Page 31 of Savage Sin

A claiming bite sinks into the flesh of my bottom lip. I arch and all my muscles scream for me to stop, but I can’t.

I easily fall prey to his demand when his touch moves up and he winds my long hair around a fist. I’m locked into place with nowhere to go. Not that it is an option, anyway. Foreplay is over. It’s all or nothing with this man. I should have known. I shouldn’t have caved to my curiosities.

His demanding lips take mine. Not gently either. His tongue forces my lips apart and we both groan as his tongue strokes over mine. I was right. Sin and vodka. And not a single taste of remorse. Rippling muscles and the hard ridge of his cock pressing into my thigh pull at my attention.

My heart thuds at the hunger fusing the blue of his eyes. Is he manipulating me in return? Taunting me? My gut says yes, but the part of me hungry for someone’s kind touch drives me to crave his hands on my body.

He breathes out. The brush of hot air is soft against my cheek. He spreads my thighs farther and moves his massive weight over me. Long legs, rippling muscles and the feel of his lips back on my neck have me wishing I could touch him. His arousal is hard to miss, but so is the longing in his eyes when he looks at me.

“What is your name?” I ask.

Blonde hair falls over his forehead. He blinks slowly through the golden strands. Angling his head, he presses a kiss to the edge of my lips as if he’s sealing a silent promise. “Rage.”

“Fitting.” I say before thinking about it.

“What does that mean?”

“You’re a violent man with a violent name. Fitting.”

“Have I hurt you?” Smoldering eyes caress my face.

“You’ve kept me tied to bed for nearly a week,” I counter.

And with that, he pushes his weight from atop my body. Kneeling over me, it’s easy to see the hard line of his cock fighting the confines of his jeans. He’s just as affected as I am.

I had all the intentions of asking who he is avenging, but the way he cares for me pushes thoughts into my head that I have no business thinking.

“Yes,” he husks. Those strong fingers release my hair and move to my throat.

Yes, what? I scrabble to think back on my questions.

He peers down at my body in a slow glide of interest. “You scare me. You’re a distraction I didn’t anticipate. An angel. A warrior.” He looks pointedly at the gash in my side and the few scattered scars littered over the lower half of my body. And then the ones on my thighs.

I feel the honesty in his answer.

“You make me weak.” And then the gentle touch to my pulse points tightens. He’s not choking me. I can still breathe. But it wouldn’t take much for him to end me. My heart beats so fast the rush of blood in my veins roars in my ears. Out of fear or excitement is the embarrassing question I refuse to answer.

“But don’t worry. I can fuck you and still stay on task.” Dimples appear and the grin on his lips has my hand itching to smack him across the face so hard I alter his DNA.

Now I know he’s toying with me.

“Fuck you, asshole!”

The sponge is back in his hand.

“The shirt has to go.”

My heart skyrockets to the moon. “No. Just let me shower and you don’t have to do all this.”

But it’s like I’m not talking because the next thing I know, the binding on one wrist is gone and so is my shirt.

Cool, conditioned air hits my nipples and we both stare at each other, trying to gauge the other’s next move. I throw my arm over my chest, but he snatches it away. He starts with my open palm and lingers there a minute before dragging the sponge up the inside of my arm.

And then over my breasts. With only one arm free, I can’t sit up or properly fight back. And to be honest, a sponge bath isn’t all bad.

He rinses the sponge and returns to cleanse the rest of my body, his eyes never leaving my face. His scent fills my nostrils. Soap, vanilla. Something warm and masculine. Like plums cooked in brown sugar. Probably trying to wash off all the lingering sin and guilt in his latest shower.

I want to laugh at myself. Nah. This man doesn’t feel shame for anything.

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