Ignazio Vitale is not a good man.

I suspect it, the first time I see him, sense the air of danger that surrounds the man. He has a way of commanding attention, of taking control, of knowing what I’m thinking before I even do.

It’s alarming and alluring. It’s dark and deadly. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted but the last thing I truly need. Obsession.

It doesn’t take him long to draw me into his web, charming me into his bed and trapping me in his life, a life I know nothing about until it’s too late. He has secrets, secrets I can’t fathom, secrets that make it so I can’t walk away, no matter how much I beg him to let me go. I see it sometimes in his eyes, a darkness that’s both terrifying and thrilling. He’s a monster, wrapped up in a pretty package, and what I find when I unmask him changes everything.

I want to hate him.

Sometimes, I do.

But it doesn’t stop me from loving him, too.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This book is intended for a mature audience only, due to some dark and erotic content.

He steps toward me, quiet as he speaks. “Do you love me?”

“You know I do.”

“Say it,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you.”

He cups my cheek. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

His hand drifts lower, wrapping around my throat. “Again.”

“I love you.”

He squeezes lightly, not painfully, just enough to make me gasp. “Again.”

My voice is barely a whisper as the words pour out of me. “I love you, Ignazio.”

His expression hardens when I say his name, his eyes darkening. The monster is peeking through, peering at me from behind his mask. He wants to come out. He wants me to play with him.

He says nothing, though, letting go of my neck. His hand drifts lower, down my chest and across my breasts. He gropes them through the fabric before reaching down and grabbing the bottom of my shirt, pulling up on it. I raise my hands in the air, letting him pull it off. He unbuttons my pants, tugging down the zipper, and I step out of them when he pulls them off of me.

Slowly, his eyes scan me then, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes before trailing back up again. He meets my gaze as he takes another step forward, standing right up against me. I can feel the heat emanating off of him, his cologne intoxicating.

It makes me dizzy.

“If you could read my mind…” He pauses, laughing darkly. “You’d be trembling.”

JM Darhower is the author of countless stories and poems, most of which only she has ever read. She lives in a tiny town in rural North Carolina, where she churns out more words than will ever see the light of day. She has a deep passion for politics and speaking out against human trafficking, and when she isn’t writing (or fangirling about books) she’s usually ranting about those things.

Chronic crimper with a vulgar mouth, she admits to having a Twitter addiction. You can usually always find her there.

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