Page 29 of Claimed By Rage

Without waiting for an answer, he runs his palms up my outer thighs, lifting my skirt with ease. Kissing down my chest and stomach, not caring for the fabric in the way, he sighs. “Are you scared,krosotka? Scared ofme?” The bandages on his hands are gone, revealing raw, aching flesh from his knuckles to his fingertips. The bruises are mottled purple and red, the skin swollen and hot to the touch. The color matches my knees, both of us aching from what we’ve done to each other.

He beat a man unconscious because I crossed a line.

I got on my knees as punishment for it.

Fox’s lilting voice lashes across my mind.

You need to fight back in a language he’ll understand.

I still don’t know what that means.

“I’m n?—”

Rage digs his fingers into my hips.

“—not scared of you.” A delicious shiver rolls down my spine as he spreads hot, open-mouthed kisses down my thighs. It isn’t a complete lie. I’mnotscared of him like normal people probably are. They’re worried he’ll mug them on the street or marry their daughters for inheritance money.

I’m worried that I’ll lose pieces of myself that I’ll never get back.

His lips brush over my knees, kissing the tender skin there. “I hurt you.” It isn’t a question, but a statement. An admittance of guilt, perhaps.

Except when he looks up at me, there isn’t a shred of guilt in his eyes. “I’ll hurt you again.”

Still not a question.

I tilt my hips up, snaring his attention between my thighs. His nostrils flare and he spreads my legs wider, dipping between them to kiss even higher along my inner thighs. My body flushes hotter, my legs twitching as he gets closer to where I want him most. I bite my lip and nudge his collarbone with my knee to get his attention. When he looks back up at me, my voice comes out as a whisper. “Do you want to?”

There’s a moment of silence as he considers his answer. “If that’s the only way I can touch you, then…” His fingers tighten around my hip, his nails digging into my flesh. “…yes.”

It’s not a good answer. How can someone saying they want to hurt youeverbe a good thing? My ex-husband wanted to hurt me after I couldn’t give him what he wanted, and he cut me deepenough to leave scars. If Rage hurts me, I have a feeling that he won’t just cut deep, he’llshatterme.

Then he’ll pick up every single piece and lock it away to keep for himself.

Nothing about Rage will be half-measures. It’s all or nothing.

But maybe that extends beyondhurt.

Can a man who wants to own you understand what it means to love you?

I shimmy my hips closer to the edge of the counter. “I want you to touch me.” The angle pulls my back muscles and digs my shoulders into the mirror, but I’m resigning myself to it as a fact of our relationship. Nothing with Rage will ever bepainless.

I’m starting to learn that.

“You want my touch, but do you wantme?” he asks, jaw clenched tight. He drags my panties down my hips, the fabric chafing my thighs. “Say you want me, and I’ll—” his voice cracks at the edges—“I’ll make you feel good this time. I promise.” The heat in his eyes blazes, flickering in their depths like embers in the night. He exhales harshly as he pushes my right leg up to remove my panties, his eyes lingering on my heels. A muscle in his jaw tics, and when he returns his gaze to mine, those embers have ignited.

All I see is fire, threatening to consume him from within.

“Who gave you these?”

The sudden change of subject throws me off balance. I stumble around the wordwhat?

He growls, grabbing my ankle hard enough to dig the buckle into the bone. I flinch, but he’s staring at the shoe, not at me. He flicks his thumb over one of the straps.

I wish he were flicking my clit instead.

“The—”

His eyes ping to mine, searing straight to my core.

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