Page 28 of Ivory's Ruin Romance

He held her gaze, and when he spoke, he left no room for misinterpretation. “If you want me to stop, you’ll tell me.”

“Yes.” She nodded.

A knot of anticipation tightened in her core. This static between them—this energy—came alive. It built her up, buoyed her until she was floating on a plane of him and her. Nothing like the stifling, repressive way Jace handled things.

With words alone, Adrian surpassed him as a god to a mere mortal.

“Face the countertop.”

The words were clear and direct, and as he spoke, Adrian watched her with expectation. Her breathing slowed, breaths deepening as she followed his orders and turned her back to him. Every part of her stood to attention, the point of her nipples pressing against the cups of the bra. Obeying him came as second nature, almost too easy. Too innate.

“Perfect,” he stated, as certain as if it were not a matter of opinion but fact.

She sucked in a sharp breath and relaxed her shoulders, a peaceful calm settling over her in the position. He stood far enough not to touch yet close enough to reassure her of his presence.

“You think so?” The question felt like a gamble, like she was asking him to take back what he’d said if he couldn’t prove it. But he didn’t disappoint.

“I do,” he murmured. “You’re responsive. You believe I can give you what you ask for, and that allows me to listen to you as I lead. This won’t work any other way.”

“Oh,” she breathed. “It’s easy because I trust you.”

He hummed, and a shiver went down her spine. “As I trust you.” He took a step closer. “You are truly divine, Ivory. Worthy of worship. Never question that.”

She wanted to believe him—wanted to say she’d known it all along, but too many times, she’d been unable to live up to her own expectations. Much less those of others. “It’s hard not to question,” she admitted.

His palm slid into the curve of her waist, fingers splaying out as he moved up to her shoulder and down the other side. The touch was soothing, sinking past her clothes and into her skin. She could picture how his hand would look, the cleaned cuts and scarred rings against the soft cotton of her sweater.

“Even a blind man would be drawn to your voice, to your touch,” he continued. “I want you to appreciate yourself. Can you do that for me?”

Her eyes fluttered closed. “I can try.”

His hand traced up her spine, halting between her shoulder blades and then applying a touch of pressure. She bent with the silent command. “If we’d discussed rules beforehand,” he started, voice crisp as he guided her down, “you’d know that’s not an acceptable answer—and I’d punish you for it.”

The laminate was cold, frosted over from the earlier breeze. Her cheek pressed down into the counter, fully flushed and relieved to settle into the chill. Chest flat against the hard surface, she was tempted to squirm as the hem of her sweater rose over her ass, but she stayed still, not wanting to inspire further need for punishment. The concept had once sounded attractive in her mind, but now the possibility of reprimand formed a tight pit in her stomach.

“It wouldn’t be to belittle or exert force, but a reminder. A consequence you earned in order to learn. Do you understand?” His hand smoothed down to where her sweater stopped at her tailbone, and she became acutely aware of how her tights clung to each dip and curve. Comfort had been the only deciding factor of her current outfit, but at the moment, it had no such effect.

He’d be able to see everything. Every way her body formed to pair with his. The thought alone had her quivering, but she managed to breathe out a reply.

“Yes, sir.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. He didn’t seem to mind, though. It almost felt as natural as when she’d said it on their midnight walk.

“So try again,” he prompted.

“I’ll appreciate myself.” Doubt still flickered in the back of her mind, but she was determined to do it because he asked—even if it was small. Even if she could only appreciate one thing, she’d put in the effort.

“Good,” he praised. “Because I appreciate you. And I don’t like when others undervalue the things I appreciate.”

Warmth blossomed in her chest. What did he see in her?

Adrian continued. “Not every man will know what to do with this—-your desire to submit, to please—but it is powerful. Sweet and good and desirable.”

He inhaled slowly as if he was having just as much trouble breathing as she was. “You are powerful.”

His hand moved up to the nape of her neck, gently brushing the hair out of the way so as not to tangle it and massaged away her built-up tension. The heat from their skin meeting sent a shiver down her spine, leaving in its wake a blazing trail of desire.

For a moment, she pictured them in the quiet stillness of the night, somewhere deep in the woods and away from prying eyes. On Halloween, with blood still on his knuckles and shimmers of moonlight kissing her skin.

A black knight and his witch, who only wove her magic for him. A man who prized his woman over his own life.

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