Page 18 of Brutal Devil

I’m on the floor. I’m powerless. I’m his captive.

I remember, and I sink my teeth into his lower lip, biting him as hard as I can.

He stiffens over me, but he doesn’t make a sound. Not a howl of pain. No reaction but lifting his head to stare down at me, blood forming on his lip. I watch the bead grow, ruby-red and ominous, until it spreads too far and drips down onto my mouth. His head swoops, his lips crashing on mine, sealing our mouths together. It’s not so much a kiss as a brand, a claiming. There’s pain and pleasure in it, force and might and warning and the coppery tang of blood, mine and his mingling together.

Above my head, he moves my wrists so that they’re pinned by his forearm, and then his hand is on me, sweeping over my sides,checking my pockets. I turn my face to the side, struggling for breath, severing the connection of our mouths.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking you for a gun or a knife,” he says simply, as if it’s totally normal to tackle me, kiss me, and then frisk me.

I turn back to him, unable to look away. There is blood smeared on his sensual lips.Ourblood.

“I don’t have a weapon,” I force out. “I’m a writer. The closest we get to weapons is our pens and keyboards.”

He shifts, finishing his search of me, and I try to remain numb to that traveling hand, telling myself it doesn’t affect me. Not at all.

Lying, basically.

He quirks a brow. “I’ve seen what you can do with shoes. We need to talk. I’m going to release you. But I need you to understand something. If you strike me or attack me in any way, it won’t go well for you.”

“I already bit you,” I point out, because clearly I’m asking for trouble.

“Yes, but I liked that. It was hot as fuck.”

God.

His words send more heat zinging through me. Heat I should not feel. I don’t want to marry this man. I don’t even want to be in the same room as him. And yet, deep down, a primitive part of me wants him. What the hell is wrong with me? It’s got to be shock from everything that’s gone down today. Maybe Stockholm syndrome?

“Your promise,” he presses me.

“I could lie,” I point out.

“Yes, and then I’d tie you to the bed like I warned you. Or I’d send Saint or Scorpion or Lucky in here instead. And believe it or not,topolina, none of them is as patient as I am.”

“Don’t call me little mouse,” I snap.

“We’ve been over this.” His grin turns a little nasty. “I call you whatever I want. Now, do you play by my rules, or do you get tied to the bed?”

I don’t want to be tied to the bed.

I also don’t want a visit from any of his crazy brothers.

I definitely don’t have the upper hand in this scenario.

So I have no choice but to nod. “I’ll play by your rules.”

“Not so fast. Repeat after me: I, Luna Revello, promise to play by your rules, Priest Andriani.”

“You bastard.”

He stares down at me, waiting. Silent. His cock is an insistent ridge against me, his scent enveloping me in a poisonous cloud of stupid lust. This power dynamic between us is turning him on. But weirdly, he’s not the only one.

It’s official. He’s certifiable and so am I, but more than anything right now, I just need some distance between us. I need to be able to breathe without thinking about his monster dick.

“I, Luna Revello, promise to play by your rules, Priest Andriani,” I grit out, half mumbling, annoyance coloring my words.

And just like that, he moves, rolling off me and rising to his feet with the same sinuous grace he used to trap me on the floor. He holds out a hand to me.