Page 47 of Savage Sin

I want to dredge the energy to fight and wrangle my rebellion back from the coffin it fell into, but it’s not happening. Not tonight, anyway. Days of pure adrenaline cranking through my bloodstream have left me washed out. The wound on my side isn’t helping. At least it doesn’t feel as raw.

I reach for a fruity red shampoo, but he takes it from me. In seconds, he’s got a thick lather in my hair, massaging the scalp until I admittedly agree to just about anything right this second. He applies the conditioner I skipped earlier and then sets to washing me with a shower gel that smells like summer in a bottle. Sunshine, peaches and smiles. It’s in deep contrast to all the angst, fear, and darkness I’ve lived in for so long.

Rage smooths his rough hands over the slope of my shoulders, arms, and down my sore calves. Years of callus build-up feel better than any plush bath sponge I’ve ever purchased.

He takes his time washing my feet and inspecting the few cuts and bruises from my fruitless attempts at fighting him tonight.

He briskly washes himself. I’m tempted to help, but watching his hands move over his body is a sight I want to relish as long as I can. Cut lines, deep grooves make up the perfect masculine body. The nipple piercings are a beautiful touch I didn’t know I liked in a man until right this second.

My eyes follow his hands down and that is when I see it. I forget to breathe for several seconds. His hand continues to move over the long length of his cock, which is gloriously aroused. Thick, veined and begging me to taste the pre-cum dripping from the tip.

But it’s the Prince Albert piercing that has me moving forward and wrapping my hand around his.

I hold his gaze a moment before easing to my knees.

“Persephone, wait.”

“No.”

I take the body gel, gather a handful, and take him in hand. Working him from base to tip, I use a firm grip and work him slowly.

My name falls from his lips. Water runs everywhere, and it’s hard to hear his groans over the pounding of the shower.

I look up the length of his body and marvel at the sight of his head tilted back and his muscles flexing.

His hips flex and he drives into my hand. He moves back into the water and the second the soap is gone, my lips wrap around the bulbous head. I take him deep, not stopping until he hits the back of my throat.

“Hermosa prinsessa,” he groans and lifts my wet hair from my face. He sinks in and pulls out, the balls on either side of the piercing gliding against the sides of my cheeks. Just when he is about to pull out, I flick the tip of his dick with my tongue that has him pulling me from the shower floor.

“Woman, who the fuck taught you that?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, which is a good thing, because I don’t have one. I just did what felt natural. His lips are on mine and he steals everything from me for those fast, few seconds. All my thoughts and definitely all the air in my lungs.

He finally breaks the kiss, both of us panting.

He moves his hands beneath my breasts, taking the weight expertly. He turns me around and my head falls back against his shoulder. He caresses them, massaging and working me with his long fingers. Under his captivating touch, my nipples turn rock hard. With a far gentler touch than I expect from a man of his nature, he turns me back to face him. I look on as he squeezes out more soap and gently takes the weight of my breasts in his hands again, and this time, he rubs those palms over my nipples.

“Rage?” Not that I didn’t see where this was going, but some part of my heart wants to beg for him to erase my life from this point backward and give me new memories. But how do I put that into words when I have no right to put that kind of burden on him? But…I wish.

The rest of me screams for me to wake up. Get real. This is a bubble and when it bursts, I need to hold on or die. Life really is that simple.

Tears mix with shower water to slide down my cheek. He brushes at them with a soaped-up thumb.

“I need you to fuck me like you hate me, Rage. Make me feel your pain. Break my heart and make me bleed.” I want to feel anything but this desire to fall in his arms and ask to be loved.

Yet I can’t help but wonder if I can truly fall in love in a single night.

Twelve

Persephone

He gives me a look of pure, raw, soul-scorching lust. “No, baby. You need someone to take your pain, not give you more.”

Strong fingers grip my bare ass and I am hauled up and pressed to the back of the shower. I hook my legs around his waist. Steam warms the tiles, but the cool conditioned air from the overhead vents mixed with my arousal has my nipples teasing the dark lines of his ink.

His eyes drop and the second the heat of his gaze caresses over the peaks, another wave of warmth pools between my legs. I reach out and trail a finger over vines and barbed wire curving around his massive biceps all the way to his throat.

I lean forward and bury my head against his neck. I lift my ass and reach between us, taking him in hand. I tighten my fingers around him and brush my thumb over the tip before tracing the bar of metal piercing his length.

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