The Darkest Temptation (Made, #3)

by Danielle Lori

His face was stunning, carved from ice into perfection, and the mere touch of his eyes made me recall that photo in Ronan’s office. He was the other boy.

“Touch my wife, and what my brother has done to you will suddenly look like fun.” I swallowed. His wife rolled her eyes. “He’s a little intense, but he means well.”

“My papa already agreed to trade himself for me.” She raised a brow. “Then why does Ronan still need you?” “Torture.” She laughed and then sobered when she realized I was serious. “Well . . . that’s interesting.” Being sane and all, I had different words for the situation.

“Anyway, I’m sure next time we meet, there’ll be less ropes and more clothes.” She sounded optimistic, but I could only see my body parts being shipped off in FedEx boxes, my papa’s coffin, and, if I survived this, a world to traverse on my own. My stomach tightened. A burn stung the backs of my eyes. Compassion filled her gaze, her hand on the knob. “Just remember . . . you have a goddess inside you.” She stepped into the hall and turned to look at me. “You just have to find her.”

“Normal people have normal hobbies,” I said. “Why don’t you find one that doesn’t include dissecting everyone around you?” A smile played in his eyes. “You’re twice as fucked up as I am.” “The fact you find the idea of me going down on a woman more concerning than her being my prisoner tells a different story.” “I just find the former a bit out of character. And interesting.”

I could count how many times I’d given oral on one hand. All of those encounters happened when I was a young, horny teenager; when I couldn’t stop myself from eating the pussy spread out in front of me. But once I’d gotten familiar with it, the desire waned beneath the cold, childhood memory of seeing the sexual act through a cracked closet door—including my mother’s day job as a whore and the sick perversions she and her clients forced upon my brother. I could only blame almost going down on Mila on the fact seeing her naked, tied up, and at my mercy really fucking turned me on.

I didn’t expect Mila to fight me. I didn’t expect to lose my shit once she was naked either. There was just so fucking much of her. So much to touch, to play with. Her long legs and smooth, unblemished skin. Her newfound hatred and flashing eyes. I wanted to watch them go soft again when I finally pushed deep inside her.

I exhaled a smoke ring, eyeing the fake heart-shaped earring on my desk. My little vegan didn’t wear fur or diamonds. Her soft heart was unanticipated given her last name, but she also hid a fire beneath. I wanted to see how hot that fire burned. And then I wanted to put it out. I wanted Mila, but I wanted her willingly. Her tears unnerved me. Even the shocked expression in her eyes after I gave her a light slap to the face didn’t settle right. Nadia would have been on her knees at my feet faster than I could blink, not giving me a look like I’d just strangled a baby humpback.

And then, I refused lunch. Yulia shoved another piece of paper at me. I can only assume my pet wants me to hand-feed her. But just so you’re aware, the thought of my fingers in your mouth makes me hard.

I was unable to listen to another word from her mouth right now. Gripping her chin, I pulled her eyes to mine. “You and I, kotyonok . . .” I stroked a thumb across her cheek, my voice softening. “We’re far from finished.” She didn’t look convinced, so I pulled her face closer and sealed the promise with a short kiss. She was as tense as a statue, but her lips were soft, pliable, warm, and somehow, she still tasted like strawberries.

“Are you superstitious now, kotyonok?” D’yavol in the flesh stared back at me. I didn’t know he would embody a man dressed in black designer suits, tattoos, and a charming façade. I’d never be so naïve again. I gazed out the window and said, “Yes. If there’s a devil, there has to be a God.”

“I hear you don’t like your room.” “The accommodations could be better.” He smiled. “I’m sure you’ll find them preferable in my room.” I hated his smile. Sparkling white teeth and a dignified lift of his lips. He had the smile of a handsome gentleman, and what a lie it was. Though what I hated the most was how his smile made me recall how I fell into his hands in the first place, and how he tricked my body to his side.

