Page 49

He tosses it once, twice in his hand, then places it carefully on the nightstand.

I charge him, hoping brute force and rage will be enough.

I’m fast. I’m fueled by adrenaline. But he’s faster.

He spins and grabs me mid-run, lifting and slamming me onto the bed with terrifying force. The breath explodes from my lungs. My hands reach for his mask, nails digging—but he catches both wrists, pressing them down against the mattress.

I snarl, thrashing beneath him. He doesn’t move. Not an inch.

Worse—helaughs. Low. Amused. Dark.

“Still so full of fire,” he murmurs, leaning closer. “It’s no wonder we can’t stay away from you.”

I try to buck my hips up, to throw him off. All I succeed in doing is making us grind together.

Andthat’swhen I feel it.

Heavy. Thick.

He’s hard.

My defiance—my fight—it’sturning him on.

His breath brushes my cheek as he lowers his head.

His body is a cage around mine—solid arms bracketing my head, thighs pressing into mine, heat radiating off him like a second skin. I writhe beneath him, equal parts fury and something far more dangerous threading through my veins.

“You’re enjoying this,” I hiss, my voice ragged.

He dips closer. I can’t see his eyes behind the mask, but I can feel them—feelthem devouring me like they already own every breath I take.

“Aren’t you?”

I bare my teeth in something that’s not even close to a smile. “Oh, totally. Nothing gets me wetter than being manhandled by a masked lunatic.I’d rather bleed out.”

He laughs—low, indulgent, and far too pleased. “Let’s revisit this blood kink later, little storm. We haven’t even gotten to the good parts.”

I lunge again, trying to twist free. But he doesn’t budge. With little effort, he shifts my wrists so that both are pinned beneath one of his hands, pressed hard against the mattress above my head. The leather of his glove digs lightly into my skin, reminding me how easy it is for him to hold me there.

His free hand trails down my arm, until it reaches my chest. He presses his palm flat just above the swell of my breasts, the contact scorching through the thin fabric of my shirt.

“You keep fighting,” he murmurs, voice like silk wrapped around a dagger. “But your body—your breath—it betrays you.”

“Ihateyou,” I spit, jerking beneath him.

“Good.” His gloved fingers slide lower, teasing the edge of my shirt. “Hate keeps things interesting.”

His hand grazes the curve of my breast before slipping under my shirt—glove against skin. I jerk, not from fear, but from howgoodit feels.God, I hate that it feels good.

His head dips closer, voice low, coaxing. “Rule told me how you responded when he had you like this. All teeth and fury… until your hips started chasing his. You fought him too—until your moans started drowning out your threats.”

I freeze. Rage and humiliation crackle down my spine like a live wire.

“He said it turned you on,” Ruin continues smoothly, as though discussing the weather. “That even while you were snarling, your thighs were trembling. Your breath caught every time he touched you.”

He leans down, and I feel the warmth of his words slip across my skin. “You can keep fighting us if you want. But your body already knows it belongs to us. It’s your mind that needs to catch up.”

I inhale sharply, chest rising against his.