Page 115 of Ruthless Redemption

“You taste like home, Layla.” He releases my ass, sliding a thumb to my entrance while his lips finally move to my clit. “You taste like you were made for me.”

And his mouth feels like it was created with the sole purpose of bringing me pleasure. I whimper at his mastery while he concentrates on that tiny bundle of nerves, flicking and sucking as I roll my hips with his penetration.

I’m greedy. Senseless.

I reach for his hair, sliding my hands through the strands, pulling tight. He’s exactly where I need him. His thumb right on that spot.

Over and over he hypes the perfection, building it higher and higher.

I burn for him. Blaze. And not once does he deviate from what he’s doing. Heknowshow good this is. He listens even though I don’t speak.

I’m already so close. Too close.

I pulse my hips against his thumb. I pull his hair with each delicious suck.

I’m going to come.

“Not yet.” He pulls back, reading my mind, kissing my inner thigh, taking away his heat.

I mewl. “No. Please. I was right there.”

He grins, kissing a trail to my abdomen, then over my stomach toward my breasts. They ache for his attention. All of me does. Every single inch of my body wants his lips. His hands. His gaze.

That smile tweaks higher. He’s devouring my torture.

“You’re enjoying this,” I muse. “You like watching me suffer.”

“I like watching you want me.” He mouths my breast above the sheer bra, his tongue flicking my nipple, nibbling it against the fabric.

“It’s more than want,” I pant. “It’s urgency. Necessity. I have to have you, Matthew.”

“And you will.” He grabs my bound wrists as he moves higher, dragging my arms over my head while his face meets mine. “You’llalwayshave me.”

He plasters our lips together, his free hand delving back between my thighs, his fingers sliding to my pussy, straight to my core.

I buck as we kiss, frantic and breathless.

He savors me like a treasure, like a gift, his hard cock adamant through his pants.

I can’t take anymore. My veins thrum. My head screams.

“Please,” I whimper. “Please.”

“God,that sound,” he murmurs against my lips. “You have no idea how much I hate denying you, but I fuckinglovethat you need me.”

“I do.” I nod, our noses nuzzling. “I need you. Inside me.Now.”

He slides off me in a sweeping vacuum of pleasure and stands. With intense eyes and rough movements, he shucks his pants, then his boxer briefs.

He towers before me, a man carved in muscle and held together by volatility. A beast scarred by trauma and built with strength.

I drag my gaze over every inch of magnificence—the light sheen of hair across his chest, the chiseled stomach. My exploration stops at the top of his right thigh.

“What happened?” A multitude of cuts mar his skin. Small. Savage. Deep.

He leans down to crawl back over me, taking one of my legs with him, hooking it over his shoulder to expose my sex as he bends me like a pretzel.

“Matthew? What happened to your thigh?”

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