Page 9 of Ravaged Saints (BloodHawks Duet #1)

My eyes roam his body. I can’t avoid staring. The way his body moves is controlled and strong. I’m noticing things in a man’s body I never noticed before, and I don’t know if I can blame the magazines.

“Need anything, ?”

His tone is soft, almost inviting, but there’s an edge that makes my stomach twist, and he glances over his shoulder, not fully facing me.

I want something—God, do I want it—but fear coils in my chest. The memories resurface, sharp and unwelcome. What if he doesn’t stop? What if he hurts me like Cash did? And I will have to cut his beautiful throat…

“.”

His words soften, his head tilting slightly as if he’s studying me, the shift in his posture making it clear he’s assessing every move I make. A smile plays at the corner of his lips as he steps closer, then slowly kneels in front of me, both knees pressing into the floor, his gaze never leaving mine.

“What are you doing?”

I ask, and my fingers twitch at my sides.

He pulls a small rope from his back pocket and holds it up for me to see.

“I don’t understand,”

Fear tightens its grip around my throat.

“Tie my arms behind my back, doll.”

His words are soft and soothing, but they hit like an order.

“What?”

I blink at him, frozen in place. He has to be insane.

“I know you’re afraid of me—of us when it comes to intimacy.”

He shifts, placing his arms behind his back and extending them slightly. “Tie my hands, , and do whatever you feel like doing to me.”

His tone dips lower, daring, and I feel my pussy clench at the thought of having full power over a man like Dante.

My heart hammers so loud I swear he can hear it, my palms are damp, trembling as my mind spins in a thousand directions.

I grab the rope, my fingers fumbling as I move behind him, and the warmth of him seeps into me. I begin wrapping the rope around his wrists, the coarse fibers scraping my fingers as I pull it tight.

He moves his wrists, and I see the redness in them already appearing. “Is it too much?” I ask.

“It’s perfect, doll,”

he murmurs with that maddening smirk.

Taking a shaky breath, I let my hands linger at the nape of his neck, the fine hairs brushing against my fingers. He’s so still, so controlled, but I see the vein in his neck grow more prominent.

I trail my fingers over his back and shoulders, his muscles tensing beneath my touch.

“How long has it been?”

I ask, unable to stop the slow, deliberate movement of my hand.

“That a woman touched me?”

His voice is deep, and as I lean closer, my lips near the back of his neck, I hear his breath hitch.

“Yes,”

I whisper, letting the warmth of my words fan across his skin, watching the small goosebumps rise.

“Ten years, I think,”

he says, his shoulders shifting slightly—like he’s trying to wrestle control over his own body.

“That’s a long time.”

My fingers drift down his arm, over his shirt, until they reach his tied wrists and the skull tattoo on his hand. The moment he feels me there, his hand opens, and I press my palm to his.

“You must’ve seen women in the towns nearby. Why didn’t you—”

“Take them?”

He cuts me off, his body going even more rigid. “We don’t take or rape women.”

His words are louder now, less restrained.

“You took me and Bryn,”

I say softly.

“That was different. It was to protect you and her—but also us. Our home.”

He draws in a slow breath, and this time, I feel the tension in his shoulders ease.

I move back around to face him, my hands trailing lightly over his broad shoulders, down his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my fingertips. His pupils are blown wide, his lips slightly parted, and his breathing shallow. He looks dangerous but also too beautiful to resist.

“Dante…”

I whisper, caught between fear and something darker, something that makes my core heat up.

“Keep going, ,”

he encourages.

My fingertips trace the curve of his jaw, then lower, brushing over the side of his throat; his Adam’s apple bobs under my touch as he swallows, and I press my thumb there lightly, feeling the tension beneath his skin.

“You’re so calm,”

I murmur, leaning closer. “Why aren’t you nervous?”

He tilts his head, his smirk sharpening into something more wicked. “Why would I be nervous from your touch?”

The words send a shiver down my spine. Without thinking, I press my lips to his, soft at first, testing, but his response is instant. His mouth crashes against mine, rough, demanding, even though his hands are bound. I deepen the kiss, my hands cupping his face, holding him there.

His tongue finds mine, and the kiss turns darker and hotter. and I break away, gasping for air, my eyes locking with his. “You’re still in control,”

I whisper, frustrated at the way he holds all the power, even like this.

“Am I?”

he asks. “You’re the one touching me, doll. The question is, why are you feeling out of control?”

His words challenge me, firing me up so I press my lips to his jaw, my teeth grazing the rough stubble there, and even more slowly, I trail kisses down his neck, letting my tongue flick over the pulse hammering just beneath his skin.

