Though, sadly, all of my confidence fell to the floor when he spoke.

“Your clothes,” he said, eyes still on his phone. “Remove them.”

I stared at him, my breath going cold.

He’d already seen all I had to offer—had recorded it to watch whenever he wanted—but that wasn’t the point. Every nerve in my body fought against submitting to his will. The pacifist inside of me wanted to obey. My brain ordered me to strip, now, but my pride and somehow my heart pulled me in the other direction.

Swallowing hard, I took a step back. The movement brought his dark gaze to mine.

I wouldn’t hand this devil my soul.

If he wanted it, he’d have to rip it from my chest.

“No.”

His eyes hardened, holding mine as he set the phone on the dresser beside him and gave me all of his terrifying attention. My resolve wavered like a plucked string. I backed up until my legs hit the bed.

“Kotyonok,” he warned, taking a step toward me, “‘no’ is no longer in your vocabulary. When I tell you to do something, you’ll do it with a smile. Don’t, and things will become very unpleasant for you. Take. Them. Off.”

I needed to know what he had planned for me. My imagination was a scary place, and it was thinking up a myriad of disturbing ways he might exact his revenge. The unknown twisted my lungs in a tight grasp. I wanted him to do his worst now, or the anxiety would eat at me until I was physically sick.

Heart racing against my ribcage, I held his gaze.

“No.”

He watched me for a second, and then he was on me so fast a scream rose up my throat.

Ronan threw me onto my back on the bed, dropping his body on top of mine. I twisted against him, managing to knee him in the groin. A human man would fall to the floor and grab his junk, but this monster merely paused for a second, closed his eyes, then let an animalistic sound escape between clenched teeth.

I took advantage of his distraction and turned onto my stomach to crawl away from him and up the bed, but he grabbed my ankle, dragging me down and underneath him, then rolled me onto my back.

“You’ve managed to piss me off,” he growled. “Not a good move.”

When he straddled my hips, I tried to buck him off, but I couldn’t find even an inch of leeway. He ripped my blouse open. Buttons scattered across the bed.

He was so heavy, so unmovable. If there was a God, he’d done a huge disservice to the world by putting this man’s soul in this body.

I fought Ronan with everything in me, my blunt nails catching his neck. He growled and slammed my wrists above my head, holding them with one hand while he jerked my skirt down my legs. I sank my teeth into his forearm.

“Careful,” he threatened, “you’re turning me on.”

The evidence of that was suddenly glaring and hard against my stomach. The idea of what he might do to me once he won this fight—and he would win—took ahold of my lungs. A cold rush of fear doused the flame in my chest with a weak hiss.

I went still, to his amusement.

My body trembled as he pulled the rest of my clothes off. He worked me like a doll, turning me to unclip my bra and remove my arms from my blouse. He slid my thong down my thighs, and out of instinct—or maybe just to feel like I held a semblance of control—I lifted my legs so he could pull it off.

I lay naked except for the star pendant between my breasts.

Straddling my hips, his hands holding my wrists above my head, Ronan took in my body beneath him. He wasn’t even breathing hard, yet I gave it my all. Resentment expanded in my chest. I needed to see a human response from him. I needed to know I had a chance at surviving him.

He leaned in and rested his body on mine. He felt hot to the touch, and I knew it was because he burned with the flames of hell. Pressing his face into my neck, he nuzzled me, his voice rough with restraint.

“Do you know how they tame falcons?”

I remained silent, staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

He ran his lips down my throat. “They lock them away, cover their eyes, and hand-feed them.”

“I’d rather starve.”

His chuckle was throaty, punctuated by his hips pressing into mine, his erection hard between my legs. Obviously, the novelty hadn’t worn off completely. Our bodies fit together like they were made for one another. What a joke that was.

I wanted to show indifference, but my nerves prickled with anxiety, each touch from him flaring with sensitivity. The mere brush of his shirt buttons against my skin sent a shiver scattering across my body.

He slipped his legs between mine, released my wrists to grasp my thighs, and dug his fingers into the soft flesh, spreading them wide so he could press his hard-on fully against me. The grind against my clit sent a sliver of heat through me, penetrating the dread like a hot trickle of water.

My heart began an odd gallop in my chest, the easy reception my body gave him tightening my stomach. I grabbed his hands, and he let me pull them away from my thighs—but only because he was already where he wanted to be, releasing a very human breath between his teeth.

Of course, it had to be lust that was his only mortal weakness.

I held his hands in my own, trying to stop them from touching me and disturbing my senses, though the act suddenly burned with intimacy, and I dropped them.

“Please don’t do this,” I breathed.

He wasn’t listening to me. He was running his palms up the flare of my hips, gripping my waist and pulling me harder against his erection, which sent another flare of heat up my spine. Haziness and something bright shrouded the darkness in his eyes as he watched his hands on my body. He was somewhere else—somewhere Vikings went in the throes of bloodlust while pillaging and raping women.

I shouldn’t have fought him. Or maybe I shouldn’t have given up until the end. But it was a futile, ridiculous fight I’d never win, and I was preoccupied with a battle of my own: the warmth of his touch trying to cloud the resentment in my mind.

He braced a hand beside my head, leaned in, and kissed my neck, biting down on the skin before he sucked it into his mouth, undoubtedly leaving a hickey behind for another infamous selfie. My breath hitched. He cupped my breast and squeezed, running a thumb across my nipple. I rebelled against the hot sensation, a cold sweat of conflict rising in my blood.

I didn’t want this.

But my body wasn’t convinced as he kissed a path down my neck and ran his mouth between my breasts. He was surprisingly gentle. So gentle, I resented it.

I wanted him to hurt me.

I wanted pain.

Because then, I could feel only hatred.

He drew a nipple into his mouth, and a rush of fire swept to the empty pressure between my legs. I tried to push him away, but he grabbed my wrists, pressed them to the mattress on either side of me, and shackled them there in an iron grip. He moved to the other breast and scraped the taut peak with teeth before sucking. I bit my cheek to hold in the moan that wanted to escape.

His head moved lower, the wet heat of his tongue dipping inside my navel. My body tightened like a bow string when he pressed his face between my thighs and inhaled. His warm breath brushed my clit, and a fever unfolded inside, liquefying the tension in my muscles like melted butter.

“Kotyonok,” he said, the low rumble of his voice making my entire sex throb. “I bet you taste as sweet as you smell.”