Page 36 of Tempted to Rebel

I reach between us and cup her pussy with my uninjured hand, rubbing my blood into those soft curls and the hot flesh tucked beneath, dipping my fingers inside of her to paint her withmyessence.

She cries out at the sudden intrusion, but I’m not going to fuck her. I merely slip my bloodied fingers inside her sex and leave remnants of myself there.

If I have a soul, I want it to nestle next to hers.

“Stay still,” I remind her as I pull away. Her eyes are wide, open windows, and I glimpse the bright light of her soul tangling with the shadows of mine. Satisfaction rolls through me, and for the first time in years, it’s like I have control of my entire body instead of the mangled pieces left after the fire.

I pick up my knife from the sink and the bar of soap beside it. The knife slides into its sheath while the soap slips into Celia’s palm. I curl her fingers around the bar and squeeze until I know she won’t drop it. “Clean up. Go on.”

“But your hand?—”

Holding my palm up to the light, I inspect the straight-lined cut jutting across the center. It’s deeper than I’d like, but I’ll be fine. “Flesh will mend,” I remind her, squeezing my hand into a fist to stop the bleeding. I’m not concerned about it in the slightest, but Celia’s eying my closed fist skeptically. Taking a breath and scenting the metallic tang of my blood in the air, I remember the last time Celia patched up my arm, and my lips curve up. If I asked, she’d help me this time, too, I’m sure.

But I won’t ask any more of her tonight.

“Clean yourself up,” I say again, retreating to the door. The turn lock is slick in my hands, and I frown at all the blood I’m dripping. Rage will be angry at the mess. “The bathroom, too.”

He’ll also be angry if he finds out that I pulled out my knife and touched Celia with it, but some rewards are worth the risk.

I give Celia one last, long look before retreating upstairs to clean and cover my open wound, my mouth curving into a smile as I replay the last thirty minutes over and over and over again in my head.

The temptation has never been sweeter, and the fruit never wetter.

Chapter 13

Celia

For the firsttime since returning to the boys’ lives, I’m finally alone.

Once Ruin disappears and leaves me to tend to the bloody aftermath of his—what the hell do I even call it?—visit, I finally decide, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I’ve done this a thousand times. Not just in my lifetime, but since my divorce. Staring at the girl in the mirror, wondering where she came from. How she got here. And most importantly, where she’s going.

If you asked my reflection a year ago, she wouldn’t have had any idea. Drifting along the river of time, merely treading water, trying not to drown, was a full time job. Once the current of grief settled and I could look myself in the eye without flinching, I began to float.

The river twisted and bent and somehow, I ended up here. With three men vying for my attention, my body, and quite possibly, my heart.

I clutch my chest, expecting to the feel sharp, stabbing pain that’s accompanied me for so long now. A broken heart can’t beat without it, and mine’s been broken for so long, that I’ve forgotten what life feels like without the pain.

My heart beats, and for once, everything feels…

Calm.

The bathroom looks like a crime scene with my body as its victim, and yet,I’m okay.

I’m breathing.

I’m in one piece.

And despite how unorthodox Rage, Rebel, and Ruin are with how they show affection, I know they’re trying. That has to count for something, right?

I draw my gaze to my navel, tracking the bloody handprint on my hips, the crimson drops on my thighs, down to the apex between them, my curls more red than black. I’m a sticky mess. My pussy throbs from the battering it’s received from two dicks and the tip of a knife handle, with the latter being, surprisingly, the most gentle of the three. With a hiss, I run soapy fingers through my folds and try to clean up the mess. Without a towel or toilet paper oranythingto catch the suds, pink bubbles slip down my legs and pool onto the tile floor. A real shower, with a generous stream of steaming hot water and enough soap to sustain an army, would work wonders.

But leaving this room means I might run into any one of the brothers, and I’m not sure how to handle them after today.

Turning off the faucet, I shake off as much water from my hands as I can. The soap cleaned up as much of the blood from my body as it could without a cloth, but the bathroom is still a hot mess. I pull my hair back and knot it in a loose bun at the base of my neck, wrapping a strand of hair around it as a makeshift tie and tucking the end inside. The bun is loose, but it holds well enough for my hair to be out of the way.

I guess I’m cleaning, after all.

Unlocking the bathroom door takes an enormous amount of willpower, and opening it is like ripping off a band-aid. It has to be done. I shiver in the cool air as I peer out into the living room.

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