The Sins that Ruin (Obsidian Knights Secret Society #3)

24. Scarlett

TWENTY-FOUR

I say the word yes, but I’m both ready for what he’s going to do and so woefully unprepared. He makes me fly and stumble; he turns me inside out. He makes me sing with glee and question my sanity, yet I keep coming back for more.

And right now, I’m so caught in that magnetic spell I can’t stop what’s about to happen.

I want whatever he’s going to give.

There’s a part of me that doesn’t believe he wouldn’t have handed me over to those men. Then again, he’s got a crazy possessive streak, and I’m not convinced, for all his talk, that he’s a sharer.

This isn’t love, this is anything but. However, I’m his property for now.

And I hate myself for loving that fact.

When he touches me, kisses me… all rational thought flies out the window.

And now, oh God, now? I’ve never felt so alive. Never hated and wanted and desired anything or anyone as much as I do now.

“Hold on,” he says, that voice soft and wrapping around me. He flips me around with two hands like I’m featherlight to him, and I land face down, my hands now held tight by the ropes that make my pulse reverberate through me as each thump of it slams against the knots.

My head’s to the side and I almost cry out when I see the things he has on the other sofa. Like the whip.

“No…”

“Is that a real no or a reflex no?” He sighs, the sound touching on exasperation. “Do we need a safe word?”

Do we? “You live on the edge.”

“I like chaos. And I think you do, too.”

He unfurls the whip, dangling it in front of my face for a second before he walks to the back of the sofa. He snaps something, tipping it up, and the back of it comes down like it’s a bed.

“Custom piece,” he says. “I’d prefer to do this at the club or—” He stops, then he trails the edge of the whip over me, and it tickles my skin, making my nerve endings jump and dance.

My clit throbs, as does my ass, the memory of his sharp smacks making my flesh tingle.

Anticipation loaded with dread and excitement in equal measures swirls through my blood, heating me from the inside out. A shiver assaults me, but I’m not cold.

I’m flushed with lust and need.

“So pretty, all this untouched flesh. Waiting for me.”

“Please…”

Then he crouches down in front of me, those green eyes close, that sensuous mouth curled upward. But I can’t reach it. “Yes, we never settled on the words, did we? On whether no means no or yes, and does please mean more or stop? Do we need a safe word?”

Sweat beads on me, popping up, making the shiver race through me as cool air touches my now-damp skin. “If I don’t have one, how will you know to stop when it’s too much?”

He smiles and strokes his fingers against my cheek. “How? Baby Red. I think both no and please means more, keep going. Am I right?”

Shit, shit, he’s right. I don’t want him to stop. I do, but I don’t, and I don’t think I’m at a limit. And that scares the hell out of me.

“I think the question is do you trust me? With all this?”

“Hard to say since you were willing to give me to those men.”

He leans in even closer. I can smell that heady, seductive scent of him. It dismantles parts of me. Parts I’m only becoming aware of. “Do you think I’d let any other man touch you?”

“No.”

The word comes fast, and it hangs in the heavy air between us, the truth of it spreading through me like a warm fire in a hearth.

“I’m not even sure I’d want a man to touch you if we arranged a threesome.”

“A woman?”

He laughs. “Not even then. But… that’s not what you’re asking, is it? You mean me.” He pauses. “If I wanted another woman, I’d have one. End of fucking story.”

“Please, Sir.”

Malone rises, the light catching his blond hair and again, he takes my breath away.

The tip of the whip trails over me, just touching, a tease, and it’s both chaos and controlled.

And it turns me inside out, naked, for him. Then he lifts it and I wait, tensing for the blow.

Instead, his fingers… no, not his fingers, something else… a dildo? He’s blocking my view of the other couch, so I don’t know what he has assembled to use on me.

He shoves it in me, a curved piece that slides into me, snug and tight. It’s not as big as his cock, doesn’t feel as good, as fulfilling. But it’s not just in me, it’s on my clit.

Suddenly, it bursts into vibrate mode, sucking life from my most sensitive spot, and I scream. “It’s too much!”

An orgasm sweeps in. A whirlwind, there and gone, leaving me overly sensitive. It thrums inside me, sucking and buzzing on my clit like it’s trying to build me up again.

“Too much, please, please, Malone,” I whimper. “Please stop it.”

He studies me. “No.”