His body tenses, and I let my nails drag lightly down his chest. I want to break him the way he’s breaking me. “Maybe I’m not as afraid as you think,”

I murmur against his skin, feeling the way his breath catches.

His tone is hoarse when he replies, “Careful, . You’re playing with fire.”

I shiver at his words, my lips climbing to meet his again. Pressing my lips, I bite on his lower lip, and he winces. I taste the metallic flavor of the blood, but he doesn’t back down; he leans into me, kissing me harder, and I feel his muscles fighting to get in control, but he doesn’t pull from the ropes.

“I want to taste you, ,”

he murmurs against my lips.

I pull back sharply, heat rising to my cheeks. “What does that mean?”

I ask defensively, but deep down, I know exactly what he means.

He chuckles, low and rough. “I want to lick your cunt, doll.”

Oh for fuck’s sake, why did he have to say it like that? And why do I enjoy it?

“Has anyone ever tasted you like that?”

He asks, still kneeling, his hands bound, but even now, he exudes control, his tone dripping with unshakable confidence, and that kind of pisses me off.

I shake my head, “No, never.”

“Lay down. Pull your jeans and panties down,”

he orders.

I shake my head again, my body trembling. “No… I can’t.”

His gaze sharpens. “You know you want to, doll. I bet you’ve been dripping since our kiss with Max.”

His says, his hunger palpable.

I step toward the door, my heart hammering so hard it’s painful, and I close it quietly, turning back to him. “If I say stop, you’ll stop,”

I warn, trying to sound firm but knowing I’m failing.

His eyes soften, and he nods once. “Of course. Do you know what a safe word is?”

I freeze; the question catches me off guard. I’ve read about it before in those magazines, but I’m not ready to tell any of them what I know and what I’m learning, so I shake my head instead.

“A safe word is a word you choose,”

he explains patiently. His is so controlled, like he’s done this before. “When you say it, everything stops. Choose a word you would normally not use in this context, okay?”

His muscles tense; I can see the veins on his arms pulsing.

A word. What could it be? He waits patiently, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Cherry,”

I whisper, and he nods, his smile widening. “Good girl, now do as I said.”

He stands to his full height, and I have to tilt my head up to keep my gaze on his eyes, and I realize I haven’t flinched when he got up.

He steps back from the bed, and I start to remove my jeans, pulling them down. My entire body is shaking like leaves in the wind, and my lungs feel like they’re burning with every breath. Gosh, I’m so nervous.

I have no problem with stabbing a man, but this right here? I think I’ll have a heart attack.

I stop before taking my panties, looking at him. “I can’t.”

I say, feeling a lump in my throat, and I brace myself for him to yell or call me names, but instead, he steps closer and places a kiss on my forehead. “Lay down, doll,”

he whispers, his body so close I can feel his heat against me.

‘But—”

“Lay down and open your legs.”

He commands, and I take a deep breath, sitting on the bed. My hands feel ice cold, and I still can’t control the shivering that makes my body tremble. I push into the bed, lay my back on the mattress, and bend my knees, but I can’t open my legs. “If you don’t open your legs, I will need my hands, .”

I don’t want to untie him; the truth is the fact that he can’t grab me or pin me gives me a sense of security.

I meet his gaze, my breath catching in my throat as I slowly part my legs. The heat in my face rises, and my heart hammers in my chest, a frantic drumbeat echoing in my ears.

His gaze drops, traveling down my body, and the way his eyes darken and his jaw tightens sends a shiver through me. “I wonder if you realize how ruinous you look right now,”

he murmurs. The raw reverence in his tone makes tears sting my eyes; no one has ever said that to me.

I see his eyes lingering on the tattoo again. “I did it right before freshman year in college,”

I say softly. “It was my way of rebelling against my sweet girl fame.”

He chuckles, “I see. It suits you, doll.”

Lowering himself to his knees, the dominance in his movements makes my pulse race. “Slide your ass closer to the edge, doll,”

he commands, his voice firm but steady, and I obey, moving closer with trembling limbs. I want this—I need this—but the nerves still coil tight in my chest.

He licks his lips as he leans in, trailing warm, feather-light kisses along the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, and I gasp at the sensation, but nothing prepares me for the moment his tongue presses against the fabric between my legs; my body jolts instinctively, and my thighs clamp around his head.

A loud laugh rumbles from him. “Easy, or you’ll break my neck. It’s an amazing way to die, but I would rather eat your pussy first,”

he chuckles, his tone light but undeniably confident.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,”

I whisper, and I cover my face with both hands, trying to hide the embarrassment.

