A three-letter word made me a murderess at the age of eight years. But having experienced the curses of that word, I was done with men as I grew up. All men.
Except to outplay them in the New York financial arena.
Then Crowned Sex enthroned in gorgeous velvet
charm and lustful gallantry storms into my life.
Spewing volcanic lava on my monumental arctic ice block. With the unapologetic fierceness of a savage god. Wearing crackling thunderbolts straight from the god Zeus. Explosive has nothing on it.
Adrian isn't hot, he's f*****g hellish. He embarks on melting my ice block at the speed of lightning. But I was done with men. I was done with sex. For ever. I. Was.
I scented her darkness from the moment I was told about her.
The sight of her sealed my decision. She was the woman created for my own darkness. I set off to protect her even from herself. Protect her to claim.
Fuse her darkness with my own. For. Myself.
I'd fended women off me with bazookas when I was done but they weren't. I wasn't prepared for the battle I soon fought. Not only with her but also with her family. And New York's billionaire gangsters who own
entourages of corrupt cops and politicians. With every battle I won, she started new darker wars around me.
You ate or you were eaten. Not even starving was an option.