Page 70 of Sin Like the Devil

I see her clenched fist coming from a mile off and easily duck to avoid being punched. Ripley curses as I move to grip her balled hand, blocking another attempted blow.

Tugging on her arm, I drag her close enough for our wet chests to crash together. She slips through the grass and collides with me. I strangle the rush of appreciation that feeling her tight curves pressing into me provokes.

“Perfect Ripley, huh?” I taunt. “Can’t even punch right.”

“You’re fucking dead!”

Relishing the acidic lash of her voice, I lean close. “Wrong again, little Miss Perfect. I already died a very long time ago.”

Grabbing her other wrist, I hold them both, pinned against her chest. I know just how scrappy she can be, but I still have a couple hundred pounds of muscle on her.

“Struggle all you want. I may enjoy it.”

“Sick bastard!” she screams.

“I never claimed to be anything else.”

Twisting and writhing, she’s a panting blur of rage. I narrowly dodge a swift knee in the balls, whirling us around so I can shove her into a nearby tree trunk. Ripley gasps in pain at the hard collision.

Sliding a knee between her thighs, I spread her legs wide. Our hips are glued together, and with her wrists still pinned to her chest, she doesn’t have a single inch of space to move.

“Much better.” I appraise her prone form.

Still, the fear I’m searching for refuses to enter her eyes. Nothing penetrates her hatred. It burns hotter than any other emotion I hoped to elicit, and as her lips poise, I can guess what’s coming.

“Fuck you.” She hawks a mouthful of saliva right in my face.

I let her spit trickle down my cheek, unflinching. “Is that all you’ve got?”

“You don’t want to see the best I’ve got.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

Grimacing, she tries to twist her wrists to escape my bondage. It’s futile. I’ve got her pinned too tightly. With a growl, Ripley slumps, giving the impression that she’s given up.

“You’re so weak an?—”

Crack.

Her head suddenly snaps forward, slamming so hard into my nose, I see stars. My grip on her wrists slackens. I stumble back, cupping my nose as it pulses in time with the pain thrumming through me.

“Call me weak again,” she seethes. “I’ll skin you alive.”

Spitting out the blood that’s filled my throat, I cast her a glower. “Nice shot. Now we’ll match.”

“It’s the least you deserve.”

When she moves to strike again, I abandon my aching face and grab her. She grapples with me as we wrestle, both vying to gain control of the other until our knees give out, and we hit the forest floor.

Rolling and bucking, we’re a rain-soaked tangle in the mud. Ripley snarls beneath me, semi-crushed by my weight. I grab a handful of her hair then yank hard, causing her to hiss in pain.

“Can’t escape, Rip?”

“Don’t call me that! You piece of shit!”

“Well, damn. Now you’re hurting my precious feelings.”

“You don’t fucking have any.”

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