Page 8 of Unholy Bonds

“You’re so insanely handsome.” But it wasn’t his face that attracted me. I had seen him before and never felt this need. It was his darkness, the danger that sucked me in.

He took out a thick black rope and wrapped it around his hands before tugging at it. His muscles tightened; his jaw clenched. Even from here, I could tell it wasn’t the first time he had used it; he handled it as if he had been playing with it for decades.

Ryden tied the rope around Phil’s right hand and pulled the dead weight up. I could vividly see his muscles straining against his black shirt, and I wanted so badly to touch his body, to worship his darkness.

Biting my lips, I opened my legs. The way my body reacted to him was insane, but I didn’t want to resist anymore. I needed to relieve the pressure building within me, or I’d explode. That wouldn’t be good for anyone.

“You’ve suddenly become even more alluring, Mr. Sinclair,” I whispered.

Dragging Phil toward a metal beam protruding from the skeletal structure of the half-finished building, he secured the rope around the beam before tying it around Phil’s left hand.

For a breath, I was jealous of Phil. I wanted to be tied up like that by Ryden Sinclair.

His storm-gray eyes gleamed. I slid my hand between my thighs, moaning as I did. Desire writhed inside me, a serpent in heat. A needy groan left my dry lips. I’d need a river of water to calm this raging thirst.

I wanted him. And when I wanted something, I always took it, but it’d be madness to take this man. I knew that much. Knowing that didn’t stop me from craving him.

I rubbed a finger against my nipple with a sigh.

I could envision him in my mind… in my room, in my bed, gazing down at me as he loomed over my body, his eyes dangerous and consuming. Just the picture of him over me was enough to make me lose my mind.

OH! Oh. Fuck.

Once he was finished with securing Phil, he slapped hard across Phil’s cheek. I could almost feel the pressure of that slap on my skin.

The silk dress on my body felt erotic. I pulled my drenched panties down with one finger, wishing the finger was Ryden’s.

When Phil blinked his eyes open, Ryden smiled. Ah, there it was—the flash of his devil. A twisted devil who stoked the inferno burning inside me stronger. It turned me on to see him like this, in his truest self.

I dragged a finger to my pussy.

“There you are, Ryden Sinclair. It’s nice to meet you.”

That smile would have made anyone shrivel in fear, but I only felt the overwhelming desire to join him in his ritual, to revel in the kill, to share in the intimate moment.

I had never killed or hunted with a partner. I didn’t trust anyone for that. The only one I trusted was too good for this life.

I had a few friends at work, but they only saw the masks. Each one was tailor-made to their needs, sweetened with their preferences. They didn’t know the real me, the one stripped of pretenses, the one at my core, and I liked to keep it that way.

Phil looked confused for a second when he opened his eyes before his mouth moved in an agonized scream. Ryden said something, his smile so self-satisfied, smug.

Phil struggled against the rope. He looked like a fish stuck in a bucket, jumping over and over, wishing for the ocean, but knowing the ocean was far away, and there was only dry, wicked land here. And death.

Ryden’s lips flattened as he studied Phil. I waited for him to say more, but the grim look was all he gave Phil as he took out a carving knife.

His eyes gleamed. His hands were steady as he raised the knife to Phil’s cheek.

The pressure building up inside me went high until it was unbearable. I began to rub my clit as Ryden drew his first line closer to Phil’s eye. I pushed a finger into my pussy, continuing to tease my clit with my thumb.

“Oh!”

I could feel Ryden’s strong hands on my body, touching me, teaching me about pleasure. When one finger wasn’t enough anymore, I pushed another with a groan. More. More. I pushed in and out, my eyes never leaving Ryden…

Blood softly, steadily seeped out, staining Phil’s pink shirt. The red stain looked like flowers blooming from crimson branches, spreading to become a gnarled stem.

Ryden didn’t look too tense anymore. His stiff body had gone limp, and he moved around gracefully, his devilish eyes tracing Phil’s features, studying him.

He was carving something. Art. It was art. His art.

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