Page 49 of The Ecstasy of Sin (Brutal Brotherhood #1)

Dominic

Their blood is all over me.

And so is she. My perfect, beautiful little lamb.

So wet, and aching, and needy for me. Still desperate for more, even with the man who tried to kill her dying feet away from where I’m fucking her, bleeding out like the worthless piece of shit he is.

Her pussy pulses around my cock, soaked from the orgasms I forced out of her body. Her slickness coats me with every thrust, and her moans are the most beautiful sound in the world.

She saw the worst of me. The bloodthirsty sadist with an addiction to being a god, and she didn’t turn away. She turned toward me. And came all over me, while I carved another man open for her.

Wren was made for me.

Made to be just like this, bent over the table, taking everything I give her. She’s soft and submissive… and completely mine.

“You’re taking me so fucking well, baby,” I murmur, my hand wrapped in her soft brown hair, holding her head up so she can watch Boris die .

Her face is flushed, her lips parted, and her eyes half-lidded and glassy. Her pussy is swollen and flushed around my cock, swallowing each thrust as I drive into her.

“Dominic, please,” she begs, each jolt of my hips drawing a moan from her. She is so yielding and sweet, everything about her is a drug to me.

She’s the polar opposite of almost everything in my life, the light that balances my darkness. I want her exactly like this forever, and I’ll do anything to give her the soft life she’s always needed.

I’ll be her sword and her shield.

Pleasure shoots up my spine every time I sink inside of her body, riding the high of making Boris bleed while I claim the woman I love.

Love. Fuck, it’s love and so much more. She’s everything.

My fingers dig into the soft flesh of her hips, my jaw clenched tight as fire licks up my spine, pleasure threatening to consume me whole.

I’m holding on, doing everything I can to prolong this, to stave off the soul-shattering orgasm hovering just in front of me.

Then Boris starts gasping. Those sharp, wet pulls of air while blood bubbles from his cracked, pale lips. His eyes bulge as his heart begins to arrest.

My soul ignites as he dies.

Unhinged by his dying gasps, I drive into Wren with brutal force.

My arm snakes around her waist, fingers finding her clit—stroking hard and steady. She whimpers my name, sweet and ruined, just as Boris begins to convulse .

His body seizes in the chair, restraints groaning under his weight, his chest and face mangled from the violence I wrought upon him.

Wren begins to beg. Her hips match my rhythm, thrust for desperate thrust. I’m right at the edge, gripping the cliff with bloodied fingers… waiting, just waiting for that perfect fucking moment…

And then it happens. Boris takes one last, gasping breath, his eyes wide, and his face as pale as a ghost.

Death claims him, and my release detonates.

The moan that tears out of me is guttural and primal. My head falls back as my cock jerks deep inside her. I come so fucking hard my vision darkens around the edges. I fill her completely, pulse after pulse, until I feel my cum spilling out, dripping down her thighs, soaking the table beneath her.

But I’m not done, and neither is she.

I force her to come again, because her body belongs to me. I need to bring her pleasure as badly as I need to bring death with my own hands.

Wren shatters. Her pussy clenches around my cock, gripping me tightly as she cries out in pleasure.

Her body shakes, her moans breaking into gasps as I ride the wave with her, teeth clenched against the white-hot heat ripping through me.

“That’s it, baby,” I groan, every breath ragged. “Give yourself to me. You have no control anymore, and it feels so good, doesn’t it?”

She’s moaning, while her entire body convulses with euphoric spasms she can’t control. My hand is still wrapped in her hair as she nods, her hips grinding back against me to draw out the last of her orgasm.

Her pussy pulsates around me, like she’s desperately trying to keep my cum right where it belongs. The sensation has me seeing stars in my peripheral.

She needed this. She needed me: to take over, to love her, to protect her. She never needed a hero, she needed a man that would spill blood for her, one that would walk through the fires of hell for her.

She also needed someone who would let her be soft, and vulnerable, and worshipped like the incredible woman she is.

She’s been aching to be found by a monster, to be owned.

And now she is.

When the final waves of release pass, she collapses onto the table, drenched in sweat and soaked in me. I gently release her hair, guiding her down with care.

She’s trembling and whimpering, ruined so beautifully for me.

When I look up, Boris is dead. His eyes are open, lifeless and blank. A halo of blood stains the pale carpet beneath him, a gallon spilled in tribute.

