Crave (Forbidden #1)

By: Dani Rene

To the kick ass women who love delving into something darker and aren’t afraid to admit it. I hope you find a new best friend in Angel.

To the babes who love a man that can be an asshole, but also loves fiercely. I hope you all find a new book boyfriend in Samael.





Before you start, know that this isn’t a fairytale.



This isn’t a story filled with roses, rainbows, and sunshine. It’s raw, emotionally draining, and it’s brutal. It will be difficult to read, and there are parts you might not agree with, or even enjoy. That’s okay. That’s exactly what I wanted from this story.



I didn’t plan on it. The characters came to me and told me their story. They consumed me daily until I wrote the last word. I hope they capture you as they have me.



As many dark parts as there are in Sam and Angel’s journey, there is light as well.



Does the dark prince save the day?

Or does his princess have to say goodbye?



You’ll just have to read it and see.





Crave



Verb [used with object]

Feel a powerful desire for (something)





I stalk into the hallway with my mind on everything but work. I need to get out of this house. I need a fucking break, but Father has kept me here training the girls. He instructs me to be brutal, which I am. As much as I enjoy it, though, I don’t want to do it anymore.

There’s been an influx of girls, and I’m exhausted.

What man in their right mind can say they’re tired of fucking? Well, I am.

Pulling the tie from around my neck, I wrap it tight around my hand and undo the top two buttons of my gray dress shirt. The meeting with daddy dearest went as expected, like shit. Ever since my brother got banished from the mansion over a year ago, and I managed to help that feisty little thing escape two months ago, he’s been in a mood.

It’s as if a fucking hurricane hit, sending us all into turmoil, and I’m the one left to pick up the debris.

My father—Harlan Wolfe—is a destructive force when he’s in a good mood. But this fuck up that my brother caused has put him in one of the worst moods ever.

When I reach the room he sent me to, I find a beautiful little chocolate-haired beauty sitting on the perfectly made up bed. “And you are?” I growl. My voice echoes in the empty room, and I see her shudder in response. It’s beautiful when they’re scared. Makes them taste that much sweeter.

“Amy.” She has the sweetest, most melodic voice I’ve ever heard. I stare at her for a moment too long. Her face is a picture of hope, but that’s not what she should be looking at me with. No. She should be staring at me with fear.

“Kneel.” Automatically, she drops to her knees, and my mouth curls into a satisfied smirk.

Good girl.

Those are the words I should praise her with, but I don’t. She needs to earn them. Picking up my whip, I stalk around her confidently, watching her skin dot with tiny bumps. “Please, I—”

“I didn’t ask you to speak. Did I?” I enquire curiously. She shakes her head slowly. Another tremble shoots through her. I raise the whip, bringing it down on her smooth thighs. A loud yelp falls from her plump lips. “No. Fucking. Noise.” Her body shudders with a hiccup, and I know she’s crying, even though I can’t see her eyes.

With her gaze trained on the floor before her, she doesn’t lift her head, but instead she sniffles quietly. I come to a stop at her knees. “Eyes up.” When she obeys, lifting those chocolate orbs to meet my blue ones, my cock hardens painfully. “You’re such a pretty girl when you cry.”

Tears stream down her cheeks then, and I smile.

This is who I am.

When I finally accepted it—came to terms with my fate—my father looked at me with pride. For the first time in twenty long years, he regarded me as a man rather than a child. Raising the whip, I dangle it before her, showing her what lies in her future.

The pain I love inflicting and the blood I love to draw from smooth, creamy skin make me so hard—so fucking solid—that when I drive into their tight bodies, I make them scream my fucking name, over and over again.

I wasn’t always like this. When I turned eighteen, it was as if suddenly the blood that coursed through my veins heated and pulsed with the need to unleash the monster within. The one hiding beneath the beds of sweet angels like this one. This is my family legacy and it has been for generations. It’s part of the family business. Generations of Wolfe men came into their own doing what I’m doing right now. Making sure pretty girls earn their place.

It was two years ago when I first made a girl cry and beg. When I licked at the crimson liquid that seeped from her flesh after I whipped her, I knew—I was the man my father wanted me to be. A Wolfe. “Please, don’t hurt me anymore.” Her angelic voice penetrates my memories, and I glare at her. She shifts and I can tell she’s uncomfortable. I realize her legs must be aching. I’ve had her in the kneeling position for a little while now, and she’s probably not used to it. Tough. She’ll have to learn somehow.