Savage Heart (Wreck & Ruin 2)

Present day

He never showed me this gift.

Curiosity made me itch but if I gave him an inch, he’d expect a mile, and the delicate line between us was far too fragile for me to allow him anything.

The years we’d been apart had changed something in Hunter, or maybe he just didn’t need to pretend anymore. I’m not sure. He was both the same man I knew, and an entirely different creature.

And he terrified me in the same way he made me burn. And burn for him I did. It was as if the flames between us had never really extinguished, only gone into a soft slumber ready to be woken at a moment’s notice.

My body was reeling with the constant emotions running through me, and the fact that I was left alone to be consumed by my thoughts didn’t help. I was feeling too much, my body was burning with hate, lust and desire, but my head was confused and curious. I felt like I was going mad.

I’d been restrained to the bed again, though it was a more comfortable position with my arms on longer chains so I could shift between my back and side. I could move my legs a little more too.

I hated everything about Hunter, and I would make him pay for what he did, despite whatever the hell is happening between us.

At least I was clean, I think idly, tossing once again to try and get comfortable. It’s when I’m facing away from the door that it opens and Hunter saunters in, I glance over my shoulder to see him carrying a plate of food in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other.

I turn to face him, narrowing my eyes as he approaches the bed. He’s changed into a pair of grey sweats and of course, he’s not wearing a fucking shirt. He was as beautiful as I remembered, all of him sculptured in a way that oozed lethal beauty. Hard muscles but not huge, lean and tall, his abdominals defined and the veins in his arms pronounced. What was it about the veins in the arms!? They were on par with the damn V that carves up their hips. Speaking of, Hunter’s is perfection and adorned with a thin trail of dark hair that disappears under the band of his sweats.

His hair is wet and droplets cling to his shoulders. His skin is littered with scars, some much newer while others have faded and turned silver. He’d stitched up his most recent wound and covered it with a white gauze. I remember mapping them out, running my fingers over them, tracing each line and when he refused to tell me the story behind each one, I didn’t think it strange. I should have. I’d told him everything about me, but I knew nothing about him. I was so stupid.

Gritting my teeth, I force myself to remain still as he positions himself next to me on the bed. The heat from his skin warms me, his clean, masculine scent stuffs itself up my nose. All he had to do was reach out and those big hands would be on my skin, touching, feeling.

My stomach clenches.

Fuck.

“You need to eat,” he says, “sit up.”

I glance down at the plate. It smelled amazing, garlicky and sweet, drenched in a rich red sauce I assumed was some kind of tomato marinade, and melted cheese gave it a gooey tempting topping. My stomach growls.

His lips twitch.

How could a man as evil as him have such a charming grin? I wondered, positioning myself so my back is resting on the headboard.

I hold out my hands to take the food, but he doesn’t hand it over, instead he scoots up the bed, lifting the fork along with a large mound of the pasta.

“You’re not feeding me.”

“Then you don’t eat.”

“I’m not hungry.” I cock a brow, but my lie is revealed a second later when my stomach growls a second time, though this one obnoxiously loud. It had to have been at least twenty-four hours since I last ate anything.

One thick brow cocks up and instead of forcing the food on me, he pushes the fork between his own lips and chews slowly. He takes another mouthful, and then another.

Half the plate disappears.

Frustration and anger lash through me and before I even realize what I’m doing, I’ve snapped forward and flipped the plate in his hand. Tomato pasta splatters against his bare chest, the fork and plate land on the mattress next to my leg.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he comments.

“Fuck. You.” I jerk forward hard, pulling at my restraints and getting further than I did before. He doesn’t move out of the way, instead he lets me take him down to the mattress, my fingers curling around the fork as we go. Before he can do anything to fight me off, I slam the fork into the soft spot in his shoulder. It goes in deep, standing up even after I’ve let it go.

“And that,” he wheezes, eyes meeting mine, pupils blown wide, a fire as hot as the pits of Hell burning within, “That was just plain nasty.”

“I guess we’re the same then.”

He curls his fingers around the fork and yanks it out of his flesh, blood pouring down his front, over his pecs and abdomen to soak into the grey material of his pants. He doesn’t try to stem the bleeding, in fact he doesn’t pay attention to it at all, he just stares at me and then he pounces.

I hit the mattress hard, he forces my legs apart with his own and he grabs both chains within one hand, forcing both my arms up. The bindings around the wrists pull tight and his free hand wraps around my throat. Blood and food rubs into my clothes, into my skin, but I barely register that when the man holding me hostage appears more demon than human right now.

