He hooked his fingers into the waistband, pulling them down. She lifted her hips, helping him, the movement a betrayal of her own body.

He stepped back, his eyes roaming over her naked body, spread out on the dining table like a feast. The candlelight played over her skin, casting golden shadows. The rose petals were scattered around her, sticking to her damp skin.

"You're a work of art," he said, his voice low and reverent. "A masterpiece."

He shed his suit jacket, tossing it aside. His fingers went to his tie, loosening it, pulling it free. He unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the dragon tattoo rippling with his movements.

He stepped between her legs, his hands gripping her thighs, spreading them wider. He lowered his head, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. He kissed, licked, bit gently, working his way higher. His breath was hot against her most intimate flesh, his stubble scraping her skin.

She gasped, her hands gripping the edge of the table. "Silas..."

He looked up, his grey eyes dark with desire. "Say my name again," he commanded.

"Silas," she repeated, the name torn from her throat.

He smiled, a predatory expression, and lowered his mouth to her core. His tongue flicked out, tasting her. She arched off the table, a cry escaping her lips. He held her down with one hand on her hip, his other hand gripping the edge of the table.

He worked her with his mouth, his tongue circling her c**t, dipping inside her, lapping at her wetness. The pleasure was overwhelming, building in waves that crashed over her again and again. Her hands found his hair, gripping the dark strands, pulling him closer.

"Please," she begged, the word torn from her throat. "Please, I can't..."

He didn't stop. His tongue moved faster, his fingers sliding inside her, curling to hit that spot that made her vision blur. She came with a scream, her body arching off the table, her inner walls clenching around his fingers.

He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes were dark, predatory, his chest heaving. He unbuckled his belt, pulling it free. His trousers pooled at his feet, his c**k springing free-thick, hard, the veins pulsing with his heartbeat.

He stepped forward, positioning himself between her legs. The head of his c**k pressed against her entrance, hot and demanding. He gripped her hips, lifting her slightly, and drove into her in one smooth, powerful thrust.

Aria cried out, her back arching off the table. The pleasure was intense, bordering on pain. He filled her completely, stretching her, claiming her. He began to move, his thrusts deep and measured, each one hitting a spot inside her that made her vision blur.

The table rocked beneath them, the legs scraping against the floor. The remaining candles flickered, casting dancing shadows across the walls. The smell of roses and wine and their own musk filled the air, heady and intoxicating.

Silas gripped her hips, tilting them upward, changing the angle. His thrusts became harder, more urgent. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, a wet, rhythmic slap that echoed off the walls.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice strained.

She turned her head, her eyes meeting his. His face was taut with pleasure, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with an intensity that frightened her. He was watching her, studying her reactions, cataloging every gasp, every moan.

"You're mine," he said, his voice rough.

His words, combined with the relentless rhythm of his hips, sent her over the edge again. Her inner walls clenched around him, tight and rhythmic, pulling him deeper.

Silas groaned, his pace quickening.

The candles had burned low, the wax dripping down the holders. Rose petals were scattered across the table, some sticking to their sweat-slicked skin.

"Stay tonight," he said, his voice low.

It wasn't a question. Aria looked at him, at the hard lines of his face softened by candlelight, at the chest still heaving with exertion, at the hands that had just brought her to pleasure she hadn't known was possible.

She should say no. She should gather her ruined dress and walk out, back to her room, back to the safety of her own space. She should cling to her hatred, her defiance, her desire for freedom.

But Elena's voice echoed in her mind: Survive. Play the game.

"Okay," she whispered, the word tasting like surrender.

Silas smiled, a slow, genuine expression that transformed his face. He reached out, his fingers brushing the dragon pendant at her throat.

"Good," he murmured. "That's a start."

He stood, scooping her into his arms. She gasped, her hands gripping his shoulders. He carried her through the dining room, the rose petals falling from their bodies like blood. The hallway was dark, the only light coming from the moon streaming through the windows.

He carried her to his bedroom, laying her on the silk sheets. He climbed in beside her, pulling the covers over them. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat against her back, steady and strong.

"Sleep," he murmured, his breath warm against her neck. "Tomorrow, we continue."

She closed her eyes, exhaustion pulling her under. The last thing she felt was his hand, resting on her stomach, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her skin. The dragon pendant was cool against her chest, a constant reminder of who she belonged to.

And somewhere, deep in the recesses of her mind, a terrifying thought took root: she didn't entirely hate it.