Page 58 of His Savage Ruin
My pulse is hammering for a completely different reason now and I can barely hold myself from kissing him.
"You're mine," he growls, pressing his forehead to mine. There’s roughness in his voice and it makes something in my chest crack open. "And the sooner you learn your place, the better."
His hips grind against my thigh, and I feel the hard length of him through his trousers. Shame floods through me, because even now, with blood on his sleeve and lies between us, my body softens against him, betraying every protest my mind tries to form.
He tears me away from the door, and suddenly I'm falling. The mattress catches me, bouncing under my weight. For one heartbeat, he just stands there, chest heaving, eyes dark with something that makes my throat close.
Then he's on me.
His hands find my blouse and fabric tears—buttons scattering across hardwood with small, musical pings. Cool air hits my skin, tightening my nipples instantly. His gaze drops to my breasts, and heat floods my cheeks. Being seen like this, exposedand wanting, feels more dangerous than anything else he's done to me.
His mouth closes over one breast, and a sound tears from my throat before I can stop it. His tongue circles my nipple, then his teeth graze—not quite pain, but close enough to make lightning shoot straight between my thighs. My hands reach for him instinctively, needing something to hold onto, but he catches my wrists and pins them above my head.
The position arches my back, presses my breasts higher toward his mouth. Helpless. On display.
"Let me go," I gasp, even as my hips lift toward him searching his heat.
"Do you really want me to let go,principessa?" His free hand slides down my body, pushing up my skirt. "Or are you lying to both of us?"
It looks like we both know I am a big fat liar because there’s nowhere I’d rather be right now.
His fingers hook into my panties and pull. The tear echoes obscenely in the quiet room. And then his hand is between my thighs, and I'm already wet, already aching, and there's no hiding it.
He pauses. His fingers slide through my wetness, and shame burns hot in my chest.
"Look at you," he murmurs, not mocking but something darker. Something reverent. "Your body knows what it wants, even when you won't admit it."
I turn my face away, unable to meet his eyes while his fingers are on me, knowing exactly how much I want this.
"Eyes on me, Alessia."
I force myself to look at him. His gaze holds mine as his fingers circle my clit, and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. The sensation is electric, overwhelming, made worse by the way he watches me like he's cataloging every reaction.
"Tell me to stop," he says quietly. "Say the word, and I will."
The offer hangs between us, genuine and terrifying. Because we both know I won't. Can't.
"Don't stop," I whisper, and his expression shifts—satisfaction mixed with something that looks almost like relief.
His fingers move with purpose now, circling and pressing until I'm writhing beneath him, hips bucking against his hand. My wrists strain against his grip, wanting to touch him, to claim some measure of control, but he holds firm.
"Let go," he murmurs against my neck. "I've got you."
The words shouldn't work. Shouldn't make me feel safe when I'm pinned beneath a man who's kept me prisoner. But somehow they do, and the pressure coiling in my core winds tighter, tighter?—
The orgasm crashes over me without warning. My back arches, a cry tearing from my throat as pleasure rips through me in waves that leave me shaking. He doesn't stop, drawing it out until I'm gasping, undone.
When I finally come back to myself, he's staring down at me with an intensity that makes my breath catch all over again.
He releases my wrists to reach for something on the nightstand. Silk—a strip of black fabric I recognize from before.
"I want to blindfold you," he says, voice rough.
Everything in me goes cold and still. My breath catches, and suddenly I'm back in Lorenzo's bedroom, his hand over my mouth, darkness pressing in while he?—
"No." The word comes out sharp, panicked. My hands fly up instinctively, pushing at his chest. "No, I need to see you."
He freezes. Studies my face with those too-knowing eyes, and I hate that he can read the fear there, the memories I can't quite hide.
