A beautiful, passionate and seductive love story full of twists and turns…
Is it wrong that whenever I think of Dishonorable and, Raphael and Sofia that DNCE’s Be Mean just gets stuck in head? I feel like the more I pimp myself out to my books the crazier I get… does randiness even ensue madness? I dunno. Meh, it’s a good crazy to have at the end of the day! And, this book did make me go all cray-cray. First of all, I felt a little scared – I didn’t know where Natasha was going to take the story with Sofia being practically sold to Raphael by her grandfather. I was worrying that things were going to get a little dodge on the consensual front, BUT alas, nothing untoward went down… even if there was a substantial amount of time spent on knees!
Sofia. Innocent and wise and so fucking beautiful…
I want to say that Disnonorable is a Dark Romance, but there’s something about Sofia’s character that won’t allow me to say that. She’s just so sweet and innocent, even in her utmost sadness there’s still something so light and bright about her. Don’t get me wrong the storyline is in no way light. Nope, definitely not. The premise for Knight’s book is undeniably tumultuous and ominous. The whole way through it leaves you completely unsettled and you can’t help but feel that you’re always waiting for something to go BAM! in a very very bad way. I’d definitely put this in the thriller genre, maybe even suspense. From the very first page you feel like there’s a pressure cooker waiting to explode inside you. I guess that’s mainly down to Raphael because he’s such a volatile character. One minute he’s soft and yielding toward Sofia and the next he’s quite literally got her by the neck.
You know what I want to do right now, Sofia? … I want to make it hurt … Does it scare you that I want it to hurt you? That I want to feel me take you. Feel me tear you… That I want to hear you cry out… You don’t know how hard I get when I think about your tight little pussy squeezing my cock. Imagining how warm your virgin blood will feel. What I want to know is – if you’re wet for me.
In a way this story really reminded me of Beauty and the Beast. Raphael is this rough and temperamental guy that actually has a beautiful soul and big heart, however Sofia has to bring it out in him in order for him to be happy. I feel like I’m not actually doing it justice because together they have this amazing chemistry and whilst you’re reading their story it’s like you’re there with them and you can feel every single thing they feel. I still can’t work out how it’s possible to feel anger and hate at the same time as love and sorrow. Knight creates this cocktail of emotions inside yu that leaves you giddy and completely entranced. Forget about being able to put this book down when you open it – it’s impossible. I tried. I literally had to stop myself fro drinking so I wouldn’t have to put it down to go to the loo. I really REALLY love my tea, especially whilst I’m reading… so you see my predicament.
…what was mine, no man had better put assunder… Because I’d kill any bastard who tried…
There were times where I thought that the story would take a BDSM route, I don’t know if that was part of the fabric of the plot, a slight nudge to it. In all honesty, I don’t think it would have added anything to the story in any way. In fact, it would’ve made Raphael too predictable as a character with the backstory he has. HOWEVER, he is in doubt the dominant alpha that very woman dreams of under and over the covers. He doesn’t intentionally hurt Sofia, so he is in no way a sadist – but the way in which he does “things” to her is tongue tying and HOT. Just thinking about it is making me salivate… pretty sure my heart just stuttered too.
I can see very clearly. And I read you like a fucking book… You want it Sofia. You want it so fucking badly, I can smell it on you.
All in all, I’m so disappointing that this seems to be a standalone. One, because I just feel there’s still so much to learn about both Raphael and Sofia… like their journey isn’t over and you want to reach the end point with them. Two, because what the hell was the something something with Lina (Sofia’s sister) and Damon (Raphael’s twin)? Natasha, you have a lot of explaining to do. That note? The looks? Whaaaaaat? Seriously, there needs to be more because that man (Damon) is never becoming a man of the cloth… NEVER. I hope not. I so enjoyed this book. I’m trying so hard not to get hung up on it… there’s nothing worse than end of book blues.
I don’t believe in God, Sofia. No God would allow what happened to my family to happen.
Get lost in Dishonorable TODAY!
About the Book
I knew little of Raphael Amado’s history with my family, but when he turned up on our doorstep demanding restitution, my grandfather quickly conceded. That restitution? Me.
Six months later, on my eighteenth birthday, Raphael came for me. He stole me from my home, taking me to his Tuscan estate, where from the crumbling chapel to the burnt-down vineyard, to the cellar that haunted him, the past stalked him like a shadow. It waited for him, hid behind corners for him and trapped him at every turn.
As much as Raphael’s cruelty terrified me, his darkness seduced me. But in the end, it was his tenderness that devastated me.
Sofia came to me like an offering. Like a virgin to be sacrificed at the altar. But truth was, her grandfather betrayed her. I guess we had that in common. He’d screwed me too.
I knew hate. I’d vowed vengeance. This was never supposed to be about anything else. But in the end, her innocence broke me. The very thing I would destroy, destroyed me.
After the evening in Civitella in Val di Chiana, I doubted Sofia would appreciate that we’d be married in the Basilica of Santa Croce in Florence, alongside the resting places of Michelangelo, Galileo and Machiavelli, before the eyes of God and a handful of witnesses and fucking throngs of tourists. Tourists were unavoidable this time of year. I could almost tolerate them.
