Sweet Retribution (Ruthless Games 2)

The broken part of my heart wants to scream that I don’t. That I can’t. That every bit of trust I give these men will be turned into a knife to hurt me with later.

But I don’t want to be fucking broken anymore.

My pulse thrums hard and fast as I tug my bottom lip between my teeth. I can’t form answers with words, so I reach out for Theo again, dragging him closer until his lips brush against the spot where his hand just was. A new wave of sensation bursts through me, pinpricks that could be either pleasure or pain, and I tilt my head, staring up blankly at the ceiling.

Theo doesn’t move.

He just keeps his lips pressed gently against me, inhaling my skin and warming me a little more with each exhaled breath.

Giving, not taking.

Healing, not hurting.

I’m pretty sure the tears dripping off my face are landing in his hair now, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. I get the feeling he’d stay here forever if I let him, and it’s that thought that finally begins to slow my racing heart.

The feverish prickling of my nerve-endings subsides a little, and as it does, I become more and more aware of the firm warmth of Theo’s lips, of the heat radiating from his body. He’s big, broad-shouldered and muscular, but his strength doesn’t scare me.

Because he won’t hurt me.

Slowly, tentatively, my hand finds its way to the back of his head, fingers sliding through his hair. In response to my touch, his lips begin to move too, tracing an exploratory path over my skin.

When he reaches my collarbone, my head lolls to one side, my eyes drifting closed as I give him access to my neck, a silent invitation to continue. He does, slowly and patiently, covering every inch of my skin with gentle kisses as a new kind of spark lights up inside me. I lose track of time as my head tilts to the other side, and when his

hands slide over my legs, I let out a soft sigh.

I’m suddenly glad that Theo was the one who came upstairs after me. I know Marcus and Ryland would never hurt me either, but the violence of our craving for each other would’ve terrified me right now. Theo wants me just as much as they do, I’m sure of it, but there’s a sweetness and gentleness that tempers everything he does.

And in this moment, that’s exactly what I need.

I’m not even sure when I move or how it happens, but as Theo continues to pepper kisses across every inch of my neck and face, I rise up onto my knees before him. He matches my movement, hooking an arm around my waist as his lips finally meet mine.

Heat gathers in my core, but Theo doesn’t let our kiss rage out of control. He kisses my lips the same way he kissed every other part of me—with slow deliberation and tenderness, each one a promise.

A vow.

This man will never hurt me.

My arm tightens around his shoulders as I arch my back a little, and when I feel the press of his cock against my lower belly, a sharp zing of panic shoots through me, old memories trying to intrude again.

He tries to draw away, but I slide my hand down to his ass, pulling him closer, grinding against him until pleasure replaces the fear.

This man will never hurt me.

My breath is coming a little faster, and even though I can tell he’s fighting it, his is too. I slide my hand under his shirt, skimming my fingers over the skin of his stomach and muscular back, and he groans quietly into my mouth.

When I reach for the button of his jeans, he hesitates, pulling back a little. “Rose, I don’t want to—”

“I do.”

My voice is scratchy and raw, and I gaze at him in the darkness, finding the bright spots of his irises even in the dim light. He needs to hear me say it, or maybe I need to hear me say it. To prove that good things still exist, that love is still worth the fucking risk.

“I want you, Theo,” I murmur, my fingertips still hooked in the waistband of his dark jeans. “You asked what you could do. This is it. Please.”

He gazes at me for a second, like he’s searching for any hint of uncertainty or fear on my face. Then he gathers me in his arms and lifts me up, carrying me over to the bed.

When he sets me down, he lays his body over mine, hovering over me as he kisses me again and again.

He lets the heat between us build slowly, reading my body like an open book and only taking things further when he can see me begin to writhe hungrily beneath him. Even then, he takes his time peeling off every article of clothing we’re each wearing, worshipping every new inch of me he can reach.