Page 44 of Bound By Ruin

Hers is shining like a lantern in the dead of night, guiding me with each flicker of its warmth, coaxing me closer, until finally, our two souls collide.

My body slips inside of hers and the heat building in my core suddenly bursts, my cock jerking like a loaded gun finally emptying its chamber. I drag in thick lungfuls of air, but all I can taste is the precious salt of her skin and the heavy earth of her body, dragging me underground.

Rebel has always described sex as this burning, aching need; a desire whose thirst can never be quenched.

But as Celia’s lips fall over mine, crashing like ocean waves against the shore, meeting me stroke for slick stroke, I find that it’s the opposite.

Cool and dark, damp and soft. Everything I crave.

Her lips touch mine, and I forget how to breathe. I don’t want to—content to stay in the darkness for as long as her body is curled around mine, our souls mingling while our hearts drum to a shared beat. As Celia pushes me onto my back and straddles my waist, the edges of my vision fade out of focus until all I can see, all I can feel, is her body touching mine. I’m bleeding—my favorite knife having kissed my own skin—and Celia cares more than I do, constantly trying to stem the flow. Once she finally relents, I dirty her body, painting her palm and then weaving my crimson fingers through her hair, pulling her down, down, down—back beneath the cool earth, where everything is better.

With her.

Just the two of us.

She seems to think that our time is limited, muttering something about bandaging my wounds and reaching for her dress. I grab her wrist, determined to keep her. “No.” Her face turns toward me, and I pull her in for another taste, repeating the word against her lips.No.

We’re not leaving yet.

Quickly fixing my button and belt, I shove my dick back inside my pants and I lift Celia off the ground, anchoring her to my hips and sprinting to the back of the room. She latches onto my body, her legs wrapping around my waist and her arms clinging to my shoulders. I breathe in the salt of her skin, licking her neck with a groan.

I don’t know how I’ve lived without tasting her.

“Where are we going?” She lifts her head to look around, but the room is still dark. She won’t be able to guess our destination until we’re there.

And then it will be too late to run.

The best thing about gaining someone’s trust is that breaking it becomes as easy as breaking someone’s finger. They hold out their hand for you to take, and you snap their digits at the knuckle before they realize the danger they’re in. The shock. The screams. The fear.

A shiver rolls down my spine as I carry Celia up the stairs hidden behind the raised platform. I’m sure that the gymnasts occupying this space for the show tonight have a playbook for both entertainment and safety, keeping within the confines of each so that no one in the audience or their troupe gets hurt, but until they arrive, this place—in all its darkness and vast emptiness—ismine.

Just like Celia.

We make it to the top of the platform, and she’s still holding onto me, the unsteady trill of her heartbeat making me smile. “Close your eyes,” I instruct, waiting to approach the ledge until she obeys. I peer over the edge at the safety net hanging below, knowing that the two-story drop will scare most people—Celia likely included. It’s tempting to throw her over without warning, but I want to see the spark of fear in her eyes up close.

Carefully setting her down onto her bare feet, I keep one arm wrapped around her waist as I reach for a silk strand hanging from a metal bar nearby. There are multiple colors to choose from, but I grab the closest one without caring for the aesthetic.

Just seeing Celia bound at the wrists will be pleasurable enough.

“Hold still.” I take her wrists in my hands and bring them together at the front, quickly wrapping them in the silk and tying a tight knot. It’s not as pretty as rope, but it does the trick, sending a shiver of anticipation down my spine. I’ve always pictured Celia bound by pretty red rope as I watch her sleep in that fluffy white bed of hers, both of our desires satiated while she sleeps.

I know that she craves safety and stability after her ex-husband’s mistreatment, and my brothers want to give that to her. She’ll be satisfied while in a relationship with them. My wants, however, will expand her desires until we want the same thing.

To covet one another—completely, irrevocably,permanently.

I want her brand on my soul as much as I want mine on hers.

“Ruin?” Her voice is a tight, little whisper of doubt. “What, um, what are you doing?”

With one hand holding her bound wrists and the other brushing the curtain of hair off of her face, I press my forehead to hers and close my eyes, exhaling every ounce of air from my lungs. I hold my breath and count my heartbeats for a long moment, enjoying the silence surrounding us. It’s peaceful up here, more so than hovering over the casino next door was. I speak without replenishing my oxygen, scraping my voice across her skin. “Taking. And giving.” My next breath pulses in my veins, and I release it across her rosy cheek. “I’m giving you everything,krosotka.”

Everything that I know to give.

She opens her eyes and stares into mine, the brush of her breath on my lips a gift that I greedily take, inhaling as deeply as I can. Then she looks around, taking in our location and tilting her head back to stare up at the ceiling—not nearly so far away as from down below on the mat. The pale light shines in her eyes, the glow of color matching the lavender silk tied to her wrists. “What—” She swallows and starts again. “What are we doing up here? Isn’t it dangerous?”

The lilt of fear in her voice is the sweetest music to my ears.

I carefully wrap the tail of silk around her waist and over her hips, cutting between her thighs and spiraling around each one before tying another knot around her ankles. She stands perfectly still for me, resting her bound wrists across my shoulders as kneel at her feet. The silk slides across her skin as perfectly as her dress does—better, even, digging into her flesh so that it bulges around the banding. I press a kiss to the sides of her calves, then to the tips of her kneecaps, up her plush thighs and over her soft stomach. As I stand, I cup her breast in my hand and squeeze, enjoying the pucker of her nipple and the goosebumps that surround it. When I bend to kiss her there, she gasps, trembling as I wrap my lips around the stiff bud and swirl my tongue over it. She keens low, the sound catching in the back of her throat.

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