Page 72 of Ravaged With You

He brought me so close like that, then fucked me from behind, one hand teasing my clit and the other around my neck as he took me so hard the bed pounded against the wall, actually shaking one of my small, framed photos free.

Each time I’d exploded around him, and each time he’d taken me further, whispering naughty words and telling me all the ways he intended to use me when we returned that night. How he’d tie my hands behind my back and hold my head while I sucked him off. How he’d ease me into a hot tub and gently wash me. How he’d blindfold me, then sit across the room, watching as I got myself off.

And oh, God, I want it all.

Right now, though, I just want him to make me come again. Just once more to release the ache in my pussy. And since he’s refused, I’ll just have to take care of that myself. I push back my knees so that I’m flat on the bed, then undulate my hips, trying to use the friction of the bed to make me come.

Red chuckles. “Would you like to tell me what you’re doing?”

“Getting off,” I say. “Or trying to.”

The smack across my ass is sweetly delicious—but it doesn’t take me over.

“Behave or we’ll miss the party,” he says, knowing full well that if anything can control me, that threat can. No way am I missing Abby and Renly’s send-off on their honeymoon. He moves to the head of the bed and unties my wrists. “Get dressed,” he orders. “But no underwear.”

I slide into his arms. “Yes, sir,” I say, then kiss him. “By the way, I like you bossy.”

I can tell he’s trying not to, but he laughs, then smacks my ass as I dance away to my bedroom so that I can grab a shower and raid my closet.

When I come back, he’s already dressed, looking sexier than sin in a gray suit and a maroon tie. I’m in an ankle-length dress with a fitted bodice and a flowing skirt. Not formal attire, but definitely fancy.

I slide into his arms and accept his kiss. “You look gorgeous,” he says.

“Back at you.” I fiddle with his tie, as if straightening it even though it’s already perfect, simply for the pleasure of feeling domestic with this man.

Then I step back and look him up and down for so long that he finally narrows his eyes and says, “What?”

“I’m not sure how to say it,” I tell him.

“That doesn’t sound good.”

I laugh. “No, it’s very good.” I step back, then reach for his hands. “Do you have any idea how incredible you make me feel? I don’t mean in general—I’ve known for years that being around you lights me up. I mean in bed.” I swallow, feeling bold for talking about it so openly. “For what you do to me. What you make me do. And all the rest still to come.”

His mouth curves up as I speak, and now it’s a full-blown smile. “Well, that makes two of us.”

I smirk. “Yeah, well here’s the thing. I think this is who you are. Who you always have been.” He starts to pull away, but I tighten my grip on his hands. “I know they hurt you. I know she tortured you. But I think part of the torture was them stealing control. You’ve always been a man who needs it. After that, I think that need just rose to the forefront.”

“Jo—”

“I’m not saying that’s good or bad. I’m just saying that I don’t think you’re as broken as you believe you are or that your shrinks have said you are. Maybe you thought it was wrong to want what you do, but it’s not. And, yeah, the torture was real, that’s for damn sure.” I press my hand to his heart. “But the control you crave in here? I think you’ve always had that. I think after they controlled you, you let yourself think that need was vile. But it’s not. I promise you it’s not.”

I bite my lip, studying his face as I wonder if I’ve said too much or if I’m so off-base he’s going to close up on me. But he’s watching me and I can almost see the thoughts playing on his face, as if maybe there’s something real and solid in my words.

“I think maybe you survived because you had this core ability to hold onto that control and wait for your opportunity. You’re saying she did this to you, but how dare you give her credit for something so inherently you. Don’t you get it, Red? She didn’t make you who you are—but it’s because of who you are that you ultimately ended the bitch.”

He says nothing, but I see the tension in his cheek, as if he’s holding back deep emotion.

I lick my lips, suddenly unsure if I’ve overstepped. “Red,” I begin. “I’m sorry if—”

I don’t have the chance to finish the sentence, because he pulls me to him, then closes his mouth over mine. The kiss is long and deep, and I’m lightheaded when he releases me.

“Does that mean you think I’m right?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Honestly, I’m not even sure it matters anymore. All I know is that I love you.”

I love you.

Red’s words still fill my heart an hour later when we’re in the car and heading toward Malibu. He’s said it before, of course, but this time was different somehow on the heels of my amateur analysis of what makes him tick. What he needs.