Page 37 of Keeping Ruby

A deep groan rises from his chest, where the wasteland of his depraved heart resides. He murmurs, “You’re so fucking soft.” The bite of his stubble nips untouched skin as he moves down my neck, over my clavicle, to the space between my breasts where the lacy line of my tank top connects in a subtle V.

He makes a feral sound. Something on the verge of a growl, before he gives my nipple another swipe with the pad of his thumb. Just as a plea touches the tip of my tongue, he releases me to pull his hand from my shirt. Clarity washes over me in a drench of shame.

I can’t do this. Not with him. My monster. My devil. My husband.

I can’t…

He releases my hair and shoves back to kneel between my legs. He looks like a devil shrouded in shadow, painted in ink. His dark hair is mussed and still damp from his shower. His eyes are untamed, and there’s a hard determination to the arousal I see there.

Fear and want war within me. Sin and shame override desire, but just barely.

“Kirill,” I start to protest. And then his big hands come to the fabric of the lacy V at my chest, grip, and pull. The tear of thin fabric is quick and thorough, baring me to him in the span of a violent second.

My hands fly up to hide my breasts from his dark gaze, but before I can, he’s caught my wrists in his grip. I’m shaking now, my too-big breasts quivering as his dark eyes drink me in. A moan is caught in my throat. My body is snared in a sticky web of emotion my mind can’t escape.

It’s too much.

He is too much.

“Please,” I whimper. I don’t know what I’m pleading for.

I’ve never felt raw quite like this. I’ve never felt exposed quite like this. I’ve never felt as though my faith and yearning hang in the balance quite. Like. This. But maybe I was never destined for light, after all. Because the burn of this fire is addictive. I sense I’ll be fighting the pull of it for the rest of my life.

I want to sob.

“You’re so beautiful.” His rough voice cracks. “So. Fucking. Beautiful.”

And then he dives in for a taste.

The second he covers my breast, the wet heat of his mouth pulling my nipple deep and sucking hard, my body goes to battle with itself. I’m pushing for more even as I try to escape the way his expert tongue rolls the bud.

When he skims teeth over the sensitive flesh, I cry out, “Stop. Please, stop.”

“No.” He moves to my other breast, flicking the tip with his tongue. I jerk, fighting against the restraints of his hands locked around my wrists.

It’s too much. The pressure building in the deep of me is too much. There is pain rising within the need, and I’m not good at pain.

“More.” There’s a sinister edge to the rasp of his desire. Something dark and deadly on the verge of something darker and deadlier. “I need to taste you.”

Isn’t he already?

He releases my hands, and they instantly move to his broad shoulders. When I shove, I think I’m getting somewhere as he begins to move in the direction of my shove. Down. Away from my breasts.

Thank G?—

His big hands find the band of my simple panties, fingers curling into the fabric and then he’s rearing up to kneel again.

My heart kicks in my chest as I try and fail to clamp my legs closed around the bulk of his frame between them.

“Stop.” I can hear my fear now as I fumble to grab for the panties, he’s tugging down my legs. “Stop, Kirill. I said no.”

The fabric tears. The sound of the rip between us is loud. Shocking. Shattering.

My heart weeps.

My mind screams.

My body yearns.

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