Page 25 of Ravaged and Ruined
I crawl over her like the fucking animal I am and rip the damn dress clean off of her.
“Now,” I growl, my eyes roaming over what’s left underneath. “You’re gonna take the rest, Bambola. Every damn inch until it registers in the pretty little head of yours.”
And she smiles like she was born to be ruined by me.
Chapter Eleven
Lacey
My throat burns, my eyes sting, and my knees ache from the rough carpet, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. Not with the way he’s looking at me, like I’m something precious he wants to ruin. Like I’m his.
With the way Aero is standing over me, I can’t be entirely sorry about today. I’ve always loved to dance. Not just the movement, but the way men watch me when I do. The way their eyes darken, their jaws clench, like I’m stirring every cardinal sin they’ve ever tried to resist. Like Aero is looking at me now. I learned early on what men want, what they crave. I learned how to read the heat in their gaze, how to give them what they needed, how to be what they needed but I’ve never felt more owned in my life than I do in this moment and God help me, I love it. I love him.
Aero’s grip tightens in my hair, and my body responds with a sharp, pulsing need. The heat of his skin, the dark, threatening rumble of his voice, God, it drives me wild. I give him everythinghe craves. My touch, my hunger, my mouth. I offer it willingly, wanting and needing it just as bad.
The way he sounds, hoarse and unhinged, barely holding himself together ignites something primal in me. I want more of that. More of him.
I tighten my lips over him, moaning as he pulses against the flick of my tongue. I love the way his breath catches, and how his muscles go taut, like he’s holding himself back. That’s the part that screws with my head. Because Aero doesn’t hold back. Not for anyone.
His hand fists tighter, and I can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.
“Fuck,” he grits out, his voice rough and edged with restraint. The sound of it sends a jolt straight through me. My breath catches as heat floods low in my belly. I squeeze my thighs together, a weak attempt to soothe the throb that’s already there, pulsing with every heartbeat.
His release hits the back of my throat, and I swallow him down, the taste of him only stoking the fire that’s burning through me. “Look at you. Taking it like you were made for me.”
I look up at him from my knees, his predator stare is locked on mine, dark, hungry, possessive. His cock glistens with my spit, hot and rigid, pulsing like it’s nowhere near finished with me yet.
He drags his thumb across my jaw and tilts my head up higher. “You got something to say now, Bambola?”
I hate that name. I love that name. It makes my stomach flip every time he uses it.
I glare up at him, daring him to push harder, “You gonna finish what you started?” I’m burning alive with my need for him and I don’t want it to stop. “Or is that all you got?”
Aero pulls me up onto my shaky legs. I can feel the wet heat pooling between my thighs, my panties are soaked, my body clenching and aching for him.
His mouth crashes onto mine before I can catch my breath, his tongue sliding in deep, claiming me like he owns every inch. I moan into him, his body hard and hot, pressing against every part of me.
“I’m not done,” his breath claims the air from my lungs. “Not even close.”
He spins us, tossing me back on the mattress like he can’t wait another damn second. I land with a gasp.
He looms over me, one knee pressing into the mattress between my thighs as his hands grip the thin fabric of my dress. He yanks hard, ripping the dress in two, baring me completely to his hungry gaze. His breath hits my skin like fire, and I swear I melt even more.
“Now,” His gaze drags over my parted thighs. “You’re gonna take the rest, Bambola. Every damn inch until it registers in that pretty little head of yours. You’re mine, Bambola.”
I grab the collar of his cut and yank him back into me, crashing my mouth to his. He groans against my lips, biting down before deepening the kiss, and the force of it knocks my head back into the headboard but I don’t care.
His calloused hands roam down my sides, scraping across my skin and making me arch into him. One hand slides up my back, unhooking my bra with a flick of his fingers before he pulls it off and tosses it aside. His mouth follows the trail, his teeth grazing my sensitive flesh as he hooks his thumbs in my panties and pulls them down slowly. He strips me of everything, my clothes, my defiance, my walls.
When his mouth grazes across my collarbone, I realize I’ve never really belonged to anyone before. A soft whimper escapes my lips when he pulls away.
I blink up at him, breathless, my lips swollen, my heart pounding in my chest, “What…?”
“You feel that?” he grinds his hips against my belly, his cock thick and hard. “That’s what you do to me, Bambola.”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to. He knows I feel it. He knows I want it.
He yanks off his cut and tosses it across the room. Then, reaching over his head, he pulls off his shirt slow enough for me to see the tension in every flex of muscle. I reach for his pants still nestled on his waist, but he grabs my wrist and pins it above my head again.
