Page 26

Chapter 25

Seanna

My tongue traces the steel piercings, swirling slowly around each ball before dragging down the length of his cock. I take my time, teasing, relishing the almost imperceptible shifts in his breathing, the subtle flexing of his thighs beneath my hands.

Because if Ruin wants me on my knees? He’s going to fucking feel what that means.

I smirk up at him, dragging my tongue back up his length from base to tip in one slow, deliberate lick. He inhales sharply and I can't help but feel a thrill at the power I suddenly seem to wield over him.

He wants me to fall apart around him. But that’s not how this goes.

Not this time.

Not when I’m the one in control of what I do with my mouth.

I swirl my tongue around the piercings again, watching the way his free hand fists at his side, leather squeaking as it strains against his control. But he doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t pull away. Just watches every movement, breath ragged, groaning again when I lick my tongue around the head, teasing the underside. “You okay up there?” I murmur with saccharine venom, flicking my tongue over the tip again.

His laugh is low. Hoarse. Unstable.

But when he speaks, it’s all sharp-edged power. “Be careful, little storm,” he rasps, his voice tight with restraint. “You forget who controls whether you can even fucking breathe.”

A fresh wave of heat surges between my thighs. God help me, I like it when he threatens me. Like this. Like he’s fighting his own control harder than I am.

But I don’t back down. I press my advantage.

I drag my mouth along the underside of his cock again—slow, hot, wet—and then pull back. Barely touching. Barely there. Just enough for him to need more.

He growls.

"Is that all you've got, darling?" Ruin taunts, voice rough with arousal. "I thought you wanted to make me earn it."

I glance up at him through my lashes, lips curving in a smirk. "Patience is a virtue. Maybe you should try it sometime."

His grip tightens in my hair, just shy of painful. "Cute. But we both know virtue isn't your strong suit."

I let out a low, mocking laugh. "Says the man with a magic cross through his dick. Tell me, does that help you feel closer to God while you're sinning?"

He yanks sharply on my hair. "The only one I worship is you, darling. Now put that smart mouth to better use before I shut you up myself."

Heat floods through me at his words, at the unapologetic dominance in his tone. He's not asking. He's demanding. And fuck, if that doesn't make me want to push him harder, just to see how far he'll go to put me in my place.

"You want me to beg, Ruin? You really think you can make me?" I punctuate my words with little kitten licks, taking my time, savoring the way his cock twitches against my mouth.

"Keep playing with fire," he growls. "And I'll make sure the only thing you're able to do is beg for air."

I laugh huskily, unafraid. "Big words for a man at the mercy of my tongue. What's wrong? Afraid you'll break before I do?"

He uses the fist in my hair to pull my head back. I gaze up at him defiantly, chin tilted, eyes blazing with challenge.

"The only one who will break is you," he promises. "Now put that filthy mouth to better use before I remind you exactly who's in control here."

I lick my lips. "Make me."

Wrong thing to say. Or maybe the most deliciously right thing.

Because in the next breath, he's shoving his cock past my parted lips, filling my mouth in one smooth thrust. I moan around him, the taste of him exploding on my tongue–salt and musk and pure, molten sin.

"Fuck," he groans, the word punched out of him like I just cracked his composure in two.

Good. I want him just as unraveled as I am.

I hollow my cheeks and suck hard, lips stretching obscenely around his girth. He curses again, low and guttural, his hips rocking forward to push himself deeper. The piercings drag along the inside of my mouth and I shiver, the foreign sensation stoking the flames burning me alive.

I bob my head, taking him as deep as I can, reveling in every choked moan and bitten off curse falling from his lips. He's so fucking vocal, each gravelly sound of pleasure sending bolts of liquid heat straight through me. I've never been with a man this responsive and it's intoxicating, knowing I can tear these noises from his throat.

I hum, a vicious little vibration around him, and he jerks.

The sound he makes is fucking obscene—raw, broken, like he’s unraveling from the inside out. The noises coming out of him— God, they shouldn’t turn me on as much as they do. But I want to hear them again. I want to hear what other sounds I can drag out of him. I want to undo him with nothing but my mouth and spite.

I grip the backs of his thighs harder, digging my nails in again just to hear that strangled, guttural noise he makes. It’s primal. Wild. Unfiltered.

And then he snaps.

His control shatters.

One second I’m kneeling, the next I’m airborne—lifted effortlessly and thrown onto the bed like a ragdoll. I land hard on my back with a gasp, limbs splayed, hair wild across the pillows. And before I can blink, he’s on me, wrists seized, arms pinned above my head with bruising strength.

"I knew it," I snarl. "You were just fucking with me again. You never planned to—"

“I’m not doing this to tease you,” he growls, one hand already reaching for the restraints at the bedposts. “I’m tying you up because I don’t trust your hands not to do something stupid while I fuck you.”

