Page 92 of Boy of Ruin
She doesn’t let go though, and I look up to see her watching me, biting her lip.
“Give in to me, Sid,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. I brush my thumb over her low belly, right near the hem of her skirt. “Let your brother take care of you.”
She whimpers, her fingers twitching against my hold on the blade, the knife still pressed to her beautiful skin.
But then she releases me.
Submits to me.
That’s something I’d never fucking take for granted from her.
My blood heats with the moment. The control. Owning her, after spending so many years chasing her. Trying to keep her under my control. Never wanting her to know I wasn’t her brother, because I was terrified she’d fucking leave me.
But she’s here.
She came back to me.
She came back, despite what I did to her. And there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t regret that night.
I drag my palm down her belly, tugging down her skirt as I do.
It falls to her feet, a heap between her combat boots. She starts to step out of them, but I dig my fingers into her belly again, my eyes taking in her black lace underwear, her slim thighs before I stare up at her.
“No,” I tell her quietly. “Let me do everything.”
She bites her lip, her hands in fists by her side, but she nods slowly.
I press an open mouth kiss to her belly, closing my eyes and my lips, sucking her skin between my teeth.
Her fingers come to my hair as she whimpers, and when I open my eyes, I shift my angle on the knife, pull it away from her bleeding skin. It’s not a lot of blood, but it’s enough that I can lick the small trail of it, sucking her again, trying to stop the bleeding. Trying to soak up every part of her that I can.
Her fingers tug the strands of my hair, and when I lick a line from the side of her belly to the hem of her underwear, she moans for me.
She sounds so beautiful.
I pull away, shift the angle of the knife, and I feel her hands tense in my hair, her breath leaving her in a rush as I hold the blade at an angle, poised like I’m ready to plunge it in to her pelvis.
I’m not.
I shift on my knees, look up at her between her wrists, her fingers still in my hair. Her knees are trembling, the sweet, earthy scent of her wet pussy distracting me from focusing on her face, but I try.
I’m so fucking close.
I’m so fucking close.
“Trust me. You want me to show you what you’ve been missing? You want me to fucking mark you, worse than he has?” I glide the flat side of the blade over her belly and she trembles, biting her lip. “Then give into me, baby.”
“J,” she whispers, “what are you going to do?” Her words are choked, like she’s scared to ask. Like she doesn’t really want an answer. And fuck it.
I don’t want to give her one.
I’d rather show her what I’m going to do. Make her feel it.
“Close your eyes,” I tell her, one hand still splayed over her belly, the other still gliding the knife down to the edge of the lace of her underwear.
She runs her fingers through my hair, chewing on her cheek as she stares down at me. I can almost see the struggle in her mind. She doesn’t really trust me. She might seek me out for comfort, protection, shelter. But this baby is in my hands now, just like she is. And the world has given her no reason to trust anyone at all.
But I’d give her the goddamn world. I think the least of what she owes me is this.
