Page 21 of Trick of the Flesh
His throat bobs, and the words come out hoarse. He swallows once, then. “I’m yours.”
It’s shaky, but it’s there.
Mine.
Fucking finally.
My pulse pounds hot and steady. I’vechased him through shadows, pinned him against walls, stripped him down with words—but nothing tastes as sweet as this.
I press closer, chest to chest, my lips hovering over his. “You don’t know what that means.”
He flinches but doesn’t pull away. “Then show me.”
For a heartbeat, the woods seem to lean in with us. The silence is absolute. Just him and me, and the ragged breaths binding us together.
I let the moment stretch until his jaw trembles under my grip, until his thighs press tight around my knee, until he squirms with need he can’t deny.
Then I give him my smile—the one that promises ruin. “Careful, pretty boy. Monsters don’t give back what they take.”
“I don’t care anymore.” His voice cracks, but his eyes burn steady now, like he’s past the point of turning back. “I can’t—stop thinking about you. I don’t want to.”
That confession nearly undoes me.
I let my forehead drop against his, skin to skin at last. “I’ve never stopped thinking about you. Ever since that night.”
My hand trails down, slow, deliberate—his throat, his chest, pausing just above his racing heart. He’s trembling so hard he can’t hide it anymore.
“You’re mine now.” My voice is a growl, a promise and threat all at once. “No running. No hiding. You said it—you’re mine.”
His breath catches, lips parting helplessly. “Kiss me again, Miggy. Show me I’m yours.”
His words hit me like fire to dry tinder. I don’t hesitate. I crash my mouth onto his, rough and hungry, a growl rising in my throat. He opens for me instantly, desperate for anything and everything, his lips slick under mine, and I don’t hold back. My teeth scrape, drawing blood, swiping it up, and then my tongueclaims dominance over his, and I pin him harder against the tree just to feel him shudder.
He tastes like fear and need, salt, and sweetness all tangled together in the perfect package. I drag my hands up his arms and slam his wrists above his head, holding him there while I devour him. He gasps into my mouth, but he doesn’t fight. No—he arches, surrendering, begging with every little sound he makes.
They are the only noises I want to hear now.
“You think you’re ready for this?” I rasp against his mouth, nipping his bottom lip hard enough to make him flinch. “You think you know what you’re asking me for?”
“Yes,” he breathes, voice breaking. “I want it. I wantyou.”
I’m done for.
He wants me.
I drag his wrists together in one hand, digging into my back pocket with the other. The thin, rough coil of rope brushes my fingers, and I smirk against his lips.
“Then you’re going to learn what it means to belong to me.” I yank the rope free, loop it quickly, and bind his wrists together above his head. He gasps, trembling as the fibers scrape his skin. I tie the knot tight, testing it, making sure he’s not going anywhere.
His chest heaves, his eyes wide but shining. Not with fear—but with unbridled want.
“Look at you,” I growl, stepping back just enough to drink him in. “All tied up, just the way you’ve always needed. Didn’t even take much convincing, did it?”
“Shut up,” he whispers, but there’s no heat in it. His cheeks are a beautiful scarlet, his pupils blown wide, making his normally blue eyes appear black.
I grab his jaw, forcing him to meet my gaze. “Don’t tell me to shut up, little brother. You asked for this. You begged me.” Mythumb presses hard against his chin until he whimpers. “My pretty little slut, aren’t you? Go on, tell me what you are.”
His lips tremble, but the words come, soft and desperate, “I’m your pretty little slut.”