My mouth opens to protest, but he’s already binding my wrists. Not roughly. Not violently. But with finality.

And then he pulls back to look at me.

Whatever he sees in my face makes him pause. His gloved hand lifts and brushes my hair back from my forehead like I’m something precious. His voice drops to a velvet snarl.

“You think you can push me into losing control? I’m not some itch you scratch and walk away from and go back to pretending you hate us. This was never going to be a quick fuck, Seanna.”

He leans in closer, the heat of him sinking into my bones.

“I can do quick and hard. I fucking love quick and hard,” he breathes against my neck. “But not right now. Not with you. Not for your first time with me. ”

He shifts back, dragging his gloved hands down to my thighs, parting them gently.

“I want you to feel everything. I want you to remember what it’s like to be ruined by me.”

I writhe under him, every muscle trembling with unbearable anticipation.

"And you will remember it," he continues, sliding his fingers against the soaked heat between my thighs. "Every inch. Every second. Because after this, you'll never be able to come without thinking of me."

I choke on a moan as two gloved fingers slide inside me—deep, smooth, perfect.

"You’re soaked," he breathes. "You’ve been dripping since the moment you saw my cock. Admit it."

"Go to hell," I gasp, clenching down as he curls those fingers.

"Already there, darling," he growls. "And I’m taking you with me."

Then he pulls his fingers out and replaces them with the heavy, hot head of his cock. He rubs the tip against my entrance, slow and cruel, teasing me with the thickness of him, with the piercings that make me shudder every time they graze my clit.

"Tell me to stop," he says again. Quieter now. More dangerous.

I don't.

Because I don't want him to.

Not anymore.

And then he pushes in.

Slow. Deep. Unforgiving.

“Fuck,” I gasp, head tipping back. The stretch is unbearable—thick and full and deliberate—and I cry out, a raw, desperate sound I can’t swallow.

He doesn’t stop.

He keeps pushing, inch by merciless inch, until he bottoms out and I’m panting, stretched open, throbbing around him.

He doesn’t move. Just breathes.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, voice right at my ear. “That’s what devotion feels like.”

And then— then —he moves.

Not fast. Not hard. But slow.

Each stroke a deliberate, soul-breaking drag that carves me open from the inside out.

Controlled. Devastating.

He fucks me like I’m holy and he’s desecrating a temple, like each stroke is a goddamn promise that I’ll never forget the shape of him. His cock drags against every nerve inside me, igniting fire in places I didn’t know could burn. His pace is punishingly slow, deliberate, like he wants to carve himself into my body.

And it’s working.

My back arches. My breath breaks. My pride cracks.

Because fuck , I’ve never been fucked like this.

Not worshipped. Not owned.

Ruined.

He moans into my neck, louder than I expected. He curses, praises, whispers filth I didn’t know I needed to hear.

Every groan, every growled fuck , every sharp inhale from the feel of my pussy wrapped around him—it’s an aphrodisiac. It’s fire on my nerves.

And I’ll never tell him.

But I fucking love it.

“God, you grip like a fist,” he pants. “Like you need me.”

My hips jerk, helpless beneath him.

“You feel that, darling?” he rasps. “That burn? That stretch? That ache deep in your belly? That’s me. That’s what I wanted. To own this fucking body from the inside out.”

My legs shake. My toes curl. My mind starts to blur.

“Say it,” he growls. “Say it’s mine.”

I don’t.

I can’t.

But he knows.

He feels it in every pulse around him.

And when the orgasm hits me, it’s violent. Shattering. My spine arches. My body clamps down around him, and I scream—not in fear.

In want .

In need .

In a goddamn surrender I never planned to give.

He presses his masked face harder into my throat and groans like it’s him being wrecked.

He keeps going. Keeps fucking me slow. Deep. Maddening.

Until I can’t breathe. Until all I know is the sound of his voice in my ear and the heavy stretch of him inside me. Until I’m begging without even realizing it.

“Please—”

“Please what?” he snarls, voice fraying at the edges.

“Don’t stop.”

He growls, his thrusts becoming just a little rougher, a little faster, still dragging out every second like he wants to brand it into my fucking soul.

And then when I’m about to come again—he shudders, curses low and harsh, and spills inside me with a noise that will haunt my dreams forever.

He doesn’t collapse.

He stays.

Holding himself above me. Still inside me. Watching me come undone.

And when he finally pulls out, it’s slow. Intimate. My body clenching around nothing, already missing him like some sick fucking addict.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

Because we both know what just happened.

I didn’t just lose a fight. I gave in to the war.

And I don’t know if I’ll survive the next one.