“Dominic…” Wren breathes, boneless on the table. “Please hold me.”

Her voice is barely there, threadbare with need. She’s shaking and vulnerable in a way that makes my chest ache with the need to love her the way she deserves to be loved .

I slide out of her slowly, watching as my cum leaks from her swollen, well-used pussy. A possessive ache swells in my chest.

I turn her gently onto her back, then wrap her in my arms and lift her against me.

She melts into me, her face tucked against my throat. I feel every quiver in her muscles, every quiet and broken breath. I press a kiss to her temple, my arms locking tighter around her.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

She presses in closer. I tighten my hold and begin rocking her, slow and rhythmic, like I’m willing her back into her body with every sway.

“I shouldn’t have run,” she whispers, the words hot against my skin. “I was afraid, and I shouldn’t have been. Not of you. And look at what it cost.”

I lower my head to hear her better, my heart pounding beneath her cheek. “It won’t happen again,” I tell her gently. “You’re safe now. I’ll keep you safe, little lamb. I promise.”

“I'm done with all this blood. Can you take me home?”

I nod, even though she can’t see it. “Yeah, baby. I’ve got you.”

I don’t need her to be hardened. I don’t want her numb to death the way that I am. I don’t need her to smile at suffering. I just need her to love me as I am—a psychopath that can’t ever let her go.

I cradle Wren in my arms for a moment longer, letting her heart sync with mine. Our breaths slowly fall into rhythm. When her trembling stops, I press a kiss to her plush lips.

“Sit right here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

She nods, still clinging to the heat of my body like she’s not ready to let go. It kills me to step away, but I do.

I cross the room to the sagging couch, grab the blanket folded over the edge, and shake free the dust. Then I return and drape it over her shoulders.

She accepts it, pulling it around herself.

I move through the old cabin, not bothering to avoid Boris’s blood soaked into the carpet.

In the kitchen, I spot what I need. A half-burnt candle on the counter beside a broken drawer full of junk. I pull it the rest of the way open, then toss it onto the counter so I can rummage through it.

Once I find a half empty box of matches, I grab it and the candle and head over to the large bay window in the living room.

The curtains are heavy, sun-bleached and tattered, coated in years of dust. Kindling, waiting to burn.

I pull a match out of the box and strike it against the side, the flare of sulfur at the tip crackles in the dark.

I light the wick and nestle the candle’s flame into the hem of the fabric.

It catches instantly, fire licking up the tattered threads and roaring to life, engulfing the entire panel of fabric.

I turn, and walk back over to Wren, the orange glow from behind me lighting up her big, brown eyes. She’s watching the fire, mesmerized, as I scoop her into my arms and lift her.

Her head falls against my shoulder, tucked up under my chin, and a content sigh escapes her. Fuck, I love her like this. She’s so damn perfect, I can’t stop the endless obsession I have with her .

It's the way she trusts me , a fucking serial killer, so completely. With her safety, with her body, with her heart. It wrecks me in the most profound way.

“Ready to go home?” I ask her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She nods. Her breathing steady, despite the flames rising behind me. I’m awe-struck that she’s so quiet in my arms, despite everything that’s happened.

She almost died. She witnessed me torture and kill the man that took her, let me fuck her in front of him while he died, with my entire body coated in the blood of her enemies.

Everything about me would make a regular person sick. But not my Wren. I never believed in soulmates until I met her, but I know without a shred of doubt that she’s mine.

I hold her tighter as I step out into the night. The flames crackle at my back, heat clawing at my spine. I walk the gravel driveway without looking back. The cabin behind us groans and pops, until half of the structure collapses in on itself.

I don’t look back, I just keep walking. When we reach the street, I turn toward the direction of my bike and carry her all the way there.

When we arrive, I set her gently on her feet. She looks up at me, studying me like she’s seeing something worth loving beneath all the blood.

“How did you find me?” she asks. “And so quickly?”

I meet her gaze while I grab the leather jacket I left behind. I hesitate for a moment, considering the truth and weighing it against a lie .

Even if she knows about the tracker, it changes nothing. I’ll never let her go. “I implanted a tracking device in your arm.”

Her eyes widen, then soften. “Oh,” she says, lifting her fingers to the spot I told her was a spider bite.

I nod once.

“You’re a psychopathic stalker, Dominic Kael.” Her lips twitch as a soft smile tugs at the corner of her lips. If this is some form of Stockholm syndrome, it’s making my cock hard.