Page 21 of Ruthless Redemption

The flashbacks play on a loop in my mind. The pleasure he’s given. The ecstasy he’s produced. Problem is, he also knows how to shatter me beyond recognition. Heartache has never been more potent. Shame consumes my every breath.

“Get away from me,” I seethe, my chin high.

“I can’t.” He reaches out, gliding a lone finger along the jacket lapel.

I stiffen, my head hating the contact, my tingling limbs exhibiting the opposite reaction, and my heart…Jesus Christ, the weak, pathetic organ falters.

It’s all a game. He wants me to cave. To submit. What I don’t understand is why? To prove he’s the almighty conqueror? To cement his victory and my pathetic existence?

Fuck him.

Whatever the reason, I can’t lose this time.

I straighten my shoulders, allowing the jacket to gape. I won’t let him know I’m daunted by a simple touch. By mere proximity. “I said, get away from me.”

His gaze lowers to take in my exposure, the slightest rumble of appreciation emanating from his chest. “I’ll never be able to walk away from you,amore mio.” His finger moves to the edge of the lapel, his skin making contact with mine along the inner curve of my breast.

I clench my teeth against the hardening of my nipples. I swallow over the explosion of rage.

I hate him for this. For the pleasure and the pain.

I despise the lust in his eyes. I loathe the confidence in his touch.

This is how he entrapped me the first time. He made me capitulate to adoration. To being wanted. Desired.

“I’ll make sure you don’t merely walk,” I promise. “You’ll run.”

His mouth lifts at one side, the grin making me see red. “Do I need to remind you your savagery has the opposite effect to your intentions?” His fingertip brushes my stomach, the touch sparking flames in my belly.

Fuck him.

Fuck everything about him—his enviable looks, his commanding presence, his sinful eroticism.

I never understood ecstasy until he entered my life. I hadn’t known what one person could stoke within another from mere words or brief glances. But when we were together—actually connected, body to body—the sensation was unlike anything I shared through years of marriage.

Only now, the zing Matthew provides is coated with a dark undercurrent of violence. A sinister, wicked intent, and I’m ashamed to admit it’s all the more alluring.

“Forgive me,” he murmurs, his hand trailing lower to my abdomen, then my mons.

I remain still, holding eye contact while he attempts to win me over.Screwme over.

I keep myself in check. Levelled breathing. Stiffened stance. I don’t show a flicker of the flames he’s stoking inside me.

I disassociate from my rampant pulse and aching breasts.

He sweeps his touch farther, his fingers parting to tease along the outer edges of my sex. “Forgive me,amore mio.”

My denial comes in the form of silence, the rejection loud between us.

“How can I redeem myself?” His breath brushes my lips, the scent of sweet alcohol teasing my senses. “What do I have to do?”

I fight a shudder, my pussy throbbing. I’m wet, my slickness dampening my inner thighs. “Your death is the only way to gain absolution.”

He doesn’t react. Not a flinch or a smirk in sight. He continues teasing those fingertips around the outside of my sex, increasing my need for oxygen.

He inches closer, his chest brushing mine as his mouth approaches my ear. “I would willingly die for you,amore mio.” The delicate sweep of his breath awakens a shiver along my neck. “But not without your forgiveness.”

“Then we’re at an impasse.”

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