Page 40 of Ravaged Saints

My eyes roam his body. I can’t avoid staring. The way his body moves is controlled and strong. I’m noticing things in a man’s body I never noticed before, and I don’t know if I can blame the magazines.

“Need anything, Aspen?” His tone is soft, almost inviting, but there’s an edge that makes my stomach twist, and he glances over his shoulder, not fully facing me.

Iwantsomething—God, do I want it—but fear coils in my chest. The memories resurface, sharp and unwelcome. What if he doesn’t stop? What if he hurts me like Cash did? And I will have to cut his beautiful throat…

“Aspen.” His words soften, his head tilting slightly as if he’s studying me, the shift in his posture making it clear he’s assessing every move I make. A smile plays at the corner of his lips as he steps closer, then slowly kneels in front of me, both knees pressing into the floor, his gaze never leaving mine.

“What are you doing?” I ask, and my fingers twitch at my sides.

He pulls a small rope from his back pocket and holds it up for me to see.

“I don’t understand,” Fear tightens its grip around my throat.

“Tie my arms behind my back, doll.” His words are soft and soothing, but they hit like an order.

“What?” I blink at him, frozen in place. He has to be insane.

“I know you’re afraid of me—of us when it comes to intimacy.” He shifts, placing his arms behind his back and extending them slightly. “Tie my hands, Aspen, and do whatever you feel like doing to me.” His tone dips lower, daring, and I feel my pussy clench at the thought of having full power over a man like Dante.

My heart hammers so loud I swear he can hear it, my palms are damp, trembling as my mind spins in a thousand directions.

I grab the rope, my fingers fumbling as I move behind him, and the warmth of him seeps into me. I begin wrapping the rope around his wrists, the coarse fibers scraping my fingers as I pull it tight.

He moves his wrists, and I see the redness in them already appearing. “Is it too much?” I ask.

“It’s perfect, doll,” he murmurs with that maddening smirk.

Taking a shaky breath, I let my hands linger at the nape of his neck, the fine hairs brushing against my fingers. He’s so still, so controlled, but I see the vein in his neck grow more prominent.

I trail my fingers over his back and shoulders, his muscles tensing beneath my touch.

“How long has it been?” I ask, unable to stop the slow, deliberate movement of my hand.

“That a woman touched me?” His voice is deep, and as I lean closer, my lips near the back of his neck, I hear his breath hitch.

“Yes,” I whisper, letting the warmth of my words fan across his skin, watching the small goosebumps rise.

“Ten years, I think,” he says, his shoulders shifting slightly—like he’s trying to wrestle control over his own body.

“That’s a long time.” My fingers drift down his arm, over his shirt, until they reach his tied wrists and the skull tattoo on his hand. The moment he feels me there, his hand opens, and I press my palm to his.

“You must’ve seen women in the towns nearby. Why didn’t you—”

“Take them?” He cuts me off, his body going even more rigid. “We don’t take or rape women.” His words are louder now, less restrained.

“You took me and Bryn,” I say softly.

“That was different. It was to protect you and her—but also us. Our home.” He draws in a slow breath, and this time, I feel the tension in his shoulders ease.

I move back around to face him, my hands trailing lightly over his broad shoulders, down his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my fingertips. His pupils are blown wide, his lips slightly parted, and his breathing shallow. He looks dangerous but also too beautiful to resist.

“Dante…” I whisper, caught between fear and something darker, something that makes my core heat up.

“Keep going, Aspen,” he encourages.

My fingertips trace the curve of his jaw, then lower, brushing over the side of his throat; his Adam’s apple bobs under my touch as he swallows, and I press my thumb there lightly, feeling the tension beneath his skin.

“You’re so calm,” I murmur, leaning closer. “Why aren’t you nervous?”

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