Page 92 of When Sinners Fall
My heart races - pounding hard against my chest as he spells out just how desperate I can be for this man. And hearing the words only turns me on more. My legs itch to widen. To tell him I want him. To show him how much I want to feel him.
“Dante.” The words come out scratchy and raw with need.
“Do you want more?”
“Yes,” I whimper.
“Do you want to be mine?”
“Yes! I’m yours,” I shout.
I can’t move my arms or my legs, but I want to touch him. I want to throw my arms around his neck and force his hand. He’s been toying with me all night.
“Before I fuck you and make you come so hard, you’ll ache for a week, there's one more thing I need from you.” His voice rumbles low and sexy.
“Anything,” I plead.
“It's gonna hurt you, Wren Bird. You still like being scared?”
“Dante?”
My voice isn’t as confident as it was just a moment before.
I jump slightly as something brushes my neck.
He chuckles. Dark and low. “How's that fear feel?” My body responds, writhing with need. I don't know whether it's the fear, the freedom in our darkness, or the agony of anticipation between my thighs.
His chest presses against my exposed body, and I absorb the comfort from him. “You still trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then let me do this.” His voice sounds sincere as if he’s giving me a piece of him.
“Dante?”
“Shhh.” He grips my jaw and pulls off the blindfold. The room is in near darkness, but my eyes start to adjust to some of the dim light from the corridor. He’s staring at me, pleading with his eyes. “I fucking love you. Always. Remember that.” He slams his lips against mine, devouring me. And then he slips the blindfold back, putting me back in the dark.
The room falls silent, just the faint thrum of the music filtering in. And then I smell it. Fire, or charcoal. It’s familiar, and I immediately think of him as I breathe it in. We’ve seen a wax play scene before, early on, and it mesmerised me. The anticipation of the drop of molten wax, the pain and relief… I don’t know what Dante is planning now, though. I’m literally in the dark, and that only heightens the experience.
“You’re my everything, Wren. My obsession, my desire, my love.”
“And you're mine,” I say, knowing that I’m unable to do anything but think the same.
“Nothing will be able to show you that more than this.”
“Yes.” His words are like foreplay, working me up.
“Let me mark you. Let me mark your skin, so you know.”
“Yes.” The word is out of my lips before I know it, but at that moment, that’s all I can think of. All I want. Like this will somehow make everything else better.
“Keep still, Wren Bird. Really fucking still. You understand?”
“Yes,” I say confidently, but I snatch a breath in anticipation.
Red-hot pain scorches my skin, and I clench my teeth together in pain as all the blood rushes to my head. I can’t breathe, I can’t move, and then my scream tears free, unable to be contained, and fills the room until there is no breath left in my lungs.
It’s over in a few seconds, and as soon as whatever he’s touched me with is gone, I sag against my bindings as if they're the only things holding me up. And that’s when it hits me - the smell. It's not the same charcoal notes that I associate with Dante. It's acrid. Almost pungent.
