Page 13 of Ruthless Sin

"I want to," she cuts me off, but her voice trembles slightly. "I just... there's something you should know."

I cup her face in my hands, careful of her bruises. "You can tell me anything, baby. You know that."

She leans into my touch, taking a deep breath. "I've never... I mean, I haven't..." She closes her eyes, frustration evident in her expression. "I'm a virgin."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Not because it changes how I feel – Christ, nothing could change that – but because of the trust she's placing in me. The weight of it nearly brings me to my knees.

"Look at me," I say gently. When she opens her eyes, I make sure she sees everything I'm feeling. "That doesn't change anything. We can take this as slow as you want. Hell, we don't have to do anything at all tonight."

"But I want to," she whispers, her hands coming up to grip my cut. "I've been waiting for the right person. For someone who sees me – really sees me. Not just as Hellfire's daughter or as some young girl playing at being tough." Her eyes meet mine, fierce and vulnerable all at once. "I've been waiting for you."

My control snaps. I pull her against me, claiming her mouth with mine. She responds immediately, her fingers tightening in my leather. She tastes like ranch dressing and promise, and I can't get enough.

But when she presses closer, making a slight sound in the back of her throat, I force myself to pull back. Because if we're doing this – if she's really trusting me with this – we're doing it right.

"Not here," I say, my voice rough. "Not in my garage like some quick fuck. You deserve better than that."

The blush that spreads across her cheeks makes me want to devour her, but I take her hand instead, leading her toward the door that connects to my living space. Because Angel deserves everything – every soft touch, every gentle word, every moment of pleasure I can give her.

And I plan to take my time showing her exactly what that means.

The moment we step into my living room, I'm hyperaware of everything – the way her hand trembles slightly in mine,the sound of her breathing, a shirt draped over my couch that I should have picked up this morning. Everything feels heightened, important.

"Want a drink?" I ask, though what I really want is to kiss her again.

She shakes her head, stepping closer.

"No. I want..." Her eyes flick to my lips, then back up. "I want you to kiss me again. Like you did in the garage earlier."

Christ. Her boldness, mixed with that underlying nervousness, is driving me crazy. I pull her closer, one hand sliding into her hair while the other settles on her hip.

"Like this?" I brush my lips against hers, feather-light, teasing.

She makes a frustrated sound that goes straight to my groin. "No. Like you mean it."

"Baby," I growl, tightening my grip on her hip, "I always mean it with you."

This time when I kiss her, I pour everything into it – all the months of wanting her, of holding back, of telling myself I couldn't have this. She responds with equal fervor, her hands sliding under my cut, pushing it off my shoulders.

I let her remove it, watching as she carefully drapes it over a chair. The gesture is so respectful, so understanding of what the cut means, that it makes my chest tight. She gets it. Gets me. Gets this life.

"Come here," I say, my voice rougher than intended.

She does, and I take my time removing her cut, giving it the same respect she showed mine. Then I pull her close again, but this time, I slow things down. Because this isn't just about passion orrelease. This is about showing her exactly how precious she is to me.

"Ruthless," she whispers against my lips, and I feel her hands shake as they move to the buttons of my shirt.

I catch her wrists gently. "We can stop anytime. Just say the word."

"I don't want to stop." Her eyes meet mine, determined despite the nerves I can feel thrumming through her body. "I want you. I trust you."

Those three words – I trust you – hit harder than any 'I love you' could right now. Because trust isn't given easily in our world. And Angel, who's grown up seeing the darkest sides of this life, is offering me her complete trust.

"Then let me take care of you," I murmur, leading her toward my bedroom. "Let me show you how it should be."

Because that's what this is about – showing her that her first time should be perfect. That she deserves to be worshipped, cherished, loved. And maybe I'm not worthy of being the one to show her these things, but I'm going to spend every moment trying to be.

For her. Always for her.

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