The sounds of my knees and hands on the floor, the steady beat of my heart, and the sweet thrash of our vengeance filled the room. I crawled between his spread legs and ran my face against his pants like a humble pet. He was hard. The sadist was getting off on this. His inked fingers rested on his knee, and I caressed them with my cheek. He opened his hand and practically rumbled with satisfaction when I stroked the side of my face against his palm. “Please,” I begged, sliding my hand over his erection and up his chest, my next words harsh, “go fuck yourself.” I shoved him as hard as I could.

The first tear fell, and hopelessness pulled on my body so heavily, I dropped to my knees. There was no escaping this place. No escaping him, who pushed my morals to the wayside and turned me into someone I didn’t recognize. The truth was, I didn’t know who I was. I’d never really known.

I remained still when Ronan’s presence touched my back, ready for the torture to begin. He lowered to his haunches in front of me and brushed the tears from my cheek. His words held steady against the breeze that tousled my hair. “Where is your God now, kotyonok?” Goose bumps rose to my skin, but they weren’t from the cold. The shiver was out of fear the devil had a soft side. Nothing was more frightening than a whisper beckoning me to step into the dark. Then he lifted my deadweight and carried me back to hell.

Mila may have been raised as a soft-hearted American, but it was now clear she could be a Mikhailov when she needed to be. The fact shouldn’t turn me on, though after she’d gotten one over on me and I watched her unload three bullets into Adrik, all I could think about was fucking her raw in his blood. The urge was a little twisted, even for me. Annoyed with this girl and the constant hard-on she aroused, I dropped her to the floor in her room.

While I was held up in Moscow for the past two days dealing with the unsavory business aspects of being “D’yavol,” wild blonde hair and a soft American accent drifted through my mind far too often for comfort—even between Yulia’s hourly updates on Mila’s activities. Just for invading my thoughts, I should leave her to stew in her misery alone. But I needed something from her. Something to hold me over. Something to tell me she thought about me inside her as much as I did.

“You call me sick,” I drawled, “but I think you might be a little twisted too.” “I’m nothing like you.” I raised a brow. “Sure about that?” “That I’m not a psychopath? Yes.” “I prefer ‘sociopath.’ More socially acceptable.” “Because this scene screams ‘socially acceptable.’”

“Bad pets don’t get rewarded.” Fury cooled all of the desire in her gaze. “You’ll get what’s coming to you, D’yavol. And when you do, I’ll smile when they cover you with dirt.” Fuck. That was kind of hot. And annoying. I gripped her face. “If I go down, I’ll take you with me. Your Mikhailov blood will keep me cool in hell.”

I ran a thumb over my split bottom lip wondering how I was going to work her over. Diamonds and furs wouldn’t do it, unfortunately. She responded to a little seduction a moment ago, but I didn’t want to push her to a point of simply needing to get off. I wanted her to need me; to beg, live, and breathe just for me.

On second thought, I probably wouldn’t have time for all that, so I’d settle for a hard and willing fuck. Unsure of the angle to take with this girl, the thrill of the chase mixed with the pent-up frustration tightening in my groin. I had multiple women I could call, Nadia included, but somehow, I knew I wouldn’t. The only lips I wanted on my dick right now tasted like strawberries.

Although, with the knowledge in front of my face, I couldn’t live in blissful ignorance anymore. My papa may be a good father. But he was not a good man. Even now, I didn’t know what to do. In this world, everything was twisted and upside down, and as the numbness faded, uncertainty of where my loyalties should lie tore at me.

I met his eyes with bitterness. “Does it make you feel big and strong to push me around?” “No. It makes me hard.”

Frozen in fading adrenaline, I watched him bring a teacup to his mouth. Tattooed fingers and fine china. It felt like I was Persephone dining with Hades, except the goddess came to love the ruler of the underworld.

