Page 114 of Unholy Bonds

His hand came around my throat.

“Harder,” I moaned. He had always been careful not to hurt me, but I wanted him to. I wanted him to show me pain, the good kind of pain. I wanted to jump out of my head and forget everything else that was outside this room. I only wanted to remember the good things and him.

His fingers tightened, and I groaned. My fingers clawed down his back, making him hiss. He pushed me down on the marble counter and stared at me with a smile that melted my body.

“This is where you’ll be eating… we’ll be eating.” I protested.

“Yes. Eating you.” His eyes were scorching, and my body heated in response.

His hands parted my legs, and then he was running his tongue around my clit, over and over again, his movement soft and decisive. It wasn’t what he did; it was how he did it. His tongue was gentle yet firm, teasing as it moved around me, stimulating me. Slow, steady… perfectly in tune with my movements.

“You taste delicious. So fucking delicious. It would take me another lifetime to forget your scent, your taste.”

Fuck you, Ryden Sinclair. Fuck you for doing this.

That’s what you are doing exactly, Kat scoffed.

“The water… is boiling,” I screamed as I came.

As he stood up from between my thighs and walked toward the pot, I knew it would take me a long, long time to get over Ryden Sinclair when this… whatever the hell this was, would end.

He switched off the oven and stove and turned toward me with a shake of his head. “You’re a bad influence, Yara,” he said, quickly preparing the béchamel sauce for the pasta, adding a generous dollop of butter.

“I try,” I said, stretching on the table with a contented sigh.

“Come on. The food I promised is still waiting for you,” he said as he stirred the pot of pasta twice, then added the vegetables. Soon, the whole place was filled with the scent of food.

He grabbed the plates and set the table. “Dig in,” he said, his eyes directly on mine.

I bit into the chicken coated with spice and melted cheese with a moan, and his eyes widened with appreciation and pride. “Oh God, you’re good at this. You’re good at everything.”

“I know,” he said with a wink as he motioned me to eat, studying my face. “Try the pasta.”

I grabbed the spoon and the fork with an enthusiastic smile. Never taking my eyes off him, I pushed the fork between my lips and pulled the pasta out with my tongue, and it was his turn to moan.

“You’re doing that on purpose.”

“I know,” I winked. It was completely silent as we continued to eat. The kind of silence that didn’t need to be littered with unwanted, unneeded words.

“Ryden?” I whispered when we were done eating.

“Yes, baby?” The way he said it made me feel like this was something that could… become something more, but I couldn’t believe that. I wasn’t delusional.

I leaned closer to him and rubbed the small scar by his lower lip with a sigh.

“What happened here?”

“The scar?” he asked, his voice soft as if he didn’t want to disturb the peaceful moment that hung around us like a blanket.

“Yes. The scar.”

“My father happened. Just like yours.” His voice was so tense I didn’t want to prod more, but I felt a strange sense of kinship with him.

We were… kindred souls in our own twisted, deranged way.

“He’s a bastard, just like yours, as well.”

“He’s still alive,” I said.

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