Page 42 of Ravaged Saints

I don’t want to untie him; the truth is the fact that he can’t grab me or pin me gives me a sense of security.

I meet his gaze, my breath catching in my throat as I slowly part my legs. The heat in my face rises, and my heart hammers in my chest, a frantic drumbeat echoing in my ears.

His gaze drops, traveling down my body, and the way his eyes darken and his jaw tightens sends a shiver through me. “I wonder if you realize how ruinous you look right now,” he murmurs. The raw reverence in his tone makes tears sting my eyes; no one has ever said that to me.

I see his eyes lingering on the tattoo again. “I did it right before freshman year in college,” I say softly. “It was my way of rebelling against my sweet girl fame.”

He chuckles, “I see. It suits you, doll.”

Lowering himself to his knees, the dominance in his movements makes my pulse race. “Slide your ass closer to the edge, doll,” he commands, his voice firm but steady, and I obey, moving closer with trembling limbs. I want this—Ineedthis—but the nerves still coil tight in my chest.

He licks his lips as he leans in, trailing warm, feather-light kisses along the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, and I gasp at the sensation, but nothing prepares me for the moment his tongue presses against the fabric between my legs; my body jolts instinctively, and my thighs clamp around his head.

A loud laugh rumbles from him. “Easy, or you’ll break my neck. It’s an amazing way to die, but I would rather eat your pussy first,” he chuckles, his tone light but undeniably confident.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” I whisper, and I cover my face with both hands, trying to hide the embarrassment.

“Don’t apologize, just keep those pretty legs open for me, okay?” He soothes, leaning in again. His tongue presses against the fabric, firmer this time, circling my clit with deliberate slowness, and a moan escapes my lips before I can stop it. I bite down on my bottom lip to keep the next one in.

“I barely touched you, and you’re already dripping,” he growls, his voice thick with hunger.

I give in. I want to feel him on me, on my skin, not through the fabric, so I move my hand slowly toward my panties, and he lifts his head, his eyes locking on mine, the fire in them making me shiver. I pull the fabric aside, offering him full access.

“Aspen,” he groans, and then I feel his tongue on my bare skin—a shock of heat that pulls a gasp from my lips.

“Oh god, Dante,” I cry out, trembling as his tongue swirls over my clit, every stroke sending jolts of pleasure through my body.

“Ride my face, doll,” he commands, and my hips move on their own, following his order, grinding against him as waves of heat build inside me.

The sensations overwhelm me, and my muscles tighten; that strange, electric pulse courses through me. Fuck, why does this feel so good?

“That’s it, Aspen,” Dante murmurs against me, his voice vibrating through my clit. “Let go for me.”

I feel a weird sensation shivering down my back to my abdomen, my muscles tight. “You taste so sweet and fucking addictive.” His voice pushes me further into the abyss. My entire body is moving on its own and I try to keep the moans closed inside, but I can’t; the tingling sensation of his tongue on my clit makes heat pool from my pussy, and I can’t take it anymore.

I open my legs wider. My hands grab his hair, pressing him more into me. My breathing cuts, and I arch my back up before slamming into the mattress. I let out a whimper, and my eyes roll back, and a shock of electricity like I’ve never felt before runs through my body.

“Fuck, Aspen,” Dante groans thick with satisfaction, but I can barely hear him over the pounding in my ears.

“I can’t,” I whimper, the tears falling faster now, mixing shame with the lingering echoes of pleasure.

Dante rises to his feet in one fluid motion, and my blurry gaze sharpens as I see him pull his arms forward, snapping the ropes like they were nothing.

My jaw drops.

“What the hell?” I murmur.

“Did you really think that little rope would keep me tied if I didn’t want to be?” he asks, a devilish smirk spreading across his lips. He steps closer and scoops me into his arms.

“Cry all you want, doll,” he whispers, cradling me to his chest; his fingers stroking my hair as my tears soak into his shirt.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” I murmur into him.

“Nothing is wrong with you,” he says softly, rocking me in his lap. His heartbeat thunders beneath my ear, grounding me. “It’s just the adrenaline crashing down. That’s all.”

I don’t respond, focusing instead on steadying my breathing.

“Did it feel good?” Dante asks gently.

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