“I know what you’re doing,” I announced at the dining table. Ronan lifted his gaze from the iPhone that was probably glued to his hand. If “Tasty!” and “Delicious!” in a deep Candy Crush voice weren’t coming from the stupid device, it constantly pinged with texts and emails. A brow rose. “And what am I doing?” “You’re trying to Stockholm syndrome me.” I thought he wanted to laugh. “I don’t think that’s a verb.” “Like I need grammar advice from someone who uses ‘fuck’ as a noun, verb, and adverb in a single sentence.” “Fuck is versatile.”

The full weight of his gaze could rival a shock wave. “When I fuck you, kotyonok, I promise, you’ll use ‘fuck’ in more ways than I ever fucking have.”

I silently mused on his response. I’d never been a competitive person, but every conversation with Ronan seemed like a fight I needed to win. Maybe being kidnapped by a Russian mobster changed a girl, or maybe I just wanted to peel back the edges of his skin to reveal the monster beneath. It wasn’t fair he could cloak himself so easily in a handsome face and designer suits.

I twirled my spoon in the bowl of porridge he didn’t force me to eat. An uneasy feeling swelled in my stomach. Disgustingly, I wasn’t sure if it was due to the fact Ronan might be losing interest in me or that the remaining hours of my papa’s life were ticking down on the timeclock.

pulled my attention back to Ronan and forced a smile. “It’s just so romantic. A Russian winter wonderland, very sturdy medieval doors, and an age gap. I’m living in a Disney movie.”

I closed my mouth around his thumb, so he had to pull it free against the hot glide of my tongue and lips. Flames were started by less than the look in his eyes, and the full weight of his approval settled an ache between my legs.

I sat behind my desk and tried to get a clear head before breakfast. My gaze caught on a book on the desktop, and I picked it up. Paradise Lost, in which God won and D’yavol lost. A small smile appeared. I should make Mila read it to me while I fucked her.

“Cat got your tongue, kotyonok?” I feigned apathy at the ridiculous idiom, but inside, a nervous energy vibrated beneath my skin, flaring between yesterday’s humiliation and a heat too familiar to what I once felt for him. “I have a headache,” I lied. “You want to know the best remedy I’ve found for that?” “Child sacrifice?” “A good fuck.” I knew that was coming, but his crude words still slid through my veins like hot water. “I’m not sure where I’d find that around here, so, please, point me in the right direction.”

“You think you have me all figured out, don’t you?” “Charismatic gangster who’s an introvert at heart? Sexual deviant? A villain with a sad past I refuse to sympathize with? Check, check, check. If you were a subject on my SATs, I’d ace it.” A hint of a laugh passed through his eyes. “I have no idea where you come up with this shit.” What I would never tell him was, I’d always been a bit of an introvert too.

“I hope using me to fulfill your twisted desire for revenge doesn’t weigh too heavily on your pin-size conscience.” “I’m glad to hear you’re concerned for my welfare, but just to clear the air . . .” His eyes darkened. “I’ve enjoyed every second of it.”

I was doused in flames, in regret and confusion. He’d taken everything from me—my papa, my mother’s memory, my innocence—and still, I couldn’t even slap him without a tight sensation of remorse and an apology rising in my throat. I hated it. I hated this house. But what I hated the most was what I didn’t hate.

Something was wrong with me . . . As a fierce wave of sickness roiled within, an anchor dragged my heart down. The tea. Sudden tears ran down my cheeks. My desolate eyes met Ronan’s, and my words reeked of betrayal. “You poisoned me.” One of his “fucks” hit my ears before he shot out of his chair and caught me by the waist just as my legs gave out. With my back to his chest, he shoved two fingers down my throat. I gagged on them, then threw up on his hand and the marble floor. He did it again, and again, until nothing else came up, and I begged him to stop.

Madame Richie’s laugh resounded in my mind, sending a chill down my spine that disturbed me so much I said between weak pants, “With how much I’ve puked around you, you’d think you would take the hint.” “Ne govori.” Don’t talk. It was soft but brusque.

