Page 27 of Claimed By Rage

It’s one thing to know he’s hot on a fundamental level. All three brothers are ridiculously sculpted, each of them embodying different aspects that make men attractive. Rebel has this devil-may-care smirk and lean physique, Ruin has the whole mystery man thing going for him, and Rage…

He’s gotalpha malewritten all over his huge, muscled body.

I tug open the top drawer. My eyes widen at the expanse of handguns and knives carefully tucked inside, each one pressed into foam to keep them from shifting around. Rage’s hand brushes over mine as he shuts the drawer.

“I don’t own any t-shirts.” He reaches for the second drawer and pulls out a pair of boxers and black socks. “You can wear these.”

I pull a face as he drops them into my arms. “I’m not sleeping topless.”

He stares at me, the hard line of his mouth unforgiving. “You’ll be more comfortable that way.”

Rolling my eyes, I dig through the second drawer, then the third. He was serious about not owning t-shirts. I don’t even find a pair of sweatpants or shorts. “What do you work out in?” I turn to stare at the benchpress and weights along the far wall. “I’ll wear that.”

His lips quirk into a smirk as he shrugs off his shirt and reveals the wide expanse of his torso. I’ve never seen it before, and my eyes rove the contours of his muscles, the well-defined ridges along his hips, the start of the deep V leading straight to what lies hidden beneath his slacks. A trail of dark hair starts at his belly button and dips lower, also hidden, until he undoes his belt and drops his pants.

The thick outline of his cock juts out, stretching his black boxers.

I swallow hard and avert my gaze. I don’t care if he sleeps in his boxers. Per our agreement, he’s not allowed to touch me with his dick tonight.

But then he drops those, too, and I catch the bob of his cock in the mirror overlooking his weightlifting station. My body ignites, and I squirm in place as I try not to look.

I fail miserably.

His voice rumbles over my shoulder. “I workout in my boxers,krosotka,but I sleep nude.”

Of course he does.

He chuckles, grazing my forearm with his knuckles. The rough bandage around his fingers scratches my skin, and he suddenly flinches away.

“What’s wrong?”

Ignoring me, he pulls open another drawer and retrieves something from inside. I barely catch a glimpse of silver before he spins me around, snatches both of my wrists, and holds them behind my back. Something stiff locks them into place, and he grunts in satisfaction.

I try to pull my hands back to the front and find that I can’t. They’re locked together at the wrist, the clink of a metal chain keeping them secured against my back. “Did you just handcuff me?” Spinning around, I check my reflection in the mirror, straining to see what he’s done. Leather cuffs connected by a silver chain are cinched around my wrists. “What the hell, Rage!” They jangle behind my back the more I struggle. I twist my wrists and pull, but they don’t budge and my hands won’t fit between the cuffs.

Something in his expression closes off, creating a wall I have little hope of penetrating. “I won’t fuck you tonight, but I can’t have you running loose, either.” He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up as he averts his gaze. A muscle in his jaw tics. “Or killing me in my sleep.”

Grabbing onto the cuffs, he pulls me into the bathroom and closes the door behind us. Walking backwards usually sucks, but walking backward in heelsdoublesucks. I grit my teeth as he picks me up and plops me onto the bathroom counter, hooking my cuffs over something behind me. The faucet, if I had to guess, from the awkward angle it forces me into. The edge of my butt dips into the rounded sink.

“Wait here while I shower.” He barely looks at me as he spins around and starts the water, stepping inside before it’s even warmed up. I watch him through the glass as he steps underthe rainfall and drenches himself, rivulets of water following the hard lines of his body.

It’s impossible not to stare at the appendage jutting out from his hips.

He exhales slowly, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

I could have used a shower after the blow job earlier, but the last thing I want is to get naked with Rage in the vicinity.

I’m grateful he hasn’t forced me in there with him.

While he lathers up, I scour the contents of the counter, looking for antiseptic cream or lidocaine. I can handle bruised knees better than my bruised ego, but that doesn’t mean I shouldhaveto. The man’s loaded, not to mention responsible for my discomfort, so the least he could do is spring for some pain meds or creams.

The heady scent of amber soap fills the air. I give up on my search and close my eyes, content with a few minutes of relative silence. If I can’t find painkillers on my own, then I’m shit out of luck. There’s no way in hell I’m asking this man for anything.

It gets uncomfortably hot and humid after a few minutes of steam pouring from the shower. Rage must have the water turned up tohellfire. Likely attempting to scour the sin from his skin.

I roll my eyes. Not fucking possible.

I shift my weight and lift one of my legs onto the counter, leaving the other to dangle over the edge. Warm, moist air greets my inner thighs, and I try not to imagine it as anything other thanair.

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