Page 44 of Burdened Bonds

The corners of her lips tug upwards again. “You’re so fucking confusing,” she mumbles.

“What’s confusing about this?”

She doesn’t answer and I reach up and grab her hand from under her cheek, her breath hitching as I do. I take her hand and lift it back to my face.

“I like it when you touch me, little rabbit,” I say, and the darkness of her pupils swims wide.

“I like touching you,” she murmurs.

“You do, do you?” I say, my voice darker than her eyes. I shift up onto my knees and tug my shirt over my head. “Then touch me some more, little one,” I tell her.

19

Rhi

I stareat his bare chest, muscular, solid, covered in scribbled tattoos and unhealed scars. It’s chaotic, mesmerizing, totally suited to him. He reminds me of the back of my notebook, doodles scrawled all over the pages.

Shifting to the edge of the scratchy mattress, I let my fingers trail down from his face to his chest. Mostly the scribbles are dates and places and I don’t want to think too hard about what those must mean, but in among them there are pictures. A tiny moth by his right hip, its translucent wings fragile on his olive skin. On his right side, there’s a cobweb as intricately weaved as the real thing, a spider lurking in its center ready to strike. And right in the middle of his chest, between his pectoral muscles, to the right of his thumping heart, is a crow, mid flight, its black eyes locked straight ahead.

I touch them all, trace the dark lines of the inks, feel the warmth of his skin and the solid strength of his muscles. Muscles that twitch with my touch.

My own heart beats a little faster, my bond flutters in my stomach and I can’t deny the way my skin heats.

He hums with satisfaction and I press my whole palm against him, my touch more firm, sweeping my hands over the ridges of his muscles and the grooves of his scars, over his shoulders and up into his dark hair.

The hum morphs to a growl, his eyes turning sinister. My heart beat leaps to my throat. He’s so dangerous and yet vulnerable too. Wild, yet starting to be tamed. I think he’d let me do anything to him and to test that theory I scrape my hands down his chest, leaving red marks in their wake.

“Fuuuuucccckkkk,” he growls and then he’s captured my hands again, leading them down the grooves of his tightly packed abdomens, lower to the waistband of his jeans. Here he lets go, and with his gaze locked on mine, undoes the buckles of his belt and the buttons on his fly.

My heart beats frantically now, my bond needy and incessant. I’m not sure if I could pull away even if I wanted to. Even though I know I should.

He takes my hand again and leads it down inside his pants, coiling my fingers around his cock, hot and stiff and jerking against my palm.

“Little rabbit,” he says, his voice like poison in my ear, smooth and deadly. “You know how to touch me here, right?”

“Y-y-yes,” I say and I stroke my fist along the thick length of him, twisting when I come to the head. He shuffles his jeans and his boxers down his hips, freeing himself and gazing down at where I’m holding him.

“Fuck, that looks good, little rabbit. My cock in your paw.”

I rub my fist back down to his base and then along to the head again.

He sighs and throws back his head, exposing his throat to me, showing just how much he trusts me.

“You can go harder,” he murmurs. “No need to be so fucking gentle.”

I shuffle right to the edge of the bed and hold his cock more firmly in my hand, an ache beginning to pulse between my legs.

His eyes flick to look at me, and without warning, he grabs a hold of me and pulls me down onto the floor with him.

I increase the rhythm of my hand, closing my eyes and feeling him pulse beneath my fingers. And then I feel his teeth at my throat.

Have I been a fool? Is this where I finally meet my end? With his cock in my hand and his teeth in my throat, ripping it out?

But he does no such thing. He rakes his teeth down the column of my neck, firm enough to smart, his nose pressed against my skin, trailing after, inhaling my scent, and then he’s licking his wet tongue up the scrape he’s made, soothing it better, murmuring nonsense words I don’t understand.

I sigh, the sensation making my bond giddy and my panties wet. My grip loosens, my rhythm stutters. He growls his displeasure, nipping the point where my neck meets his shoulder. A warning.

I swallow, and continue, continue until I feel his cock jerk once, twice in my hand and then he’s spilling his seedall over my fingers, thick white ropes of it. The salty masculine smell of it punching the air.