One Shade of Gray
Publication date: September 26th 2017
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance
My name is Dorian Gray. You might think you know my story? Please. That was just the beginning. Not the end.
I’ve lived over 100 years. I don’t know why. I’ve sinned, deeply, but haven’t we all?
Now Sybil is back. Her name is Izzy and she looks the same. Smells the same. Walks the same…but everything else about her is different. Stronger. Bolder. I want her more than ever.
I should keep her safe, and keep my hands to myself. But those dark parts of my soul still linger. I won’t lose her again.
My heart beat so loudly in my chest I was sure he could hear the echoing thump thump thump against my ribcage.
Did he know what I was asking? Did I know what I was asking? Before I could let the potential fear kick in, I gave my mind over to my body, and lifted my arm to slap him one more time.
He grabbed my wrist in a crushing grip, stalling its progress before I could strike him.
There was no give in that look. Not one. Single. Inch. For the first time, I met his eyes and saw something to fear, but I didn’t fear for myself. That look said he’d been to the brink of insanity and stood just on the good side. One push might send him over. So I swallowed my hurt pride, let him squeeze my wrist a little too tight, and popped up onto my tiptoes to finally taste sin.
But he wouldn’t let me reach his lips. His other hand closed around my throat, not squeezing, but cradling it. I knew he understood exactly what I wanted right now, what I needed right now, and I let him take control.
He spun me to face the wall. His body aligned behind mine and he released me to rip open the bottom of my shirt. I mourned Cap for a brief second. The rough handling and the loose hold sent the fabric scraps to my ankles. I swallowed the knifepoint of fear threatening to slice open the moment and bleed it dead. No. He wanted me and I wanted him. I didn’t expect it like this but I was in no way unwilling. My pants were next as he roughly shoved them to my feet along with my panties.
“Put your hands on the wall and don’t move,” he said in my ear. More growl than an actual directive.
I spread my arms out and anchored my fingertips in the brick, the scratchy grooves between the rectangles giving me something to anchor to. It should have felt like a police frisking. Cold and unmovable, with my bare ass out and him completely clothed behind me.
The heat of his body through his clothes warmed me, excited me, aroused me in a way I didn’t know was possible.
I cleared my throat to speak, but he clamped a hand over my mouth.
“Don’t. If you want to stop, you have to explicitly say stop. No matter what happens or how many rounds you think we’ve gone. Do you understand? When you say stop I will let you go completely.” He released his hold over my mouth and buried his face into the back of my hair. “Tell me to stop. Tell me to stop now,” he begged.
My body reacted before my mind and reached around to hold the back of his neck. I wasn’t going to say stop. He’d started this and now he was going to have to see it through.
“Put your hand back on the wall,” he snapped after as second of us standing, breathing, beating together.
The fear left me. He was in control and some dark twisted part of me liked it that way. To surrender to him. To give up that gnawing part of my always questioning mind.
At the same time, it wasn’t always like this. We had been in a reverse position only hours before and both of us wrangled for control then too. It seemed this time he’d won. Next time I would.
His hands traced the curves of my bare hips, and I caught a whisper in a foreign language I didn’t recognize. Right now I couldn’t ask what it meant, but I filed away the information for later.
He slid those long fingers over the curves of my thighs to my core, only inches from touching the part of me that ached for it. “Do you know what I’m going to do to you?”
Monica Corwin is a New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author. She is an outspoken writer attempting to make romance accessible to everyone, no matter their preferences. As a Northern Ohioian, Monica enjoys snow drifts, three seasons of weather, and a dislike of Michigan football. Monica owns more books about King Arthur than should be strictly necessary. Also typewriters…lots and lots of typewriters.
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