“Don’t apologize, just keep those pretty legs open for me, okay?”

He soothes, leaning in again. His tongue presses against the fabric, firmer this time, circling my clit with deliberate slowness, and a moan escapes my lips before I can stop it. I bite down on my bottom lip to keep the next one in.

“I barely touched you, and you’re already dripping,”

he growls, his voice thick with hunger.

I give in. I want to feel him on me, on my skin, not through the fabric, so I move my hand slowly toward my panties, and he lifts his head, his eyes locking on mine, the fire in them making me shiver. I pull the fabric aside, offering him full access.

“,”

he groans, and then I feel his tongue on my bare skin—a shock of heat that pulls a gasp from my lips.

“Oh god, Dante,”

I cry out, trembling as his tongue swirls over my clit, every stroke sending jolts of pleasure through my body.

“Ride my face, doll,”

he commands, and my hips move on their own, following his order, grinding against him as waves of heat build inside me.

The sensations overwhelm me, and my muscles tighten; that strange, electric pulse courses through me. Fuck, why does this feel so good?

“That’s it, ,”

Dante murmurs against me, his voice vibrating through my clit. “Let go for me.”

I feel a weird sensation shivering down my back to my abdomen, my muscles tight. “You taste so sweet and fucking addictive.”

His voice pushes me further into the abyss. My entire body is moving on its own and I try to keep the moans closed inside, but I can’t; the tingling sensation of his tongue on my clit makes heat pool from my pussy, and I can’t take it anymore.

I open my legs wider. My hands grab his hair, pressing him more into me. My breathing cuts, and I arch my back up before slamming into the mattress. I let out a whimper, and my eyes roll back, and a shock of electricity like I’ve never felt before runs through my body.

“Fuck, ,”

Dante groans thick with satisfaction, but I can barely hear him over the pounding in my ears.

“I can’t,”

I whimper, the tears falling faster now, mixing shame with the lingering echoes of pleasure.

Dante rises to his feet in one fluid motion, and my blurry gaze sharpens as I see him pull his arms forward, snapping the ropes like they were nothing.

My jaw drops.

“What the hell?” I murmur.

“Did you really think that little rope would keep me tied if I didn’t want to be?”

he asks, a devilish smirk spreading across his lips. He steps closer and scoops me into his arms.

“Cry all you want, doll,”

he whispers, cradling me to his chest; his fingers stroking my hair as my tears soak into his shirt.

“What the hell is wrong with me?”

I murmur into him.

“Nothing is wrong with you,”

he says softly, rocking me in his lap. His heartbeat thunders beneath my ear, grounding me. “It’s just the adrenaline crashing down. That’s all.”

I don’t respond, focusing instead on steadying my breathing.

“Did it feel good?”

Dante asks gently.

I take a moment, listening to the soft hum of my body, before nodding. “Yes,”

I whisper, my voice shaking.

“Good,”

he says, his arms tightening around me protectively. “Next time, let’s try without me being tied up, okay?”

Next time? The words echo in my head. Do I want to next time?

Before I can answer, I shift slightly, and the pulsing between my legs intensifies, and my face flushes hot as I shift uncomfortably on his lap.

Dante’s fingers hook under my chin, lifting my face to meet his. “What are you feeling?”

he asks, his tone impossibly soft, his eyes searching mine.

I can feel my face blushing even more. “I’m feeling it pulsing.”

I feel the embarrassment of my words creeping up; I’ve had orgasms before with my fingers on my clit, but this? This was so intense, so different…

“That’s also normal, doll. Don’t feel embarrassed; you enjoyed it. That was the point.”

He kisses my forehead, and I let myself melt into his embrace like I’ve never done before.

Dante stays with me until I’m almost asleep in his arms, and I have to say the warmth of his skin makes me feel safe in a way I didn’t know was possible, and Bryn’s words come to mind.

“Not all men are like Cash or the Hunters.”

I owe her an apology. She was right: not all of them are, and Dante isn’t like them.

He stands holding me in his lap, and I raise my head to meet him, “You need to sleep. It’s late, doll.”

Smiling, he places me in bed, pulling the covers up and giving me a little kiss on the forehead.

“Dante.”

I whisper, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, .”

He winks and leaves the room, locking the door behind him.

I turn and release a breath. Maybe things are changing for the better; maybe it’s my turn to have something, someone.

And maybe it’s my time to have some fun, to enjoy whatever this is…