Page 26 of Bound By Ruin

Still.

If Ruin is willing to strip down for me, then I’m willing to do the same for him.

Slowly, I close the distance between us. I’m not much of a dancer, but I’ve taken enough lessons to know that if it’s only the two of us out here, it doesn’t have to be dancing in the traditional sense.

Professionals tell a story with their bodies. They move not only to the music, but to each other, feeling the ebb and flow between their bodies and learning each other’s rhythms.

I place my open palm on his chest and push, sending him back a step so that I can fill the space. Then I curve around his body, trailing my fingers over his collarbone, then across his shoulder, down his arm and wrist, until my fingertips brush the soft center of his hand. Coming up behind him, I press a kiss to his shoulder, then to the back of his neck—to the scars peeking out over his bandages.

He inhales sharply and turns, catching my waist and dragging me against his body. Staring into my eyes, he takes another deep breath, his chest heaving.

“It’s okay,” I murmur, sliding my palms up the sides of his neck and over, until I can wrap my arms around him. “Just breathe. Breathe with me.”

We move to our own beat, neither of us listening to the electric guitar riffs or pounding drums, focusing instead on each other. The touch of his hand on my hip or across my ribs, his fingers dragging against my flesh. I weave my hands into his hair and pull, earning a grunt that doesn’t sound nearly as pained as it would for any other man. I scrape my nails over his scalp, and he groans deep in his chest, panting harshly against his mask.

Leaning up on my tiptoes, I rasp in his ear. “Do you want to stop?” My heart’s beating on overdrive, my body extraordinarily sensitive to his touch, his breath, every inch of his skin touching mine. He’s hot to the touch, his exposed skin flushed a peachy pink.

Hegrowls, lifting me up off the floor to hold me over his hips, aligning our bodies so that I can feel every hard inch of him pressing against my core. “Does it feel like I want to stop,krosotka?”

Wanton desire pulses through my veins, pooling between my thighs and making it hard to speak without my voice shaking. “N-no,” I pant, biting my bottom lip. “But are you sure?—”

“Stop asking,” he snarls. “I am as sure about this as I am about breathing.Stop. Asking.” Without warning, he wraps his arms tight around me and drops to his knees with a hardbang, catching me by such surprise that Isqueal.My heart pounds as I wrap my thighs around his hips and hold on to him for dear life.

With a chuckle, he lowers my back to the cool hardwood floor and scrapes the edge of his hard face mask against my neck, sparking fire across my skin. When he pulls away, he stares at whatever mark he’s made, his dark eyes glowing with desire. “Your skin,” he mumbles, pulling at my calves so that he can loosen my grip enough to reach between us. Once he’s made room, he slips his hand over his belt and undoes the buckle, pulling the leather free and snapping it in his hands.

My body jolts at the sound, my nipples pebbling into tight peaks. “What are you?—”

“Shh,” he beckons, settling his hips over mine and rocking, groaning at the friction it creates.

Pleasure shoots down my spine, making my eyes flutter.Fuck.That shouldn’t feel so good. I trap my bottom lip between my teeth as Ruin laces my hands together in a prayer pose, then binds my wrists together with his belt. Cinching it tight, he tucks the end through one of the loops and tests its hold, nodding once he’s satisfied.

“I want to feel you,” he murmurs, planting his palms on the back of my thighs andpushing, forcing my knees closer to my chest. I gasp at the stretch, knowing that I’ll pay for it in the morning, but unwilling to tell him to stop.

He latches onto the sound, his head tilting to the side. “Does that hurt?”

“A-a little.”

Releasing one of my legs, he snaps open the front button on my shorts and tears them open one-handed. Before we came downstairs for the evening, the brothers all agreed that even if no one was going to see what I was wearing underneath my clothes, it needed to be sexy so that I would feel sexy, a concept that they were clearly proud of. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that women were the ones who came up with that idea long before they had, but from the way Ruin’s pupils dilate upon seeing the scarlet lace hidden beneath my shorts, I have a feeling that the boys may have been lying about that part.

They really wanted me to wear lace for themselves.

Ruin grabs the hunting knife strapped to his thigh and pulls it from its sheath. “Stay still,” he tells me, pressing the flat side of the knife against my thigh. It’s cold, causing goosebumps to form around its touch. Staring at my raised flesh, Ruin tips the knife onto the dull edge and carves upward, applying enough pressure for me to feel the blade without the danger of it cutting my skin. He hums while he works, carving some kind of design into my flesh, the knife criss-crossing across my thigh, then over my stomach, around my bellybutton, then back down over the swell of my belly. He tips the sharp point to my panties, slipping it beneath the band and snapping the elastic with a flick of his wrist. With a grunt, he tears through the flimsy fabric, then switches focus to the black pleather digging into my thighs.

Booty shorts might be sexy for the first hour or two, but they sure as shit aren’t comfortable after that.

“Cut them off,” I whine, lifting my hips. My pussy throbs as he obliges, grabbing hold of one half of the zipper, pulling the material tight, and sawing through the middle. He tears through the rest, hastily shoving the fabric over my thighs so that it falls to the floor beneath us. His blade nicks my skin at the very end, a sudden prick of sharp pain that quickly turns into a burning heat.

Ruin freezes, his body going completely still.

“I’m okay,” I promise, wriggling on my back so that he knows how serious I am about that. Yes, the knife is scary, or it’s supposed to be—fuck, I don’t know, I just want my clothes off! “Please don’t stop?—”

His eyes snap to mine and he hisses through his teeth, suddenly grinding his erection against my pussy. I drag in a thick lungful of air as he digs in his heels and ruts against me, neither of us actually naked, but both of us on the same page about what we want.

“Take themoff,” I whine for a second time. “Please, take them off. Touch me, Ruin, I’m so—I’m so hot, baby. Please.”

With a groan, he drops the knife and lowers his body over mine. Wedging his hand between my thighs, he buries his fingers inside what’s left of my panties and cups my sex, sliding his fingers through my slick folds. “Always so wet,” he pants, thrusting his hips. The pressure pushes his fingertips past the threshold and inside of me, making my eyes roll back as he finally starts moving, working my pussy with his fingers and thrusting wildly, lost to a rhythm I can no longer hear. His cock grinds against my body, slotting in the curve where my thigh meets my pelvis, while I attempt to fuck myself on his fingers. It’s a fight for friction and pressure, both of us demanding more without working together to achieve it.

“Fuck,” he moans, his body trembling as he smothers mine. I feel his cock pulse with his release, the sticky seed caught in his boxers. I’m close but notthatclose, and my need tumbles past my lips as incoherent phrases and moans that come just short of begging.

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