It had taken an exorbitant contribution to book the basilica, but it only concretized my thinking. Money was what everything came down to and that included the church. But I had to admit, this was a magnificent display of devotion and art, even if it was wasted.
I stood at the altar, waiting for my bride. The rope did little to keep curious visitors at bay. Beside me stood Eric as witness and another man arranged by my attorney. I didn’t know who he was. In the front pew sat Sofia’s grandfather, the great Marcus Guardia, his expression unreadable. At his side sat Lina. Smaller than Sofia but not by much. As pretty as her. The old man had kept his end of the bargain after I’d signed the amended contract. Across the aisle sat Maria. I hadn’t invited anyone else to the wedding.
About two dozen strangers, worshippers who most likely were not expecting a wedding, dotted the other pews, giving the appearance of being guests. The priest cleared his throat and made a show of checking his watch.
It took another five minutes before the doors were opened, and someone stepped in to signal the music. The organist began to play the wedding march, and I took a moment to straighten my tie. I’d worn black on black. It was fitting.
Two men secured the large doors of the worshippers’ entrance. From the waning sunlight outside, I could make out the two forms, the white of the dress casting a sort of halo around Sofia. Beside her stood my brother. My fucking brother. Tall and proud in his suit, Sofia’s arm tucked into his. I could almost see him patting it, telling her it would be all right. Reassuring her when he had no business to.
I didn’t know when she’d asked him to walk her down the aisle. I understood she didn’t want her grandfather. That made perfect sense. But this? It pissed me off, actually.
The organist started the march again, and they took their first steps. Once they stepped fully into the church, I could make out their faces. My brother, for all his support of a few nights ago, now condemned me with his gaze. I wondered how much he knew. How much she’d told him.
Sofia gazed at the floor. Her veil shielded her from me until she was about a third of the way down the aisle. That was when she hesitated. Damon paused too, then whispered something to her. She seemed to take a full minute to compose herself, and before my very eyes, she straightened, standing taller, her spine straighter. She looked directly at me.
I met her gaze, felt the unnatural chill inside her eyes, accepted the accusations she threw like grenades. But she had never looked more beautiful to me than in that moment.
The dress fit as if it were made for her, hugging her delicate curves, the antique veil with yellowing edges not quite concealing her but adding an almost ethereal air to her, to her beauty. Her hair had been intricately braided, only a few soft strands falling around her face, over her shoulder, and her golden eyes shone as if covered over by a layer of ice crystals.
She never shifted her gaze. Never faltered again as Damon walked her toward me. As he faced her, the look they exchanged made me fist my hands at my sides. It wasn’t attraction or affection, not more than that of friendship, but it seemed as though a bond had been formed between them, and I knew in the way he looked at me, the way he looked at her, that he knew what had happened between us. What would happen still.
I hated him for it in that moment. I hated him for having something of her that I did not. That I never would.
My brother lifted her veil and gave her a gentle smile, a kiss on the cheek. A whispered word. I’d fucking kill him for it.
He then turned her to me.
Tears didn’t shine in her eyes. Her lip didn’t tremble. When she looked up at me, all I saw was hate. A hate that came from betrayal. From a budding trust destroyed.
And in spite of it, or perhaps because of it, she took my breath away.
I turned her toward the altar and stood quietly by her side, listening to her breathe, listening to the priest but not hearing his words. Hearing her quiet “I do.” Speaking my own. Catching the slight tremble of her hand as she handed her bouquet of blackest lilies—appropriate if not dramatic—to my brother, who remained by her side. She then faced me again, and I took her hand. From my pocket I retrieved her wedding band. A ring of thorns made of iron, black and rounded to slide onto her finger, jagged to remind her of her place.
She looked down at it once it was fully seated on her delicate finger, and I wondered what thoughts circled her mind.
The priest cleared his throat, and I wanted to slap him. To tell him to give her time. To let us be.
Sofia met my gaze. I handed her my ring. She took it, and I held out my left hand. As she slid the serrated ring onto my finger, she gasped, hesitating at the sudden sight of blood, faltering.
Her mouth fell open, her eyes wide when she met mine.
“Do it,” I said.
She shifted her gaze back to my hand and dragged the spiked band upward, her eyes now fixated on the lines of red that appeared along my finger. The first dark droplet fell, soiling the snow-white of her dress, and when she pulled her stained fingers away, she looked up at me again, the ice in her eyes different, less cold. Confused now. Lost.
I gripped the back of her neck and forced her attention back to the priest who had gone a little pale at the blood.
“Finish it,” I spat.
He met my gaze, swallowed, fumbled with his Bible—fucking idiot—and then pronounced us husband and wife.
I kissed my bride with a hunger that would devour her. A warning to her. A promise of what would come.
About the Author
USA Today Bestselling author Natasha Knight writes dark romance as well as spanking romance in a variety of genres including contemporary, paranormal, post-apocalyptic, science-fiction and fantasy. She is a #1 Amazon Bestseller in multiple categories forever searching in every story for that single most important element of love. All of her stories contain at least one kinky Alpha male, lots of dirty talk and a well deserved happily ever after.