Ruthless Savior - Julia Sykes Page 0,58

kiss, I captured her wrists and pulled them together in front of her. She barely tugged against my trap when I wrapped one strip of cloth around them, binding her.

I tore my lips from hers, and she sucked down the deep breath that I’d denied her.

Her lush lips were swollen from my assault on her mouth. She watched me with slightly glassy eyes as I pulled on the tie around her wrists, forcing her arms above her head.

A merciless, triumphant grin twisted my lips as I secured the loose end of my makeshift rope over the arched iron frame that surrounded us. Seeming to surface from a daze, her eyes tightened, and she tugged harder against her bindings.

But it was far too late for that, and she wouldn’t have had a hope of escaping my trap even if she’d struggled with all her might. My weak little lamb was helpless in my ruthless hands, utterly powerless to resist any depraved thing I wanted to do to her.

Something between a whimper and a moan caught in the back of her throat, a sound so delicious that it set my teeth on edge.

She wasn’t sobbing or screaming for release. Marisol was just as lust-drunk off our perverted power dynamic as I was. She’d been made for this. She’d been made for me.

I allowed her to writhe for several long seconds, drinking in the sight of my beautiful captive. As her predicament sank in, she fell deeper into my control rather than succumbing to panic. Her lips parted on little panting breaths, and each heaving expansion of her lungs made her cleavage strain against the structured bodice of her pretty lavender dress.

My mouth twisted in a wicked smirk, and I reached for the shears in my back pocket. Moving slowly, I raised them between us, allowing the light to glint off the steel blades. It caught in her wide eyes, flashing over them in a flicker of fear. When the blunted tips of the cold metal touched her heated skin at the little hollow between her collarbones, a shudder rolled outward from the tiny point of contact.

A high whine slipped between her lips, but she didn’t beg for me to relent. She thrived on the thrill of erotic fear, dancing at the dangerous edge with me.

I dragged the shears down her sternum, pressing a thin white line into her flesh that immediately flushed to dark pink. I would never cut into her golden skin, but the light scrape heightened her adrenaline response. She coiled tighter in her bonds, all her muscles tensing while she remained utterly still, forced to freeze beneath the threat of the blades.

My low, cruelly amused chuckle wrapped around her curvy body in dark tendrils, binding her in my will just as thoroughly as I’d bound her wrists to the iron arbor.

All my senses sharpened, focusing solely on my prey. She became the center of my world: my pretty Marisol; my precious possession to toy with as I wished.

When the tips of the shears reached her dress, I snipped the fabric, just as I’d cut the cloth ropes that held her at my mercy. Metal clattered against concrete as I dropped the blunt blades to the floor.

Her eyes flew wide with understanding just before I fisted the cotton and wrenched my arms wide, ripping the delicate garment straight down the middle.

Her shocked cry mingled with my vicious snarl in an intoxicating, violent harmony.

With the dress split to her waist, only the thin straps held it on her body. I quickly snapped them as easily as twigs, and the garment cascaded to the floor in a watery slide.

Her golden skin pebbled beneath my hungry gaze, and her dark nipples tightened to needy buds.

I palmed her breasts, indulging in her perfect softness beneath my rough hands. I squeezed hard enough to imprint little flares of pain into her tender flesh, eliciting a gasp from her sensual lips. Her nipples pressed into my palms as she arched into my touch, straining for more contact.

She shivered under my cruel grin, and I pulled back slightly, denying her the stimulation she craved. A heady rush buzzed through my brain as I watched her wriggle and whine, amusing myself with her needy struggles and utter powerlessness to obtain more pleasure than I allowed her.

I waited until her high-pitched sounds of protest melted into a low moan of blissful surrender, and she stopped straining against her bonds. She settled into them, panting from the exertion of her