A nostalgic smile touched my lips as I asked, “How did you learn to swim?” He watched me for a second. “When I was eight, in the back seat of a car after my mother put a brick on the gas pedal and drove it into the Moskva.”

and my chest tightened when I saw the faint mark on his cheek. I couldn’t stop myself from running my fingers across it. He stilled, eyes lifting to mine. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “For hitting you.” We stared at each other so long my hand grew tired and slipped from his face. I must have fallen asleep again. When I opened my eyes, Ronan was gone, and Kirill silently read a book in a chair beside my bed.

The other reason . . . well, it made me a little nauseous. It was the idea Mila’s soft eyes were almost permanently snuffed out by a cup of tea. The burn in my chest whenever I thought of it reminded me of the time I fought for air in an old Volkswagen filled with icy water.

After a moment, he said, “You could be the president if you wanted to be.” “I don’t want to be the president.” I rested a sweaty arm on his shoulders. “I’m gonna be something better.” “Like God.” The old lady next door invited me and Kristian over sometimes. We went for the tea and biscuits while she read us passages from the Bible. So many “thou shalt nots” and pointed looks over her glasses. “Kind of like God,” I said, and after a moment of silence, a smile touched my lips. “But I’d rather be the devil.”

Ronan, however, hadn’t shown his face since he carried me to my room and stripped me naked. I didn’t know what I expected. Certainly not an apology for what happened. But a simple, “Glad to see you’re not dead,” would be nice. He hadn’t even sent me a misogynistic note threatening me to eat.

Touching the heart-shaped stone in my ear, the other in D’yavol’s possession, I finally understood Gianna’s words. In this world, things weren’t black and white. I preferred yellow anyway.

“Would you cry for me, kotyonok?” His dark gaze consumed me as he unbuttoned his shirt cuffs, and, somehow, the memory of his thumb wiping away my tears was so tangible, I felt the caress on my cheek like he’d touched me.

I was trapped between two immovable objects, one devastating me with so much male heat my thoughts slowed and stalled. Now I was just a girl with a razor in hand, and he was just a man I once had feelings for.

dropped to my knees in front of him, my blood going colder than the hard marble. “I’m sincerely begging you,” I said, a tear leaking down my cheek. “If you let Ivan go, I swear, you can have anything you want from me.” Ronan had me where he wanted me—a worthless commoner at a king’s feet—but there wasn’t an ounce of pleasure in his stare.

He wasn’t turned on. He was angry—deadly even, given the ice-cold, heartless look in his eyes. With a low, furious sound, he tugged me roughly out of his way and headed down the hall. All I knew at that moment was, I couldn’t live with Ivan’s death on my conscience. “If you kill Ivan, you might as well kill me.” Ronan paused, but after a few seconds passed, he walked away, leaving me on the floor as desolate as always.

“What the fuck has he done to you?” I blinked. “Nothing, really.” “Nothing, really?” “Well . . .” I swallowed. “I saw him cut off a man’s finger, shoot someone in the head at the dinner table, and, apparently, he murdered another few in the driveway. But things have been going okay for me.”

Ivan ran a thumb across my cheek. The suggestion in the touch expanded unease in my stomach, the caress not evoking a sliver of the heat certain inked fingers did. Why couldn’t this burn? Why couldn’t I want this? “If I am going to die,” he said with a dark form of amusement, “I may as well go out with a bang.” I didn’t have time to process the statement before he grabbed the back of my neck and pulled my lips to his between the bars.

When he pulled away, my breath was soft and stable, the pressure of his mouth fading to nothing but memory. Loyalty told me this was where I belonged—in the embrace of a man I’d shared so much with—but my soul begged for something else; for a fire that lit without fuel; for Versace, tanzanite, and hands that stole my breath. My body was underwhelmed, though inside, everything was crashing down.