The seat where he’d left me wasn’t close enough to see every detail of his body. Refusing to admit it to myself, I wanted a better view. I pushed to my feet to inch down the rows of leather chairs, my eyes flicking right when one of the guards took notice.
Although he didn’t move from his place by the far wall, his dark gaze tracked me.
Ignoring him, I scooted down the line of seats until I was in the center.
By the time I was relaxing down into my seat, Callan had stripped off the pads on his hands to toss them to his opponent.
I almost fucking died when Callan threw his punches next, my heart hammering in my throat while my mouth went dry. He was a blur of motion, each hard hit knocking his opponent back a step, the power of those blows highlighting every muscle in his arms, his broad shoulders and his back.
My mouth fell open without my realization, my body leaning forward all on its own. I was captivated. There was no other word for it, utterly absorbed in watching a man move with such exquisite force that my thighs tightened together, and my stomach flopped like a fish in my stomach.
How was this the same boy who had dropped to the ground every time I demanded it?
Sweat glimmered on Callan’s skin, every muscle defined beneath the shine of it. I was dizzy from the surge of conflicting feelings: fear, shock, lust.
I didn’t want to acknowledge it was there, but it warmed me regardless, a shiver crawling down my spine with ghostly fingers as my insides turned to ash beneath its force.
I craved his danger.
His desire.
His touch.
Especially now as I watched him break free of the chains of civility to become an animal that only knew how to kill. He was undeniable, almost unrecognizable, but a fury of movement that stole my thoughts as if snatching them from my head with greedy fingers.
I knew his brand of violence, but not all forms of it, and to crave what he could deliver only made me sick in the head.
Still, he was purely masculine, inherently savage - a man so intoxicating that he pulled at something primal inside me, that ancient genetic trait that made me want to be purely female, to be soft and supple where he was hard, to be submissive beneath his will and dominance.
Watching him made me feel that I could so easily give my life up and breathe easy with him at the reins.
How any woman could trust a man like that between her legs was beyond my understanding, but I still wanted to feel his power - to learn to satisfy him.
What the hell was wrong with me? I should hate him for everything he’d done and still planned to do, for those women crying in his basement dungeon. But the body didn’t always agree with the mind, and while one whispered cryptic warnings, the other only wanted to experience his violence.
Callan moved like liquid, every second becoming faster, more aggressive, more barbaric. My breath caught in my lungs to realize that I would be sleeping at the foot of his bed tonight, and there wasn’t a single person on this planet that could protect me if his rage ignited.
I knew he could snap me as easily as a twig, the knowledge of that a cold wash against my skin as my pulse continued to hammer. If he lost control in this cruel game he was playing, there would be nothing I could do to stop him.
And yet, I still felt pulled toward a man who was so openly raw and carnal, to a soul that was darker than the lowest depths of the ocean, to a beast that lingered beneath the ridged muscle and tempting flesh of a body and face too beautiful for words.
It was like fate was kicking back on a throne next to Callan and laughing its ass off at the plot twist my life had taken. I’d abused a boy because he was weaker, and now he held all the power.
I’d written my own future on expensive parchment and signed my life away with rancid blood.
Everything he did to me now was my fault. And while he did those things, I’d both hate him and want him.
How the fuck was that even close to fair?
A loud bang sounded at my right, it dragged me from my thoughts and tore my eyes from