Page 30 of Claimed By Rage

“The, um, guy gave them to me.” My cheeks are already flushed, so they burn crimson as embarrassment floods through me. My answer feels lame, but it’s all I have. “The guy in the limo. He picked me up tonight. I don’t know his name.”

Why the hell does Rage care about my shoes when my pussy is wet and waiting for him? I try to close my thighs, but Rage holds them open, his lips curving into a malicious smile.

“You mean Thanatos.” He shakes his head, chuckling deeply. “Thanatos.The fucker’s gone for five years, and he comes back to givemywoman gifts.” Licking his lips, Rage grabs my hips and pulls me to the furthest edge of the counter. I scramble for purchase, my heels sliding on the granite countertop as I try not to fall off, but Rage sets my thighs over his shoulders andgrowls.

“This ismyfucking pussy,” he roars, spitting on my clit. Saliva drips down my slit and over my crack to pool on the countertop. “My fucking woman.” Sliding a thick finger inside my heat, he inhales deeply, his pupils dilating. “Fuck, you’re soaked.” His body goes rigid for a split second before he slides a second finger inside. “Wet forme, or wet forhim?”

I’m barely breathing, too strung out on the feel of somethingfinallyinside of me to process his questions. “W-what?”

He drags his fingers out before pushing them back in. “It’s a simple question, Celia. Are you wet forme, or are you wet forThanatos?”

“I—I don’t even know who he is!”

Rage flicks his gaze up to mine. An inferno of fury roars in his eyes. “He’s my brother,” he snaps, pressing his thumb against my clit. My hips buck up to meet him, and he punches his fingers inside of me faster, grunting as the scent ofpussyfills the air. The sounds of my body taking him in areloud—so much louder than when he stoked himself in the shower. The wet squelch makes my body shiver, a low-pitchedkeencatching in my throat.

“Myhalf-brother,” he unnecessarily self-corrects, spitting the words out. Rage suddenly stands, bending me in half as he crowds closer, buryingthreefingers inside of me and panting over the top of my head. He lowers his face mere inches from mine, drinking in the lost haze in my eyes, the way I search his face, unfocused and untethered, as he finger-fucks me.

Maybe that goes against the rules for tonight, but it’s hard to care when I’mthis closeto coming.

“Tell me who you want, Celia. Me or Thanatos?” Rage’s lip curls on his half-brother’s name, like it disgusts him. Maybe it does. I’m not sure how they’re related or what the history is between them, but it screamsbad blood.

“I want you!” I cry, writhing my hips, trying to ride Rage’s fingers. How could I want a man I’ve never properly met? Just because he gave me some shoes to wear?

Rage is fuckingcrazy.

He shudders, burying his fingers all the way, grunting as he grinds his palm against my clit. “That’s right, you fucking want me,” he snarls, scraping his teeth across my temple. “I’m the only one who makes you feel this good. The—” he curls his fingers inside me—“only—” grabs my throat and squeezes—“one.” He crashes into me, barreling his chest into mine and swallowing my scream as I come undone. He groans into my mouth. “So goddamn beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing me again, sweeping his tongue between my lips. “Of course you want me. Of course you do.”

Even strung-out and trembling, I recognize his words for what they are—something to soothe the ache inside his heart. The kind of self-soothing lies we tell ourselves until they come true…

Or until we believe they do.

Chapter 10

Celia

Not only doI convince Rage to find me one of Rebel’s t-shirts to wear to bed, but he dresses me in it, too. He takes his time pulling it over my chest, enjoying the sight of my naked tits too much to rush the process, but he does as I ask, even pulling a pair of his boxers up my thighs and over my hips before laying me down in his bed. He stares at me with a frown on his face before joining me and wrapping a heavy arm around my waist to pull me close.

Removing the leather cuffs for the brief moment he slipped off my gown and redressed me in my makeshift pajamas was a tease, making me forget that wearen’tsimply a man and woman going to bed together.

I’m still his prisoner. Every clink of metal behind my back solidifies that reality.

Idly, Rage strokes the tiny gap between where the leather touches my skin with his fingertip. “What would you do--” he plucks the cuff—“for me to take these off?”

I pinch my lips together, trying to ignore the way he smells. Something manly, like cedar or sandalwood, deep and woodsy. It must be his soap. I hold my breath as best, shutting my eyes to block as much of him out as I can. But between the body heatradiating off of him and the weight of his arm draped over my waist, it’s impossible to ignore him.

Then there’s the featherlight brush of his fingers on my wrist.

Another tease.

I squirm, uncomfortable with this entire situation. “Nothing.Because even if Ididbelieve you, which I don’t, you wouldn’t take them off.”

Rage hums softly. “I would for the right reward.”

“Oh, so this is—what, a gift? An act of kindness?” I scoff. “You don’t get rewards for doing things for the sake of others. It’s called being a good fucking person. And for the record, you wouldn’t have to take them off if you hadn’t put them on in the first place!”

Ignoring my tirade, he simply says, “So you don’t want them off?”

“Of course I do!” I snap. “But not if it means giving you something in return, asshole!”

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