And he raises his other arm, and the whip comes whistling down, stinging a bite over the flesh of my ass. I scream again.

He keeps doing it, striking my back, my ass, my upper thighs, each one a new lesson in pain. Each one edges the vibrator that’s pouring both pleasure and the borderline of too much on me.

At this point, I don’t know if I’m coming or if I’m losing my goddamn mind.

“Such a perfect little sub. Taking it like a good girl.” He brings that whip down once more and I explode on the vibrator, coming so hard, my eyes roll. Waves and waves of unbridled ecstasy wash over me.

I don’t even know what to call what’s happening to me. It transcends pain. Transcends the pleasure. Every throb of orgasm spins my mind and body out, and each slice of the whip brings it right back down to a pinpoint.

It’s so fine, then it expands to the point where I’m all and nothing, lost and found in the space between atoms. His whip is pure him. It strokes and brings me to new places each time, and someone’s moaning and crying all at once. And it’s me.

It’s me.

There’s no room for breath, no room for anything. I’m just quivering, alternating between emotion and sensation. It’s bright swirling colors, it’s the heat of Malone, his touch, his whip, his orgasms he’s pouring on me, the scent of him. All of it. In me. Around me.

Crushing me, choking me in the most erotic way imaginable.

I’m convulsing and shaking, and I can’t take anymore. I’ve come and come, and now it’s a symphony so loud, so overwhelming I can’t… I can’t…

“Fuck.”

Malone’s voice anchors me to him, and I spin back in, gasping for breath, trying to move and I can’t.

Slowly, I become aware the vibrator is no longer forcing orgasms and waves of needling goodness so sharp, it’s a throb of almost pain. And my back and ass and thighs radiate heat. Even more as his hand smooths over me, a balm of touch.

“Breathe.”

I gasp from my toes, a sound that wrenches the world apart. He’s pressed against me. I cling to that.

“Fuck,” he says again. “You’re exquisite. A work of art. I need to hang you up, suspend you. We’re going to do that.”

His voice is wired, hot, excitement running through it. Need supercharging every word.

“Ass or cunt?”

“What?”

“You know what. Where do you want me? Ass or cunt?”

“I can’t. Malone…” But the quiver of need starts up again, and he flips me onto my back, and I cry out.

He leans over me and takes my mouth in a slow kiss, one that melts, that seduces. I can’t help but kiss him back. The man’s mouth is pure magic, and the things he stirs in me, the roller coaster his kisses put my stomach on, are swoon worthy, especially after that intense session.

I can’t call it sex.

Or even getting off.

It was something else.

And right now, the magic of his kiss, the slow slide of his tongue, the heat and soft touch of his mouth is what I need. Like the stroke of his hands, it soothes, calms, caresses.

His kiss is the calm lap of a warm, clear sea over toes; it’s sliding down into a heated bath. It’s his mouth on mine, and it’s utterly dreamy, and I’m falling down all over again.

Nothing can stand up against the wicked type of onslaught Malone has. He’s everything at once and then the perfect thing I need.

When he lifts his head, he slips his hand up to my throat. It’s a comforting feeling, that hand, resting there, a slight pressure, but not one that cuts off my air. It’s like a claim, and my rational brain can hate being claimed all it likes, but I want it.

Right now, I want to be claimed and owned and branded by him.

He strokes his thumb against the pulse in my throat.

“Your heart’s beating wild. Do you like it when my hand’s here?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“You’d look amazing in a collar. Maybe I’ll get one for you.”

There are things I want to ask, things I want to say, but I swallow them down. This is a moment, and I don’t want to destroy it by asking questions I already know the answer to.

This is sex talk, nothing else.

This is temporary, him and me.

It was never supposed to be anything more.

So I stay silent.

“I’m going to fuck you. Hard. How do you want me?” He stares at me for a long minute, then gets up and moves toward the couch opposite me. When he returns, he has more rope in his hand.

He takes his time, tying it around my waist, and the concentration is so intense, such a turn-on, I could come just by watching him, sinking down into it all with him.

Next, he threads it and knots it on my left upper thigh, then my right.

And then he pulls, drawing my legs apart and up. I think he slides the rope past my arms, and he does something to attach me to the sofa, and I’m secure. Tight.

“You’re beautiful, Scarlett. So fucking beautiful.”

