Page 97 of The Sinner's Bargain

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

NAYA

Thoran emerged from the bathroom a moment later with his brows pinched together and anger in his eyes. I knew he’d had time to think about my error and I was about to get my punishment.

I wish I could say I wasn’t scared. That I had all the confidence in the world that he wouldn’t hurt me, and I did, but only because I knew he wouldn’t hit me. I knew he wouldn’t intentionally hurt me, but fear was fear, and mine was a pit of snakes coiling deep in the pit of my stomach.

The lax calm that had taken over after our shower was replaced with stiff limbs and the pounding of a drum between my ears.

He had a fresh towel in hand, but the man himself was a beautiful display of skin and ink, and an appendage I couldn’t take my eyes off.

I had never seen one outside of my lessons in the books Mother had pre-approved. It was during the week-long lecture on the acts between a man and woman. The cruel and horrible things women had to endure to satisfy their husbands. The male penis had always looked shriveled and pathetic in the black and white sketches. Little thumbs nestled in a nest of black curls. It was more disgusting than appealing ... until I’d seen the outline of Thoran’s through his boxers.

Until I wrapped my fingers around that thick and heavy beast and pulled him free.

He definitely didn’t look like the pictures. His was long and curved slightly upwards with a fat, purple head I had practically died thinking of inside me.

Mother assured me it would fit. My body was a tool to bring children into the world so taking Thoran had to work the same way. I would have to endure and not complain. But it finally made sense why sex hurt women so badly if that was the thing going inside them.

“Eyes up here, sweetheart.” Thoran motioned up to his face with two fingers. “He’s not a piece of meat.”

I didn’t know what that meant, but I lifted my eyes to his, but not before letting it trail up the spiraling chaos of stories etched into his hard muscles.

There were so many, most in black and white, but a few splotches of colors and they covered his entire chest and both arms to the fingertips. I knew more ran across his back, but nothing on his legs.

“You seem mighty pleased with yourself over there given the trouble you’re in, love,” he said.

It was unclear if it was fear that rippled through me or excitement when the man began a slow, almost predatory crawl onto the mattress. The massive sea of foam barely dipped, barely moved as he stalked towards me.

“But I didn’t know,” I breathed, oddly paralyzed yet hyper conscious of the sheets he fisted in his large hand and tugged.

“But you did, my beautiful little hostage.” He yanked harder and the sheets in my white knuckled grip jerked free to slither across my chest, baring my breasts. “I told you,” his voice deepened to a snarl torn out through clenched teeth, “I fucking told you not to go in the garden.”

The sheet was torn away and I was under him. It happened so fast I barely had time to gasp and my arms were over my head. My hips were spread wide to take the heavy weight of him.

Of his rock hard shaft.

“Thoran!” I wheezed.

He loomed over me, his face a dark mask of rage and hunger. “I could have lost you, Blue.” His fingers tightened around my wrists. His face dipped close. “I could have fucking lost you.”

“I’m sorry.” The words were barely more than the weak movement of my lips as he inched closer to them.

“No. No, you’re not. Not yet.”

I should have been afraid. Terrified. The twisted glint of raw animalistic energy wafted off him in dark, addictive tendrils. Every place his skin touched mine shivered and prickled. My belly quivered with the sensation I was quickly beginning to recognize just before everything felt so good.

“Are you going to hurt me?” I whispered, struggling not to press down on his hips where his hot core rested right over my pressure point.

“Yes.” The low promise sealed against my lips. “By the time I’m finished with you, you’re going to be begging me to stop.”

I couldn’t think past the mist drifting to coat every thought with a hazy fog.

It was the first time he’d kissed me. The first time I’d felt the softness of his mouth on mine. His tongue demanding. He invaded the way I always knew he would — with authority and force. My whimper only seemed to drive him to press harder.

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