“We’ve always been the same, Snow,” he growls, his mouth brushing against mine, “you just haven’t figured it out yet. We are one side of the same coin.”

I stifle a moan as he rolls his hips and pushes his erection into my pussy.

“But you believe your violence will deter me,” he rasps, his mouth moving across my cheek to my ear, “it’ll only turn me on more.” To punctuate his words, he thrusts against me. His fingers tighten around my throat and that precarious line between danger and lust becomes so blurred I can no longer tell which one is which. And he knew this.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

His hand presses down against my windpipe, restricting airflow but not completely cutting it off.

The sound I make is more a wet moan than anything else.

He meets my eyes again and pure male satisfaction leaks into his gaze, “Fight me, Snow. Keep fighting me. We both know how this ends.”

If I were thinking straight, I would give him another threat, tell him how much I hate him, but I can’t. I can barely even see straight, especially as he rolls his hips again, applying just the right amount of friction to send me into a frenzied mess.

“You want me, Snow. Your cunt is dripping for me, can you feel how hard I am for you?”

I roll against him.

His fingers flex on my throat, but then he abruptly lets go and unpeels himself from my body, only to move down my frame. He rips my pajama pants off, leaving me bare, the pants caught round the chains at my feet, and then his hands land on the insides of my thighs, forcing them apart.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs before he buries his face into my pussy and lashes at me with his tongue.

He licks me in hard, punishing strokes, working me up but avoiding that precious bundle at the apex. His fingers push into my flesh, so hard I already know I’ll be left with bruises. He punches his tongue inside and then works his way up, slowing his strokes as he reaches my clit.

He grumbles, delighted, when I shudder against him, the pleasure making my muscles tense and squeeze. He sucks at my flesh, building me up. My legs want to close around his head, want to seal him against me but his hands hold me firmly in place.

My moans become louder, my breath whooshing from my chest as my hips start to roll.

He chuckles darkly and then pulls away, moving away from that sensitive little bundle of nerves. I almost cry out at the loss.

“You won’t come until I’m ready for you to come, Snow,” he looks up at me from between my legs, “When I’m ready to feel you shatter, I’ll be sure you sing for me, until then, this is for me, not for you.”

“Hunter,” I groan.

“Say it again, Snow, moan my name.”

I close my mouth.

I feel him smile against me, “so stubborn.”

“If you don’t let me finish, I’ll kill you.” I breathe, rolling my hips.

“I’ve been without your taste on my tongue for three years, Snow, I’ve been starved, I’m savoring my meal and only when I’m ready, will I let you finish.”

I throw my head back but soon lose any thought as he moves back up my pussy, worshipping me with his tongue. He lets one hand go only to impale me on two fingers. He thrusts them inside without remorse.

It turns me completely feral.

“Yes, fuck,” I scream, “God, don’t stop.”

“That’s my Snow,” he praises, kissing and sucking, fucking me with his fingers.

“God, please,” I beg, “please, Hunter.”

“You sing so pretty,” he rasps, “Watching you come apart is a beautiful sight.”

His tongue finally finds my clit and he sucks at it at the same speed he fucks me with his fingers. It’s torture and ecstasy, my climax builds and builds, and I hit that peak, my mouth opening in a silent scream, my orgasm right there and then he stops…

Just stops.

“Fuck, feeling your pussy spasming on my fingers, it’s just like heaven.”

I cry out at the loss of release.

“Please!”

“You see what I do to you, Snow? How I make you lose your mind?”

I roll my hips, searching for relief from this damn ache.

“That’s how it is for me,” he presses a gentle kiss to my clit and my hips jerk, “you make me crazy.”

“You’re already crazy,” I breathe, eyes rolling back in my head as he licks me in one long, torturous stroke. He chuckles against my flesh, and he starts to move his fingers once more, pulsing them in and out of me slowly, curling them just right so they brush up against that sensitive spot inside. He flicks the tip of his tongue on my clit, working me up once more.

“Yes,” I chant, “Yes, yes.”

“That’s it, Isobel,” He praises.

My restraints clang loudly as I thrash under him, begging and hoping he lets me crest that hill. His hand gets faster, his tongue brutal and I peak and then I tumble. My scream echoes inside my head, my release ripping through me in euphoric waves.

When Hunter finally rises from between my thighs, my wetness covering his lips and chin, all I can do is stare at him, breathing hard, the ache in me only half satiated.

And when he lunges, bringing his mouth to mine, the taste of me thick on his tongue, I welcome it.

I need it.