And he strips off his clothes.

Naked, he truly is a god, golden flesh, perfection personified.

He strokes himself, eyes on me, the gleam of arousal so hot it burns into my soul. He’s got me open for him. And I’m at his mercy.

“Ass or cunt?” he asks again. “Or do you want both?”

Something in me leaps at that, and he smiles like he can see inside me.

“It’s both, isn’t it?” Malone asks.

I whisper, “Yes.”

He kneels between my thighs, my ass elevated, and though I’m not sure I can take more tonight, I need his cock. It’s a physical need that makes me hurt, deep inside. It’s not a specific kind of pain, but just a dull ache that needs to be assuaged.

Malone slides his fingers through my wetness, and I moan. Then he lines himself up, the head of his cock pushing at my opening.

He thrusts in slowly, taking his time, and the stretch is good. It alleviates that ache when he sinks into me, balls deep.

Once he’s inside of me, he stills, unmoving as our gazes fuse.

“Hang on, Baby Red, we’re going for that ride.”

He starts out slow, with measured, deep strokes, and the bliss on his face makes my stomach dip and soar. Each time he sinks into me, it’s harder, more forceful, until soon, he’s hitting those deep spots in me, making them quake and quiver with pleasure.

Sweat starts to bead on his forehead, and he wraps his hands around the rope on my thighs, slamming in harder now.

“Fuck…”

I start to climb up to another orgasm; the waves start to come from deeper within, not my clit, which he’s not touching. If he did, I might scream the place down, it’s so sensitive, too sensitive, even this slight rubbing agitates it. But oh God, this is good, and I start to come, squeezing hard on him and he shudders, pulling out.

He doesn’t give me time to think as he lines up with my asshole. He pushes in and then starts to slam into me, balls slapping my pussy lips with each thrust. It’s fast and deep and dirty, and I’m still coming when he hammers into me one more time before grunting another, “Fuck!” and he fills me.

I feel his hot release inside of me. The twitching jerk of his cock.

He collapses on top of me, still in my ass, and he kisses me with wild, deep kisses. There’s no finesse to these. They’re chaotic, beautiful things that are all tongue and bites and licks and sweet and hard devouring. Nibbles. The kisses are everything.

Finally, they slow to softness, and he finally just drops, his head buried in my throat, and the hammer of his heart syncs with mine. His heat is a blanket, his weight security.

And we stay like that for long moments that don’t seem to have an end.

But of course, they do, and he gets off me sometime later. He leaves me tied up as he pulls on his boxer briefs and walks over to the bar. I know that’s what he does because I hear the telltale sign of liquid hitting glass.

He’s not gone for long. He comes back, sipping one drink as he sets down the other.

“I’m going to get a blanket, and then I’ll untie you, okay?”

“M-Malone…” My voice is so thick I can barely get his name out. And he kisses my lips, the taste of scotch a comfort.

“Trust me. At least with this.”

He’s gone again and tears press at my eyes, hot, burning, and they spill down my cheeks. I don’t even know why. But they won’t stop, and I start to sob. My body racks with them.

It feels like forever before he gets back. He slowly unties me, the concentration back, and I stop crying. My gaze is fixated on his blur of a face through my tear-filled eyes.

When the last rope is off, his concentration melts and the tears start again. He wraps me in the blanket, feeds me rum, and strokes my hair. The tears start and stop and start again.

I turn my head into him and rub my cheek on his bare chest.

“I’m so embarrassed,” I say, managing to push the words out.

But he just rocks me. “That was fucking intense. The crying’s just a physiological reaction. I’m here. I have some water, too, if you want it. But just breathe and cry and be.”

I want to tell him how good it was, but I don’t want to. It’s like I’m greedy with that, like I need to keep that to myself. I don’t know why, because he knows. I know he knows. But my mind’s fractured, floating, and I’m weaving all over the place. Random waves of pleasure wash over me, as do little hiccups of tears.

When I stop crying and finally settle, he just holds me. All I want is to sleep. No, I just want to stay like this, with him, floating on clouds, forever.

But forever’s a fallacy.

When he finally picks me up and carries me to bed, he tucks me in. But he doesn’t stay.

I reach out and take his hand.

“Scarlett?”

“Stay,” I say, my words slurring as the world blurs, and sheer exhaustion starts to overtake. “Please… Sir.”