Currently writing a dark romance book and need feedback
Hello, This is my first time writing a dark romance book and I'm second guessing myself. So I'll just add an excerpt here from chapter one and let me know what you think. I haven't posted it to Wattpad yet because I want to finish it before posting. Let me know before I continue. Thanks 💙
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“Schöne,” Viktor murmured against the back of Azaelia’s neck.
Azaelia had been standing at the kitchen island pouring herself a glass of water when she felt him behind her. The sudden warmth of his body surrounded her before the scent of his cologne reached her senses, dark, expensive, addictive. One strong arm slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him.
She hadn’t seen him all day.
He’d locked himself away in his office since morning, buried in meetings and phone calls, his deep voice occasionally drifting down the hallway while she pretended not to listen for it.
Now he was here.
Close enough for his voice to vibrate through her skin.
A small shiver ran through her as his lips brushed slowly against her neck. The glass slipped slightly in her hand before she quickly placed it into the sink.
The movement made Viktor turn her around immediately.
Like instinct.
His large hand settled against her jaw before he kissed her.
Possessive.
Controlled.
Devastating.
At first, the kiss was measured, almost disciplined, but it deepened within seconds. The composure he guarded so carefully began slipping through every movement of his mouth against hers. Azaelia’s fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his black shirt as she pulled him closer, heat spreading through her body so fast it made her dizzy.
A soft sound escaped her throat.
Viktor answered with a low groan before dragging her firmly against him until her back pressed against the refrigerator. She could feel the hard strength of him against her leg, and the realization alone nearly stole the air from her lungs.
Maybe this was finally the moment he stopped holding back.
Every time they got close to crossing that line, Viktor pulled away.
Always.
It drove her insane.
He rarely kissed her, but when he did, it felt consuming—as though he poured every restrained emotion into those few stolen moments. Possession. Frustration. Hunger. Obsession. Things he never openly allowed himself to say.
But this kiss felt different.
This felt like a man standing at the edge of losing the last of his restraint.
The hand against her jaw tightened slightly as he kissed her deeper, slower, like he was trying to memorize the taste of her. There was nothing rushed about it. That was what made it dangerous. Every movement felt deliberate. Intimate. Like he wanted her to understand exactly how deeply she had gotten beneath his skin.
Viktor kissed her like a man clinging to the final thread of composure he had left.
And for the first time since knowing him, Azaelia felt that thread beginning to snap.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his breathing uneven. His dark eyes stayed fixed on her with something unreadable lingering beneath the surface. Possessive. Intense. Almost conflicted.
Like letting her go was no longer an option.
Meanwhile, Azaelia struggled to steady her breathing.
No one had ever kissed her like that before.
“Azzy… Azzy.”
Her friends’ voices shattered the memory instantly.
“What?” she blinked, snapping back into reality.
“Girl, are you good?” Seraphina laughed. “We’ve been trying to get your attention for the last five minutes.”
“Don’t tell me you’re still thinking about yesterday,” Alaïa said knowingly, waggling her eyebrows.
“We’ve been waiting for the tea, Azzy,” Valentina added dramatically.
Sunlight spilled across the picnic table as the four gorgeous dark skin women sat together in Central Park. After months of brutal winter weather, the city finally felt alive again. Couples walked hand in hand along the pathways while children laughed somewhere nearby, their voices mixing with the distant sounds of traffic and music drifting through Manhattan.
It wasn’t summer yet.
But today was warm enough to pretend.
Azaelia picked up one of the flowers lying near the picnic basket and twirled it between her fingers nervously.
How exactly was she supposed to explain this?
That it wasn’t Max she’d gone to see yesterday.
That the man currently occupying every inch of her mind was fifteen years older than her.
That he was Max’s father.