Page 47 of Scavenger's Oath
I nod. Because of course I want him to think I believe him.
Zane didn't want me. Phoenix isn’t remotely interested. God knows I need their help, and Myles is the one obsessed, the reason I’m here. Safe… well, safe-ish.
His hand slides down my neck, fingers traveling across my front, ghosting over my nipples. They harden at his touch, but he moves lower to find my waist.
I’m horrified that I have to suppress a gasp as my body tingles, the sensation trickling down my spine.
Maybe he’ll pass over them again if I’m patient.
I hate that it feels so good. That I want him to do it again.But God, I do.
This is the gentlest I've ever seen him. As if he's studying a bomb, exploring, not wanting to shatter me too soon.
My breath hitches when his hand shifts, tracing along the waistband of my oversized drawstring pants. Tension simmers, charging the air with something electric.
Should I stop him?
CouldI stop him?
Do I want to?
Some part of me is curious about how someone like him—someone built for violence—can make my body respond this way.
When his hand slips beneath the fabric, I bite my lip to stop the sound that wants tocome out.
His fingers don’t tremble like Zane’s did, and I realise something that scares me more than anything else... he knowsexactlywhat he's doing to me.
I should be ashamed, but I'm not.
There's no room for shame in this heat.
Myles growls, the sound rumbling low in his chest, as his fingers brush over the sensitive flesh between my legs. Then they dip deeper, into the wetness pooling at my centre.
He freezes, chest heaving, and looks down at where his hand is buried in my pants.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You're wet for me?”
His fingers slide over my pussy again, deeper this time, like he's struggling to hold onto that last bit of self-control.
As he rubs slow circles around my clit, my thighs open wider by themselves. A gasp escapes my lips as a heady sensation builds.
I can't help myself. I’m desperate, unravelling at the seams.
It doesn't go unnoticed.
“There she is,” he murmurs. “Already aching for me.”
In a flash, he snatches his hand out, kicking away his chair. I yelp as he yanks my pants down, dragging me across the bed on my back. I end up with my ass pressed against the bars, trousers around my ankles.
Shamefully eager, I flex my feet to help him take the sweatpants off me.
Is it so wrong that I might actually want to be his ‘good girl’?
Tossing my pants across the room, he pulls one of my legs between the bars.
I’m left panting, fear renewed as my new position leaves me completely at his mercy.
But I only find myself wetter.
