Page 15 of Ravage

He pulls out slowly, strings of saliva connecting us before breaking.

I'm gasping, crying, ruined.

And somehow, shamefully, desperately aroused.

"Look at you," he says, tilting my chin up. "Already wrecked and I haven't even fucked you properly yet."

He uses me thoroughly, alternating between treating me like I'm precious and like I'm nothing.

The duality breaks something in my mind—I can't predict what's coming next, can't prepare, can only surrender to whatever he decides to give or take.

When he finally pulls back, I'm gasping, tears streaming down my face, lipstick smeared.

He studies me like I'm a painting he's creating, tilting my chin up to admire his work.

"Beautiful," he says again, and this time it sounds like ownership. "Stand up."

My legs shake as I rise.

He steadies me with a hand on my arm, then leads me to a padded bench I hadn't noticed before.

"Bend over it."

I comply immediately, the position making me achingly vulnerable with my hands still bound behind my back.

The leather is cool against my heated skin.

I can feel how exposed I am, how open, and the humiliation of it wars with desperate need.

He trails a finger down my spine, barely touching, making me shiver. "You're dripping," he observes clinically. "From just that. Imagine what you'll be like when I'm finished with you."

His hand comes down on my backside without warning—not playful, but sharp enough to make me cry out.

The pain blooms into heat immediately.

"Count," he commands.

"One," I gasp.

By five, I'm sobbing.

By ten, I'm begging—though I'm not sure if it's for him to stop or continue.

He pauses, running his hand over the heated skin.

"Already so responsive. You were made for this, weren't you? Made to be owned, used, broken apart."

"Yes," I sob. "Yes, Sir, please?—"

"Please what?" Another sharp strike. "Use your words."

But I don't have words for what I need.

I've never had words for this darkness inside me, this craving for destruction.

All I can do is push back against his hand, shameless in my desperation.

"Look at you," he says, and there's something like wonder in his voice. "So eager to be ruined."