Rough Desires

By Celia Crown

"Dangerously intimate. Possessive. He's an inch of fixation and a mile of obsession."

 

His magnetism surpasses his flaws. Claude's true colors explode with kaleidoscopic shards, burning discoloration on her fragile skin like a salacious emblem of ownership.

 

When his mouth breaks to reveal the sharp points of his teeth, he wants to scare that little girl into obedience.

 

She—too young, too innocent, too impressionable—smiles like stained porcelain and provocation.

 

Claude lives with blood on his hands, and Odette walks with carnage in her steps.

 

The cat-and-mouse game begins with throttling exhilaration and a promise of insatiability.

 

He's going to kill her with love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Celia Crown
• Release date: Apr 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215056943

Book preview

ROUGH DESIRES

____________________

CELIA CROWN

Copyright © 2020 by Celia Crown.

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction.

The book or any portion of the book may not be reproduced or used under any circumstances, except with the written permission from the author. Public names, movies, televisions, locations, or any references are used for atmospheric purposes. Any similarities and resemblances to alive or dead people, events, brands, and locales are all complete coincidences.

Contents

Rough Desires

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

Afterword

More Books

Rough Desires

By Celia Crown

Dangerously intimate. Possessive. He’s an inch of fixation and a mile of obsession.

His magnetism surpasses his flaws. Claude’s true colors explode with kaleidoscopic shards, burning discoloration on her fragile skin like a salacious emblem of ownership.

When his mouth breaks to reveal the sharp points of his teeth, he wants to scare that little girl into obedience.

She—too young, too innocent, too impressionable—smiles like stained porcelain and provocation.

Claude lives with blood on his hands, and Odette walks with carnage in her steps.

The cat-and-mouse game begins with throttling exhilaration and a promise of insatiability.

He’s going to kill her with love.

Chapter One

___________

Odette

He’s involved.

I know it from the depths of my heart.

I know that big, threatening, ill-tempered man is at the center of my frustrations. He walks with a combination of cruel perversion and calamitous aggression. Scarlet streaks drip from his rough fingers.

The man lying in the alley twitches, all remaining energy leaving his convulsing body as the vibrancy in his eyes fades away.

That wasn’t a fair fight.

He never stood a chance against the behemoth of a man. The differences between them were vast, as illustrated when his ribs shattered after just one punch.

I saw it. I felt it. I breathed through it.

Regrettably, I couldn’t hear it.

I turn to the nameless man who is flicking his thick wrists and splashing the dripping blood onto the cracked concrete.

The violence he just exhibited makes it easy to predict that he would not stay down until he’s lifeless.

I want him. I want that man and the jubilation he would bring me.

His dark obsidian eyes meet mine, malevolence flashing like flames.

The eyes of the devil.

Like a predator who has found its prey, he waits in stilled silence.

A thrill runs down my spine as anticipation colors my cheeks.

Ambiguity turns into exhilaration and blurs the lines of my discipline.

I don’t want to feel disciplined; I want chaos to satisfy the demented craving in me.

Pulling the binoculars away from my eyes, a sense of dismay strikes as I can’t resist the urge to look again.

I adjust the focus, but he’s long gone. The shadows swallow up the discarded corpse as the sky erupts with a roar of thunder.

Disappointment seeps under my skin as I stand from a crouching position.

I’m not hiding; I just don’t like to stand in open spaces.

Throwing the binoculars to the side, I tap my chin in contemplation and study the amber flames taking over the streets of Florence.

It is peaceful despite all the night owls on the streets until another thunderous roar explodes.

It didn’t take long to find the man the first time, so it will be easy to locate him again. I’m tired and want to go to sleep, but the adrenaline running through me makes that unlikely.

Spinning around, I abandon the roof and step down to the floor below. It’s under construction, but the permits had been pulled until further notice.

Fluttering plastic follows the riotous wind as the storm rumbles through the hollow building. A breeze skims over my arms as my hair curls around my neck.

My light footsteps stop in the middle of the spacious building. Abandoned construction equipment blocks my senses as I bend my fingers into my palms.

A flash of excitement runs through my jittery muscles, and a squeak escapes my wild grin.

A warning reaches the back of my neck, and my eyes widen at the massive shadow moving stealthily toward me.

Blink and I would’ve missed him.

His deadly arm drives his fist into the side of my face.

I bite my tongue, relishing the seething sting as my senses quickly adjust to the darkness.

The knife under my sleeve slides down to my waiting palm. I clench the handle as elation takes over my quivering body.

This is strange.

I’ve had many people fall at my feet, bloody and lifeless, in a matter of seconds. I’ve had my fair share of playful encounters with them, tied up and screaming in pain while my knife tests their resilience.

He makes me feel uneasy yet so comfortable at the same time. It’s the synchronization of fluctuating heat and throttling iciness that runs through my veins.

Suddenly, the intense obsidian gaze evokes a frisson of fear.

He’s here, the man with the scarlet ink. He found me, and he’s going to hurt me.

Inexplicable merriment howls in my ears, singing an unyielding command to kill him.

I thrust the tip of the knife to his face, mimicking his attack. I don’t expect the blade to catch him, and he doesn’t disappoint when he dodges skillfully away. So smooth that it gets me thinking.

Can his eyes adjust to the darkness too?

I want to find out.

The man hisses angrily, a sound that travels directly to my heart.

He makes me feel things that I never want to feel, and I hate it. I hate this tingling sensation rippling under my shirt, ghosting over my stomach, and stamping its presence on my ribs.

Who’re you? he demands.

His voice rumbles, in a tone too deep and frighteningly velvety. A new sensation crashes into me, and I also hate it.

I hate him.

I found him today after spending days searching for his location, but this is the first time I’ve laid eyes on him. His picture did not affect me. He was just another man with an extraordinarily long sheet of desirable talents.

A man with whom I shouldn’t be crossing paths.

I couldn’t help it. I need him and the information in his head.

I had planned to knock this behemoth unconscious, interrogate him, and let him go.

No. I lied. I wasn’t going to let him live.

I’m not so sure about it now. I made that plan when I only had his picture and limited knowledge about him. But after seeing him kill someone with his bare hands, that plan is useless.

He lunges at me, his massive shadow blending into the darkness. My eyes struggle to find him for a brief moment.

It is that split-second distraction that gives him the chance to seize my wrist with an iron grip, branding my skin. He yanks my arm with ease, lifting me off the ground and hurling me into the wall.

My back collides with the brittle bricks, and the churning pain comes instantly.

He’s strong, powerful enough to make me grin happily in the darkness.

Clenching my fingers, I dig my nails into my palms. I climb to my knees as the man slowly steps forward, mocking our difference in strength.

I think this is the first time I feel anything remotely like an indulgence.

The knife in his hand glimmers despite the darkness concealing his entire body.

The loud fluttering of heavy-duty plastic disguises his footsteps. But the elements don’t hide his commanding presence or the bloodcurdling danger.

I hope you’re being paid enough for this, he says, and the ambiguous message runs over my head.

I ignore it and sway to my feet. The soreness trickles away so I can be competitive, a need that threatens my sanity.

I want him to sleep.

Pride doesn’t exist for me, nor does dignity serve any purpose. I only want to hurt him the way he’s hurt me.

It’s only fair, and it’s not wrong to pay him back.

Flexing my fingers, I mirror the pace of his advancing steps. My heart slowly follows the steps too, and they’re more hypnotic than I