Page 58 of Savage Rule

Now it’s him that growls with rage. “Fine. But if I’m going to be one of your scars, I better be the fucking deepest.”

He spins me on my heel so that I’m facing the wall and secures my hands above me. I toss my head back, but he’s prepared and easily avoids getting hit in the face.

“What are you doing?!” I demand when he begins to lift my shirt, exposing all of my scars. Roughly, he tugs down on my right hand, knife and all. I suck in a breath when he presses the cold steel against my skin, imagining just how deep he’s going to cut me with my own blade.

“Fuck you!” I hiss. “Cutting doesn’t hurt anymore. So go for it. Cut me.”

His breath ragged, he leans closer, his lips on the shell of my ear. “Oh I bet I can make it hurt. When I’m done, I’m going to be the only cut you feel.”

If I had known what he was about to do, I could have braced for the pain. But I’m so completely unprepared for the first assault, that a cry erupts from me against my will.

He drags the flat side of the blade across my scars, barely hard enough to feel it. But that’s not what hurts. Oh no, not even close.

It’s the warm press of his mouth that follows the blade. Little kisses he trails over every mark I’ve made on myself, somehow going deeper than any cut I’ve ever had.

And I ache. I ache all over. My chest constricts as the pain he promised builds there and threatens to explode from me.

Why is he doing this? It’s as if he’s trying to erase the marks of my sins with a tenderness that burns.

I shut my eyes in an attempt to quell the emotion he’s stirring inside. But I’m not strong enough against whatever this is, and the tears begin to flow.

“Stop,” I beg in a tiny voice. “You’re hurting me.”

Pausing, he says, “I know,” and continues the torment.

He tugs the waist of my jeans over my ass to access the lower marks. When he goes down to his knees and releases my hand, I remain. Although I’m still crying, I want him to finish this. To finish me.

But when he reaches the scar on my lower left side, the cut recently redone, I cover it. Some things should never be erased.

“Not that one,” I say.

His gaze lifts to mine and holds it captive as he seems to delve deep into my soul. I’m not sure what he finds, but whatever it is, it convinces him not to push me further than I can go.

He nods. Then he moves the knife over, to a place on my hip where I have no other scars. This time, he does make me bleed.

“The man I was before you,” he says as he meticulously carves a line into my flesh, “everything I knew, is gone. If yourjob was to take my life, there’s no need. I’m willingly giving it to you. My life. My soul. All yours.”

“Don’t say those things,” I plead, tears flowing freely.

“Ihave no choice. I fucking love you,” he says, as if it’s against his will, but he’s resigned himself to it. The knife clangs to the floor and he stands, taking a step back.

I turn to him slowly. We stare at each other, both of us in pain and distress.

“You don’t love me,” I tell him. “You can’t.”

“Believe me, I wish I didn’t. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever felt, like I’m dying. Can’t sleep, can’t eat, lookin’ up fucking recipes you might like on the internet. I never do that shit! But I fucking love you. If you killed me now, I’d still fucking love you.”

My chest constricts to the point where I can’t breathe, it hurts so bad. That’s when I realize that Gunn is what I have no choice in. What I feel for him is so far beyond my control, I never had a chance to stop it.

“I fucking love you too!” I cry out and run into his embrace.

We kiss in a way we haven’t done before, just as desperate as we’ve ever been, but with a destination beyond a simple orgasm. Every stroke of our tongues, every caress of our hands as we go down is so much more.

Our clothes come off aggressively, our lips locked as we breathe each other in. Then, I’m pinned to the floor by his weight as he pushes inside me. Our sex isn’t meant to brand, but to meld. To pour ourselves into each other.

I hold him to me as he reaches his climax, my nails digging into his ass as he thrusts and fills me with everything he is.

When it’s over, he remains inside me. I tighten my arms and legs around him, wishing we could stay like this forever. Because the way Gunn described love is horrible, but accurate. It’s an emptiness, a gut-wrenching void that’s only filled by this closeness. Only when we’re together, can we breathe.

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