Page 41 of Ravaged Saints

He tilts his head, his smirk sharpening into something more wicked. “Why would I be nervous from your touch?”

The words send a shiver down my spine. Without thinking, I press my lips to his, soft at first, testing, but his response is instant. His mouth crashes against mine, rough, demanding, even though his hands are bound. I deepen the kiss, my hands cupping his face, holding him there.

His tongue finds mine, and the kiss turns darker and hotter. and I break away, gasping for air, my eyes locking with his. “You’re still in control,” I whisper, frustrated at the way he holds all the power, even like this.

“Am I?” he asks. “You’re the one touching me, doll. The question is, why are you feeling out of control?”

His words challenge me, firing me up so I press my lips to his jaw, my teeth grazing the rough stubble there, and even more slowly, I trail kisses down his neck, letting my tongue flick over the pulse hammering just beneath his skin.

His body tenses, and I let my nails drag lightly down his chest. I want to break him the way he’s breaking me. “Maybe I’m not as afraid as you think,” I murmur against his skin, feeling the way his breath catches.

His tone is hoarse when he replies, “Careful, Aspen. You’re playing with fire.”

I shiver at his words, my lips climbing to meet his again. Pressing my lips, I bite on his lower lip, and he winces. I taste the metallic flavor of the blood, but he doesn’t back down; he leans into me, kissing me harder, and I feel his muscles fighting to get in control, but he doesn’t pull from the ropes.

“I want to taste you, Aspen,” he murmurs against my lips.

I pull back sharply, heat rising to my cheeks. “What does that mean?” I ask defensively, but deep down, I know exactly what he means.

He chuckles, low and rough. “I want to lick your cunt, doll.”

Oh for fuck’s sake, why did he have to say it like that? And why do I enjoy it?

“Has anyone ever tasted you like that?” He asks, still kneeling, his hands bound, but even now, he exudes control, his tone dripping with unshakable confidence, and that kind of pisses me off.

I shake my head, “No, never.”

“Lay down. Pull your jeans and panties down,” he orders.

I shake my head again, my body trembling. “No… I can’t.”

His gaze sharpens. “You know you want to, doll. I bet you’ve been dripping since our kiss with Max.” His says, his hunger palpable.

I step toward the door, my heart hammering so hard it’s painful, and I close it quietly, turning back to him. “If I say stop, you’ll stop,” I warn, trying to sound firm but knowing I’m failing.

His eyes soften, and he nods once. “Of course. Do you know what a safe word is?”

I freeze; the question catches me off guard. I’ve read about it before in those magazines, but I’m not ready to tell any of them what I know and what I’m learning, so I shake my head instead.

“A safe word is a word you choose,” he explains patiently. His is so controlled, like he’s done this before. “When you say it, everything stops. Choose a word you would normally not use in this context, okay?”

His muscles tense; I can see the veins on his arms pulsing.

A word. What could it be? He waits patiently, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Cherry,” I whisper, and he nods, his smile widening. “Good girl, now do as I said.”

He stands to his full height, and I have to tilt my head up to keep my gaze on his eyes, and I realize I haven’t flinched when he got up.

He steps back from the bed, and I start to remove my jeans, pulling them down. My entire body is shaking like leaves in the wind, and my lungs feel like they’re burning with every breath. Gosh, I’m so nervous.

I have no problem with stabbing a man, but this right here? I think I’ll have a heart attack.

I stop before taking my panties, looking at him. “I can’t.” I say, feeling a lump in my throat, and I brace myself for him to yell or call me names, but instead, he steps closer and places a kiss on my forehead. “Lay down, doll,” he whispers, his body so close I can feel his heat against me.

‘But—”

“Lay down and open your legs.” He commands, and I take a deep breath, sitting on the bed. My hands feel ice cold, and I still can’t control the shivering that makes my body tremble. I push into the bed, lay my back on the mattress, and bend my knees, but I can’t open my legs. “If you don’t open your legs, I will need my hands, Aspen.”

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