Page 51 of His Savage Ruin
Marco gets Romeo to his feet—carefully, supporting most of the man's weight against his own body—and half-carries, half-drags him down the corridor in the direction of the infirmary. Their footsteps fade gradually until I can't hear them anymore. The severed fingertip stays where it landed against the wall trim, small and pale and somehow obscene in its normalcy.
Then it's just the two of us. Me and Alessia and the blood spreading slowly across the white marble in dark puddles.
She drops her hand from her mouth finally. Her lips have gone bloodless, pressed together in a thin line. "You mutilated him."
"I punished him for breaking the rules."
"For talking to me." Her voice shakes with barely controlled emotion. " You took his finger for that."
"For touching you without permission," I correct, and I keep my voice level even though the memory of his knuckles against her collarbone makes me want to go find him in the infirmary and take the rest of his hand. "For crossing boundaries that exist for a reason. You are not his to touch, Alessia."
"I'm not a thing to be owned, Matteo."
"I never said you were." I close the distance between us in three long strides, and she backs up instinctively until she hits the wall with nowhere left to retreat. "But you're under my protection in my house, and that means certain rules apply whether you like them or not. And you clearly told him to stop, but he didn’t listen. That alone, would have been reason enough for me."
"That doesn't give you the right?—"
"It gives me every right." I plant my hands on the wall on either side of her head. "Every man in this house knows what you are to me."
Her breathing has gone shallow and rapid, her chest rising and falling too quickly. "And what am I to you?"
The question catches me off guard, and for a moment I don't know how to answer because the truth is complicated and dangerous and I'm not ready to examine it too closely." I'm responsible for you. And when my men forget that, I remind them."
"By taking their fingers." It's not a question this time.
"By showing mercy." I lean in closer, until my mouth is nearly touching her ear. "I could have taken his entire hand. His arm. His life. That finger is kindness,Principessa, and the fact that you don't recognize it as such just means you don't understand the world you're living in yet. They’re not working in a fucking flower shop."
"I understand you're a monster."
"Yes." I don't deny it. " And the sooner you accept that, the easier it’ll be."
"I'll never?—"
I kiss her before she can finish the sentence, crushing whatever protest she was forming against my mouth. She makes a sound of surprise or anger and immediately pushes at my chest with both hands, her nails scraping through the fabric of my shirt trying to reach skin underneath.
I fist my hand in her hair and tilt her head back sharply, angling her face exactly the way I want it, and kiss her deeper until I feel some of the fight start to drain out of her body.
She bites my bottom lip. Hard enough to break the skin, hard enough that I taste the copper bloom of blood in my mouth.
The sharp pain makes me groan and press harder against her, and I let her feel through our clothes exactly what her defiance and her violence do to me because denying it would be pointless when my body gives me away this obviously."You can fight me with everything you have," I murmur against her bloodied mouth. "But your body knows the truth."
My hand slides up her thigh, pushing her skirt higher as I go. She tries to twist away but there's nowhere for her to go, just solid wall at her back and my body blocking her in front. When my fingers brush against the silk between her legs, I find her wet. Soaked through the fabric.
"See?" I press my palm firmly against her heat through the damp silk, feeling her pulse against my hand. "You can hate me all you want,principessa. You can call me a monster and mean every word of it. But this part of you doesn't lie to me."
"Stop—"
"No." I hook my fingers into the waistband of her silk and pull the fabric aside roughly, feel her slick and hot directly against my skin. "You don't really want me to stop. You just think you should."
I push two fingers inside her without any more warning and she cries out, her head falling back against the wall hard enough that the impact must hurt. Her inner walls clench around my fingers immediately, tight and slick, trying to draw me deeper even as her mouth still forms protests.
"That's it," I murmur, starting to work her with slow and deliberately thorough strokes. "Let me hear those sounds you make."
Her nails dig into my shoulders now, but she's not trying to push me away anymore. She's holding on, using me for balance as her knees start to shake and her legs begin to give out under her. "Matteo?—"
"Say it again. I want to hear my name in your mouth."
"Matteo, please?—"
